“And if I don’t?”
His jaw flexes once. “Then I won’t be able to stop the second attempt.”
The street musician hits a bright chord. Someone laughs. A couple kisses under a lamp post.
The world is still pretending.
But I am no longer part of it.
I clutch my bag closer and force my thoughts into a straight line.
There’s only one reason someone would risk a public grab in a city full of cameras and witnesses.
They think they can disappear with me anyway.
Or they don’t care who sees.
That thought makes my skin prickle.
“I work with old data,” I say, as if confessing a sin. “Archives. NGO transfers. Conflict-zone cleanup. It’s boring.”
Aaron’s eyes stay on mine. “Boring doesn’t get you flagged.”
I hesitate.
My fingers brush my pendant again—habit, comfort, warning.
He notices.
I see it.
His gaze dips briefly, then snaps back up.
“Don’t touch it,” he says.
My hand freezes.
“Why?”
His voice turns razor-thin. “Because whatever you’re wearing on your throat may be the reason they chose you.”
My lungs forget how to work.
I stare at the silver charm, suddenly too heavy, too present against my skin.
It was a gift.
A relic.
A thing I’ve worn for years without thinking.
A thing I never questioned because it belonged to a past I don’t like to open.
My mouth goes dry. “That’s impossible.”
Aaron leans in just enough that his words reach only me.
“Nothing about tonight is impossible.”
