Endgame | Caity & Sterling
Caitlin wanted a different answer for leaving the party so abruptly. How the others managed was beyond her, the mercenaries who did the dirty work, the scientists who studied it for hours on end. She might have been exposed to the gore and mess of it, but not nearly as much as them, not nearly as much as her crew she always knew she failed, and it certainly didn't give her an excuse for bailing like that. Everytime she shut her eyes she could see Marlow behind her eyelids, could see Athene losing his mind, could see Bates and Cheong and all the others who'd met bloody ends, especially when she didn't want to. The cold air and flickering lights over Istanbul gave a needed respite from that madness, something no amount of scotch could do, and definitely not therapy.
She exhaled and switched her weight to the other foot, leaning on the glass railing, counting the minutes until it would be acceptable to go back inside. She had grown used to the whirring sounds of her implant, the way it ticked a little if she cocked her hip or ran a little too hard, but now the sound was driving her mad. Better than robotic screams. She sipped at her drink and went to go back inside, when her heart seemingly stopped, and jumped out of her throat. Sterling stood across from her, hands shoved into pockets. Her smile spread across her face subconsciously, observing the clean cut navy suit, the teenager-induced wrinkles, the sprinkling of grey hair. Taller than she remembered, even in these ridiculous shoes. His shoulders hunched in that apologetic way, half a smile, half an expression of worry on his handsome face. God, he had nothing to apologise for. He was the only reason she was here. "Didn' think ye'd make it, ol' man."
