His eyes flick to the woman standing in front of him. Her back is still turned to me—rigid, unreadable.
And then I see it.
A subtle shift of her elbow, a fluid motion under her jacket.
She’s reaching for her gun.
My heart skips a beat.
What the fuck?
I freeze. My brain immediately goes into overdrive, years of security protocol and disaster briefings flashing behind my eyes.
Did I do something wrong?
Did we send the wrong brief? Did I trip some geo-political landmine I didn’t know existed?
Oh God.Did this client bring armed guards because he thinks we’re a threat?
No—Dev’s still coming, probably chatting away with Gitika. If this were a threat scenario, he’d be down already.
Unless I’m the target?
Shit. Shit.Shit—
I inhale sharply, pulse thudding behind my ribs.
Then—just as I start to slowly lower my ID—
The woman turns.
And my world stops spinning.
Because I’m... looking at a ghost.
Her face is angled just slightly, a knowing smirk tugging at the corner of her lips.
A deep scar carves down the side of her cheek, slicing at her brow—like a goddamn signature.
Her eyes—those fucking dark eyes—are watching me like she’s amused.
Like she’s been waiting for this moment.
Plotted it. Stalked it. Savored it.
Greesha.
Alive.
Scarred.
And smiling like death just winked at me.
My breath catches. My fingers go cold.
No.
No, this isn’t—
