Mag-log inI ordered wine. The work wasn't finished. The room was quieter. She took the glass without comment. Drank. Set it down and kept writing. She spoke about the eastern corridor communities directly, without framing or adjustment, as if they existed in the room with us. Her hand moved as she talked, m
Edward's POV The door opened behind me. No knock. She came in already talking. "I need your numbers from Rotterdam before we fix anything else," she said. "The version you gave him assumes—" She stopped. I didn't turn immediately. Just reached for the towel, dragged it once over my face, then
The auctioneer's cadence moved through the wall. I had built something without him. That was still true. It would stay true. Whatever I said next didn't touch it. "I don't know," I said. "That's the honest answer. Not the managed version." I met his gaze. "I don't know if what's left is enough to
Alicia's POV The older man was still talking. "Seven years," he said. "Four jurisdictions. We moved water infrastructure across borders that hadn't spoken to each other in a generation." His hands traced corridors in the air between us. "The archive is the proof it happened. That it worked." He tu
“You entered without cause,” I said. “You stayed without one.” “I don’t know what this is between you two but—” “My wife.” No variation in tone. No additional weight needed. Alicia’s hand lifted a little, then halted mid-motion and settled again without completing the gesture. The woman exhaled
Edward’s POV “Forty thousand. Do I have forty-five?” The paddle was already raised. Alicia’s hand remained under mine, unchanged in position, as though neither of us had adjusted to its presence since it settled there. “Forty-five.” I raised. “Fifty. Fifty-five.” On the left, a man leaned forw
Alicia's POV The engine settled into a rhythm I hadn't realized I’d been missing. For days now, every drive had been a frantic sprint toward the next crisis. This morning, there was only the envelope on the passenger seat, its corner tucked against the scuff on the leather I’d made last month. The
Edward's POV The panelling on the far wall ran in clean vertical lines from floor to ceiling. I had counted them twice already. The monitor registered everything in intervals. My shoulder was immobilized. My ribs announced themselves every time I breathed too deeply, which I had stopped doing some
Edward's POV The click of the door latch was the only warning. "You're going to rip it." Her voice. Low. No pity in it. I turned. She was there. Bag dropping from her shoulder, her hair a dark frame around a face I'd seen in my head for a week. She'd seen enough: the defeated angle of my should
She was inside. Neither of us moved. The air in the room felt thick and waiting. I was still staring at her. Exhaustion clung to her, pressing into the lines around her eyes, the tension in her shoulders, the way her jaw tightened slightly. She glanced at the monitor, then at the IV in my left a







