Raven wasn’t sure when the first message came. Maybe it was the card slipped into her coat pocket in the Vienna café. Or the photo tucked beneath her laptop at the penthouse. The handwriting was unfamiliar, precise, almost surgical in its confidence, but the signature? She knew it even before she read the name.
Z.
She didn’t tell Jaxon, instead, she burned the photo, an image of her younger self on the steps of her childhood school. A school in a town Zane should never have known. Her stomach curled with nausea as the picture curled in flame.
The next message came in the form of music.
She walked into the war room, expecting silence, but the speakers hummed with a piano melody. A familiar one. The first song she’d learned to play with Gabriel. Her hands went cold.
The screen flickered
