Unraveled

Chapter 6: The Art of War

Three days later, Agatha sat in the war room, the glow of the overhead lights casting sharp shadows across the piles of documents and tangled threads of the Vanguard case. Night had fallen long ago, and while her days were consumed by the responsibilities of being a partner—meetings, clients, and the endless fires that required her attention—after seven, Agatha was finally able to dive into what she truly craved: the hunt.

The Vanguard case was different.

Special.

It gnawed at her, demanded her attention, and pulled her in ways she hadn't felt in years.

And though she would never, ever admit it out loud, Rio Vidal made the chase even more intoxicating.

Vidal was sharper than anyone Agatha had worked with in a long time. The way she could recall details from reports she'd read days ago, quoting them word for word, or cite case law with frightening accuracy, was nothing short of extraordinary. It was like she had a photographic memory, effortlessly cataloging and retrieving information like it was nothing.

But Vidal was also green.

Agatha wasn't.

That's where the real dance began.

Vidal would unearth something she believed was bulletproof—a key link, a watertight argument—and Agatha would systematically tear it apart. She'd poke holes in it until there was nothing left but the shredded remains of Vidal's confidence. But where most would shrink under that kind of scrutiny, Vidal didn't.

She absorbed it.

Every critique, every jab Agatha threw her way, Vidal took it like it was nothing—no, not nothing. She took each blow like a challenge. Fuel that made her dig deeper, push harder, and come back sharper, more determined.

Agatha had to hand it to her—Vidal was either a masochist or had the kind of unrelenting resolve that could cut through steel. Probably a little of both, and that thought sent Agatha's mind spiraling.

Professionally, the working relationship between them had become a well-oiled machine.

They were good together.

Agatha hated it.

She despised how well they worked, the efficiency, the rhythm. She hated that every part of her knew it was true.

But personally? Privately? That was a different beast entirely. The part of herself Agatha kept locked away, tightly controlled, felt like a live wire sparking dangerously next to an open gas can. It was volatile, electric, and it was only getting worse.

Every touch—which Agatha swore was intentional.

Every look Vidal sent her way.

That fucking smirk.

The constant challenges. The playful word games. The way Vidal's lips would quirk ever so slightly when she caught Agatha staring—like just now, chewing on the end of a pen cap as if it wasn't driving Agatha mad.

It ate at her, little by little, each moment sparking something dangerous. Something Agatha hadn't felt in a long time. She couldn't remember the last time she'd felt this affected by anyone.

Not like this.

Never like this.

She needed to get her shit under control.

Control.

It was everything.

Her rule.