Hidden Hearts
She set the phone down, exhaling slowly.
No. She wouldn’t run from this. She’d never been the girl who played defense.
Cass reached for her laptop, the cool metal grounding her as she typed Calderón’s name into a system that no government had clearance for. A dozen results populated instantly—movements, aliases, trades. And tucked between them… another photo.
Her breath caught.
It wasn’t from her past. It was from last week. And Calderón wasn’t alone.
Cass zoomed in on the blurry feed until the image sharpened—Calderón at the table, arrogance in the slope of his shoulders, glass held like a scepter. Across from him sat an anomaly: no mugshot, no record, no trail.
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