The message came before sunrise.

  Elijah:

  Why Orell & Stein? You sure that’s not just noise? Give me something solid. Are you talking to anyone else? Someone you trust?

  Kira sat at the edge of her bed, knees drawn up, the phone screen glowing faintly against the dark. A silence stretched between them—not because he was gone, but because she hadn’t answered. Not yet.

  She scrolled back up to reread his words. The tone was cautious, protective… and something else.

  Fear.

  Not of the mission.

  Of what she might walk into.

  She typed half a reply, then deleted it.

  She trusted Elijah. Always had. But something about his wording scratched at her nerves. Why did he ask if I was talking to someone else? He wasn’t just worried she might be reckless. He was worried someone might already have her ear.

  That, or… he was hiding something.

  Her thumb hovered over the screen.

  Was he just trying to keep her safe? Or keep her from knowing?

  She set the phone down and pulled open the top drawer of her desk. Beneath a layer of receipts and an old notebook was a folded piece of paper—creased, slightly smudged, but preserved. She unfolded it with care.

  Names. A few crossed out. Others circled in fading red ink. Some had dates beside them.

  People from her past. People who had gone through the same underground lanes, trained in silence and vanished just as quietly. They were ghosts even before they disappeared.

  She stared at the list. Her fingers curled slightly around the paper’s edges.

  Kira didn’t remember much from her early years. That had been part of the design—her mind trained to forget what was once hers.

  But there were fragments she refused to let go of.

  A name.

  A warm office with golden curtains.

  The sound of her mother’s laugh before it was taken from her.

  A tall man with sharp eyes who smelled like ash and whiskey.

  She kept those pieces tucked away like talismans.

  Once, she’d clung to them in hopes of going home.

  Now, she held them because home had become her battlefield.

  She stood, folded the paper again, and tucked it into the lining of her coat. The weight of it was nothing—but it settled heavy against her heart.

  Elijah was right about one thing: she needed something solid.

  Was the boss calling back operatives to protect something? Or to erase it?

  Were these disappearances punishment for failure? Or precaution against betrayal?

  And why hadn’t anyone touched her yet?

  She paced the small apartment, her mind spinning faster than her steps. She was done with following orders blindly. If the contractor wanted her back in the old lane, she’d walk it—but on her own terms.

  She didn’t want revenge to be her compass anymore. She wanted clarity.

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  She needed to know.

  The knock on her door came sharp and sudden.

  She stilled. Hand brushed lightly against the knife tucked near the doorway—just in case.

  “Kira? You up?” Elijah’s voice, low but urgent.

  She exhaled, unlocked the door, and stepped aside.

  He didn’t waste time. Closed the door, crossed his arms. “Talk to me. Why Orell & Stein? That name hasn’t come up in three years.”

  She handed him her phone, opened to Vi’s message.

  He read it twice, jaw tightening. “Damn it.”

  “You knew?”

  “I didn’t think it was them. I thought they dissolved after…” He stopped himself, looked away. “I thought they were done.”

  “You thought or you hoped?” she asked quietly.

  He didn’t answer right away. “We all wanted out, Kira. You know that. After what happened in Berlin, in Jakarta... it was only a matter of time.”

  “Still doesn’t explain why the boss wants us back.”

  “Or why we’re the only ones not on the list of missing.”

  “Yet,” Kira muttered.

  They stood in silence for a moment. The early light crept through the window, pale and unforgiving.

  Elijah ran a hand through his hair. “So what’s your move?”

  “I go back. Two days. Quiet. I check the markers, see who’s alive. And I find out if these disappearances are a message or a cleanup.”

  “You’re not going alone.”

  “I have to.” Her voice softened. “If someone’s watching, too many steps draw heat. I move quieter than you do.”

  He didn’t argue that. But his eyes said he hated it.

  “Do you think they’re after us?” he asked.

  Kira looked out the window. The fog was rolling in again—soft, swallowing, familiar.

  “They’re after something,” she said. “And I need to know if I’m part of it… or just in the way.”

  The morning air carried a lingering chill as Kira stepped out onto the narrow balcony. Below, Lamburgh’s streets stirred awake—slow, familiar, harmless.

  She didn’t trust harmless anymore.

  The message had come just after Elijah left.

  Investor – Greylock Capital:

  Lamburgh stopover today. Free for coffee?

  15:00. Station Café near west terminal.

  Kira stared at it for a beat too long. The investor had been silent for weeks—typical of people who moved money in silence. His sudden interest wasn’t suspicious in itself, but the timing felt... purposeful. Like her world was starting to echo. People she hadn’t seen in months reappearing. Threads crossing.

  She typed a quick confirmation, then started getting ready.

  Message to Vi:

  Track down the redhead. You know the one. Not trustworthy—but curious. Tell him I’ve got something he might like. Tech from the Sinclair arc. He’ll bite if he’s still the same.

  Message to A:

  Trouble’s circling. Don’t move yet, just watch. Especially the supply chains in Zone 3. Something’s shifting and it’s not just pressure from the Kings.

  Message to L:

  If any names we flagged show movement, ping me. Quietly. I’ll be dark for a couple of days.

  She encrypted each message before sending. Clean. Untraceable. The way they’d taught her.

  The rest of the morning passed in blur—packing only what she needed: three sets of neutral clothing, a burner phone, encrypted drives, a light sidearm with an old name scratched beneath the grip. She double-checked her secondary ID and train ticket tucked into the lining of her bag. The rest would be stashed at a dead drop.

  She paused at her closet, pulling out the long gray coat she hadn’t worn in over a year.

  Going back wasn’t a decision anymore. It was a pull. She needed answers, and they didn’t live here in the safety of bakeries and schoolbooks.

  The café by the west terminal was already half full when she arrived. Kira took the booth in the back, facing the door. Just in case.

  The investor, a man in his early forties with polite eyes and an expensive watch, arrived five minutes late—just as expected. Their conversation was short, clean, and coded.

  He spoke of “delays in approval” and “a surge in interest from older patrons.” She understood the warning—someone was sniffing around her ventures. Someone old.

  She played her part with practiced ease. Smiled, nodded, agreed to review the projections again. Promised nothing.

  When he left, she stayed. Waited just long enough to convince any watchers that it was just a casual meeting. Then she got up, stepped outside into the cool wind—

  And almost walked straight into Liam Carrington.

  He blinked. Then that polished, effortless smile slid across his face. “Well. Didn’t expect to see you here.”

  Kira tilted her head, folding her arms lightly across her chest. “You following me?”

  He chuckled. “Not today. Coffee run. My driver bailed.”

  She nodded toward the cup in his hand. “And you went all the way across town for a caffeine fix?”

  He raised the cup in mock toast. “They have the best blend.”

  It was an obvious lie. She didn’t call him out.

  “You’re always popping up in interesting places,” Liam added, voice easy. Too easy.

  “So are you.”

  Their eyes held just a beat longer than necessary—hers careful, his unreadable.

  She stepped past him. “Well, enjoy your coffee.”

  “You too, Sinclair.”

  She didn’t turn back. Just raised a hand in half a wave and kept walking.

  Her pace only slowed once she turned the next corner. One glance over her shoulder told her what she needed to know.

  He hadn’t followed.

  But he’d noticed.

  And Kira Sinclair didn’t believe in coincidences.