It landed on the soft Persian rug, the screen still glowing.

“He wants me in the office,” Graham said, his voice barely audible. “Now.”

“Then you should go,” I said.

He looked at his coat, then at the keys sitting in the small ceramic bowl by the door.

He picked up the keys, his movements slow and mechanical.

“This isn’t over, Arden,” he said.

“It is for you,” I said.

He walked out of the kitchen, his leather shoes clicking against the hardwood hall.

The heavy front door clicked shut behind him, the sound echoing through the empty house.

I stood in the kitchen for a long time, listening to the rain pick up outside.

It beat against the glass of the French doors that opened to the manicured patio.

My phone buzzed in my pocket.

I pulled it out, expecting a text from Maren asking if I was alright.

Instead, it was an encrypted message from an unsaved number.

I tapped the screen to open it.

The message was brief, sent from an account that would self-destruct in twenty-four hours.