The Darkest Hour

Chapter 10: Under Pressure

The air in the briefing room was thick with tension. Maps, mugshots, and crime scene photos plastered the walls, a grim reminder of how close we were to catching the killer—and how close he was to striking again. I stood beside Damon, feeling his steady presence just inches away, a calming constant amid the storm. But even as I focused on Captain Morris's rundown of the latest intel, I felt that same familiar nausea tightening in my stomach. I pressed my lips together, willing myself to push through it.

Damon shot me a quick glance, his eyes narrowed in concern. He hadn't missed a thing; he never did. But I turned back to the whiteboard, pretending not to notice.

Morris's voice cut through my thoughts. "This is it, people. We've got him boxed in. The intel shows he'll make his next move tonight, at the warehouse docks on the south end. It's our best shot at intercepting him before he disappears again."

I swallowed, feeling a mix of dread and determination. Tonight. It had to be tonight. Every instinct screamed that we were close, that we could end this once and for all. But the thought of throwing myself into another high-stakes situation while carrying a secret I hadn't even fully processed... it was terrifying. I forced myself to breathe, pushing it down. This wasn't about me. This was about the mission.

As the team dispersed, Damon grabbed my arm, pulling me to the side. His gaze was intense, searching my face. "You don't look ready for this, Olivia," he murmured, his voice low enough that no one else could hear.

I bristled, putting on my best poker face. "I'm fine, Damon. It's just another stakeout. We've done this a thousand times."

He leaned in closer, his expression hard. "You're not fine. You've been pale for days, barely eating, and I know you're hiding something from me." He paused, his eyes softening. "I need to know if you're with me on this."

I took a breath, nodding, feeling a pang of guilt. "I'm with you, Damon. I promise." And I meant it. No matter what I was dealing with, no matter what my future looked like now, we had to get this man. That came first.

Later that night, we arrived at the warehouse docks, the air thick with anticipation. The fog rolled in from the harbor, casting everything in a hazy glow. The police perimeter was set up a block away, leaving Damon and me to sneak in on foot, blending into the shadows.

I gripped my gun tightly, the weight of it grounding me, a reminder of my purpose. My thoughts strayed only once—to that small test in my bathroom drawer, to the lines that had changed everything in a single glance. But I pushed it back, forcing myself to focus. We were on the clock now.

Damon's voice crackled in my earpiece. "East side clear. Move to your next position."

I crept forward, checking every dark corner, every flickering light. I could feel Damon's gaze on me even as he scouted his side of the building. And as much as I wanted to push away his concern, a small part of me felt grateful for it, for him.

Suddenly, the faintest sound echoed through the silence—footsteps. My pulse quickened, and I felt a spike of adrenaline as I raised my gun, signaling Damon. He was by my side in an instant, his body tense, eyes trained on the shadows ahead.

Then, a figure emerged—a man, moving slowly, his head jerking as he looked around. It was him. I could feel it in my bones.

Damon's voice was a steady whisper. "That's our guy."

We closed in, moving silently, until we were close enough to see the man's face, the same cold, calculating features from the photos we'd studied. He stopped, glancing over his shoulder, his eyes flicking toward the exact spot where we hid. My breath caught.

He knew we were here.

With a snarl, he turned, bolting through the alleyway, and Damon and I took off after him. My heart pounded, every muscle burning as we sprinted through the maze of crates and containers, the echoes of our footsteps bouncing off the walls.

We turned a corner, and suddenly he was there, standing in the open, a twisted smile on his face as he raised a gun, pointing it straight at me. I froze, my finger tightening on the trigger, every sense on high alert.

But before I could react, Damon was there, stepping in front of me, shielding me without a second thought. His voice was low, steady. "You don't get to decide how this ends."

The killer's laugh was dark, taunting. "Maybe not. But I know her type. She's hiding something. Something that'll make her weak when it counts." His gaze flicked to me, a mocking smile spreading across his face. "How long can you keep pretending, Agent Malone?"

A surge of anger coursed through me, and I pushed past Damon, my gun trained on the killer. "I'm not the one pretending here," I said coldly, my voice steady, unflinching.

For a split second, he hesitated, his confidence wavering. And that was all we needed. Damon lunged, tackling him, and the two of them struggled on the ground, fists flying as I circled, gun raised, waiting for a clear shot. But every movement sent another wave of nausea rolling through me, weakening my grip just as the killer threw Damon off, scrambling to his feet.

Without hesitation, I aimed and fired, the shot echoing in the night as the killer crumpled to the ground, motionless. Silence settled around us, broken only by the distant hum of police sirens approaching.

Damon turned to me, breathless, his expression unreadable. "Olivia..."

I tried to steady myself, to meet his gaze, but the world spun, the adrenaline fading, replaced by a sudden, overwhelming wave of dizziness. I stumbled, feeling Damon's arms catch me just as everything faded to black.

When I woke, the sterile lights of a hospital room greeted me. Damon was sitting beside me, his expression a mix of relief and something deeper, more complicated.

"Olivia," he murmured, his hand closing over mine. "You're okay. But... you've been hiding something, haven't you?"

The weight of the secret I'd been holding pressed down on me, but as I looked into his eyes, I knew there was no turning back. I took a breath, my voice barely a whisper. "Damon... I'm pregnant."

The words hung in the air between us, raw and real. His expression softened, a mix of shock and tenderness flickering across his face. For a moment, there was silence, then he squeezed my hand, his gaze fierce, unwavering.

"We'll face this together," he said quietly, a promise in his voice. "The case, this... everything."

And as the reality settled in, I felt a surge of relief, a sense of peace I hadn't allowed myself to feel. Whatever came next, whatever the future held, I knew we'd face it side by side.