The building was nondescript gray glass, rusting nameplate, no receptionist. Ava almost walked past it. But the badge Marcus had given her worked on the side entrance, and as the lock clicked open, she felt the weight of another decision she couldn’t undo.Elena Grant.The name echoed in her mind like a half-remembered warning. The former fixer of Wolfe International. The woman who once cleaned up Grayson’s messes… and now might be the only one willing to expose them.The hallway was quiet. Clinical. Fluorescent lights flickered like dying stars. She followed the office number etched on the corner of the envelope.Room 214.Ava knocked.No answer.She tried again, softer this time. And then the door creaked open.The woman behind the desk was younger than she’d expected. Early forties, but tired. Not tired in the way Ava was but hollow, like something had been taken from her and never returned.“Elena Grant?” Ava asked.The woman froze. Her fingers tightened on a half-drunk cup of cof
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