Nobody here knew who Clara Hughes was.

To the local grocer, I was Sarah, a quiet woman who worked remotely in research.

But as I looked at the dark gray sea, I knew the quiet would not last.

Arthur would look for me until he ran out of money or men.

And Julian Maroni was already watching.

I walked into the small bedroom and opened my suitcase.

Inside lay a stack of fake passports and three burner phones.

One of the burner phones began to vibrate against the wooden dresser.

It was a number that only one person in the world had.

The screen showed a local area code.

I picked up the vibrating phone.

I did not slide the screen to answer.

I waited.

The phone stopped ringing, then immediately started again.

I pressed the phone to my ear and slid the bar.

I did not say a word.

On the other end of the line, there was only the sound of heavy breathing.

“Clara,” a voice whispered.

“Clara,” the voice whispered again.

I kept the phone pressed to my ear, listening to the static on the line.