Borrowed Time

The Miami sun hung low over the horizon, painting the sky in shades of burnt orange and deep indigo. A warm breeze carried the scent of salt and street food through the air as Jessica leaned against the balcony railing of Kevin and Hannah’s apartment. The city pulsed beneath her, a rhythmic energy that felt worlds apart from the cold, silent mountains where she had last faced death.

Inside, laughter and conversation flowed. Hannah was setting up decorations, Kevin was struggling with an elaborate birthday cake, and Sam was already a few drinks in, trading easy banter with their hosts.

For a moment, Jessica let herself relax.

She took a sip from her glass, whiskey neat, letting the warmth settle. This was what she fought for: the people, the moments, the normalcy. The quiet life she would never truly belong to. She wondered how long before all this was taken away?

---

The birthday party was intimate, just close friends and family. Jessica spent the afternoon helping Hannah with final touches while Leanna and Olivia entertained the toddler of the hour, a bundle of energy and giggles. Sam, ever the charmer, had managed to become the unofficial favorite uncle, letting the little girl climb onto his shoulders while he made exaggerated monster noises.

It was… good. Too good.

Jessica had learned to be wary of moments like this. They were borrowed time. They were fleeting, fragile things.

She caught Olivia’s eye from across the room. The journalist was in a conversation with an old friend, a fellow reporter who had once covered Washington politics. Olivia nodded toward the television.

“Speech is starting.”

Jessica turned to look.

The President was standing at the podium, framed by flags, the White House press room filled with reporters. His face was calm, measured. The kind of practiced neutrality that came with experience.

Olivia wasn’t paying attention to the words, she was watching the man himself.

Something wasn’t right. It was subtle. The way his hands moved in perfect, calculated gestures. The precise way he enunciated. A hesitation, a fraction of a second too long, when he was asked a question about his past.

The President smiled. He answered smoothly. But Olivia’s stomach twisted. It was off. She didn’t say anything. Not yet. But she felt it in her bones.

---

Later that night, as the party wound down and the guests trickled out, Olivia sat on the couch, scrolling through old videos of past speeches, comparing cadence, phrasing, and expressions.

Jessica, sipping her drink, watched from the kitchen. “You working, or just indulging your obsessive tendencies?”

Olivia didn’t look up. “Something’s wrong.”

Jessica exhaled. Somewhere inside her, a quiet voice whispered: It always starts like this.

Jessica arched a brow. “Wrong like what?”

Olivia hesitated, then shook her head. “I don’t know yet.”

She wouldn’t say anything. Not now. Not until she was sure. Because if she was right, this was only the beginning.