The Lie Between Us

CHAPTER ONE: A GHOST

Elena's POV

New York had a rhythm - loud, fast, unapologetic. Like it didn't care if you could keep up.

I stepped out of the cab and looked up. A building of glass and steel loomed above me, and the street buzzed with honking horns, sharp voices, the occasional laughter cutting through the noise. The city moved like it had somewhere better to be. Always.

I exhaled, clutching my ID tighter. I wasn't late. I was two years late.

The FBI New York Field Office sat tucked between ambition and shadow. It wasn't marked in bold letters or anything dramatic - the Bureau preferred quiet power, I suppose. Inside the lobby, agents passed like ghosts in quick steps. The security desk buzzed me through after I flashed my ID.

Elena Roselli. Special Agent.

I still wasn't used to hearing that - not even in my own head. It sounded more like a taboo to me.

Two years ago, I had been accepted into Quantico. I was twenty-three then and the invitation was everything.

Then in one gut-wrenching evening, I lost everything.

My father's car was crashed by a drunk driver on his way home from a shift. He died before they got him out of the wreck. My mother, who had been healthy her whole life, collapsed from a heart attack hours later - stress-induced, they said. Trauma, I knew. The woman who used to sing while making coffee could barely form sentences and always stared into a hollow.

She survived. She was better now but something in her didn't come back.

And I barely made it through my father's funeral.

But six months ago, I opened the envelope again. Finished the application. Resubmitted the paperwork. Because I had to. And I was accepted. Quietly. No fuss. It wasn't typical - most people didn't get a second chance. I was one of the rare cases. I wonder why.

And now I was here.

The elevator doors opened with a sterile ding. Floor six.

The bullpen was louder than I expected - low voices, ringing phones, the soft clack of keys. A woman in a sleek black bun raised her eyes at me as I entered. She didn't smile. That seemed to be the standard here. But I was immune to that.

"Agent Roselli?" a male voice called from behind me.

I turned to see a tall man with a lazy posture and a coffee-stained tie.

"Agent Mark Vickers," he said, offering his hand. "New faces usually stand out."

"Elena," I replied shaking his hand. "Roselli."

"Right, right," he said, nodding. "Welcome to the grinder."

I gave a polite smile, though I didn't feel like I belonged to anything here. Another agent, a woman with dark curls and sharp eyeliner, passed us and looked at me with faint curiosity.

"You'll meet the rest over time," Vickers said. "We're rotating through task forces all week. Don't take it personal if no one learns your name."

"Noted," I said. I honestly didn't mind that. I wanted to be invisible anyway.

I barely had time to glance around before a voice cut through the room.

"Roselli," someone called sharply.

I turned. Agent Cole Donovan stood outside a frosted glass office door, arms folded. He was in a neatly pressed suit with cold eyes, and had the look of someone who'd seen too much and stopped trying to hide it.