Alive.
After eight years, she’s alive.
And somehow that’s worse than grief ever was.
Because grief is final.
This?
This rips everything back open.
I set the photo down.
“When do we leave?”
Vale answers without hesitation.
“Ten minutes.”
Good.
Because if I stand here any longer, I might start remembering things I buried for a reason.
The way she laughed.
The way she fought.
The way she kissed me like the world was already ending. The way our bodies were together.
I shove all of it down where it belongs.
Mission first.
Always.
But as I reach for the file, one thought cuts through all the rest.
If Ava Mercer is alive…
Then someone lied to me.
And I’m going to find out who.
59
Ava
The train station is too crowded.
Too loud.
Too exposed.
Which means it’s perfect.
People think safety looks like locked doors and hidden rooms.
It doesn’t.
