LOGINWhen the video call connected, Avery had just finished saving the clinical data Dr. He had sent over. The files had come through in a dense stream, each one meticulously labeled, the kind of precise documentation that spoke to hours of careful work. She closed the folder and walked out of the inner room with her phone.Dominic was leaning against the wall across the corridor, his posture relaxed but alert. He turned his head toward the sound of her footsteps, his chin lifting slightly as if to catch the faintest shift in the air around her.On the screen, Dorothea was holding a small spoon, eating cake. A ring of white cream circled her lips, smeared across her cheek in a joyful, messy streak. When she spotted a dark piece of fabric enter the frame, her eyes lit up. She thrust her plate toward the camera with a
When Avery woke, the light outside the window had already brightened considerably, the pale gold of early morning spreading across the ceiling in soft, shifting patterns. The air carried the familiar, cool scent of cedarwood that had come to define this room, mingled with the faint trace of coffee drifting in from somewhere down the hall.She turned her head. Dominic was still asleep, his breathing slow and steady, the rhythmic rise and fall of his chest a quiet anchor in the stillness. His left arm rested across her waist, heavy and warm. His right arm served as her pillow, the muscles of his forearm tensed even in rest.The morning light fell across his profile, softening the hard lines of his face, smoothing away the cold edges that usually defined him. There was a rare tenderness in the set of his mouth, an unguarded stillness he never showed the world—a vulnerability that made her chest ache.Avery watched him for a long moment, her eyes tracing the l
At the end of the gangway, Dominic stood at the edge of the runway.The afternoon wind lifted the hem of his black coat, sending the fabric snapping against his legs. He stood in the heat haze rising off the tarmac, his silhouette sharp against the grey sky. No sunglasses. His unfocused dark eyes turned toward her the moment her foot touched the last step, as if he had tracked her descent through sheer will alone.Two steps remained when he raised his hand.His palm closed around her wrist with unerring precision. His fingertips found her pulse, his grip heavy enough to press her heartbeat into his skin. His thumb slid slowly down the inside of her wrist, tracing the delicate veins beneath the skin, his warmth sinking into her flesh like a brand of o
At seven in the morning, when Avery pushed open the door, Drake was already standing at the entrance of the stairwell, holding a small paper box in his hands."The Boss asked me to bring this." He handed it over, his tone efficient, and stepped aside to clear the path.Avery opened it on the spot. Inside was a folded light grey silk scarf. She lifted it and glanced at it—the fabric was impossibly soft, with no tags at the edges, carrying the distinct coolness of a private custom order.
Sunset City's morning light was thin, as if filtered through a layer of gauze before it reached the ground. The morning sun filtered through the sheer curtains, spreading a pale, hazy glow the cream-colored floor. Dust motes drifted lazily in the light, suspended in the stillness.It was Avery's day off. After dropping Dorothea off at school, she turned back toward the apartment building. At the entrance of the stairwell, she spotted an insulated box sitting on the ground. The cardboard was plain, unmarked. There was no shipping label. No sender information. Only a handwritten line across the top: "For Avery." The handwriting was unfamiliar, the strokes slightly uneven, as if written in a hurry.She crouched down and used her keys to cut through the tape. Three layers.
The afternoon of the day after Evan's visit, Avery's phone lit up.Dominic had sent a message with only one line:【The box is open. The contents have been sent back. They'll arrive in two days. Sending photos first.】Three photos followed immediately.The first showed the front of a brown paper file, yellowed with age. The edges were worn soft, the corners rounded from years of handling. In the lower right corner, a date from seven years ago was written in faded ink—two weeks before the Clair Laboratory burned.The second photo showed the first page inside the file. The title was printed, in an old format: "Experimental
Dorothea lowered her head and went back to drawing. The crayon scratched across the paper."Dorothea." Avery crouched beside her daughter."Who told you that number?"Dorothea didn't look up. "I saw it.""Where did you see it?"The little girl's hand stopped. She put down the crayon, picked up her
A gunshot cracked through the air.Before Avery could react, a hand shoved her head down. She was yanked into someone's chest, hard.The bullet hit the spot where she had been standing. Wall chips scattered everywhere.She looked up. It was Dominic.His chin pressed against the top of her head. His
Dorothea was still standing in the hallway, a tiny, spectral figure in the gloom.Avery walked over and scooped her up. The child’s skin was like ice; there was no telling how long she’d been rooted there."Sweetheart, why are you out of bed?"Dorothea didn't answer. She buried her face in the croo
Avery couldn't sleep.She watched the sky bleed from ink-black to a bruised, pale gray. She lay there, eyes wide, as Dominic's words played on a loop in her mind: “I wanted to see if you would use Wenger's method. To kill me.”Beside her, Dorothea's chest rose and fell in a rhythmic, innocent slumb







