The city stretches beneath my office windows in a cold sheet of glass and movement. Cars crawl through late afternoon traffic, sunlight reflects against skyscrapers, and people scatter along the sidewalks in tight clusters. From up here, everything looks orderly. Contained. Predictable.
But nothing feels predictable anymore.
My gaze drifts lower, to the open workspace just beyond my door. Elena sits at her desk, head bent over her computer, fingers moving across the keyboard in quick, efficient motions. She stops abruptly, frowning at something on the screen, then picks up a pen and scribbles notes on a pad beside her.
She tries to look composed. She tries to pretend Adrian’s phone call did not reach inside her mind and tear something open again. But I saw her face when I dropped the ca
