I sit in the office parking lot for six minutes after hanging up on Vivienne.
Just breathing.
Not because I am scared. Because I need to be honest with myself about what just happened and what it means before I walk into a building full of people and spend eight hours pretending everything is normal.
Vivienne Callahan is not done.
That call was not just a threat. It was a test. She wanted to hear my voice, wanted to measure how rattled I was, wanted information she could use. And I gave her nothing except two words over text and complete composure on the call, which means she is currently sitting somewhere frustrated and recalculating.
Good.
But frustrated people make unpredictable moves and I need to stay ahead of her.
I text Rhys: She called me.
He replies in un
