Faint. So faint I might've been imagining it, but it was there, lingering in the fibers. Five years, still not completely gone. I breathed in deep, then again, let that scent travel from my nose all the way down, to somewhere I usually kept sealed tight.
My fingers tightened in the fabric.
I told myself this didn't mean anything.
I was just confirming it was still there.
That's all.
Five years ago, she'd been clean and efficient. Didn't even leave me an extra glance.
She took enough money and ran. That was the truth. I had her pegged perfectly—a woman who'd been poor her whole life, chased by debt, the second she got enough cash, first thing she did was shake everyone off and disappear completely.
That explanation worked for five years. Most of the time, it was enough.
But some nights it wasn't.
Like now.
I refolded the sweater, put it back in the deepest part of the drawer. My fingers paused on the panel for a second, then I turned, picked up the whiskey, finished it.
I left the guest room, stood in the hallway for a few seconds. Then I pulled out my phone, dialed a number.
Answered after two rings.
"Don."
Carlo's voice was alert. Alert like he'd never been asleep. Maybe he really hadn't. In his line of work, sleep was a luxury.
"Any new information?"
"On who?"
I was silent for two seconds.
"Olivia Adrian."
The other end went quiet for a long time. Long enough I thought the signal dropped.
"Don, she's already—"
"Shut up." My voice was flat, but every word nailed into the phone like a spike. "You just need to follow orders."
"...Yes."
"Keep looking. Find everything you can. Photos, addresses, people she's seen, places she's been. Every single thing. Don't miss one."
"Understood."
I hung up, leaned against the hallway wall, tilted my head back to look at the crystal chandelier on the ceiling.
The light was blinding.
I closed my eyes. In the darkness, those green eyes appeared again.
This time, I didn't chase her away.
I let her stay there, deep in the darkness, like an ember that would burn forever.
