All the Names She Wore
I whisper.
Livia stands, silent. Her bare feet make no sound on the tile as she moves toward the main archive room, toward the lamp-lit table. She grabs her keys from the desk, then slips them into her pocket. Her other hand reaches into a drawer and pulls out a small flashlight—not a weapon, but something that feels like preparation. She comes back to me, eyes hard now.
“On three,” she whispers.
“On three?” I repeat.
She nods once, jaw clenched.