Dominic’s POV
The rain hasn’t stopped in three days. It drips down the windows of my rental car, blurring the neon lights of the small coastal town I’ve been circling for hours.
The GPS says I’ve arrived, but the clinic looks deserted, a single-story building tucked behind a row of closed shops, the kind of place people come to erase what they can’t live with.
The sign reads Dr. L. Corwin, Reconstructive Surgery.
He’s the last thread. The name that kept surfacing in Eden’s encrypted files, in Stanley’s offshore transfers, in the gaps Elia left behind.
I kill the engine and sit there for a moment, listening to the rain. My hands tighten on the steering wheel. I’ve faced killers, corrupt executives, the ghosts of my own mistakes but this feels different.
This feels like standing at
