By morning, I was running on caffeine and instinct.
The foundation’s office felt hollow, like someone had drained all the color from the walls. The air smelled faintly of printer toner and cold fear.
When Mia walked in, she looked worse than the night before. Dark circles framed her eyes, and her hair was pulled back carelessly. She avoided everyone’s gaze.
“Mia,” I said quietly. “In my office.”
She froze, her hand halfway to her coffee cup. “Jane, I…”
“Now.”
She followed me inside, her footsteps light, hesitant. When I shut the door, she flinched at the sound.
“Sit,” I said.
She sat.
“Mia,” I began, trying to keep my voice steady, “I need you to tell me the truth. Are you in contact with Jonathan Pierce?”
Her eyes went wide, filling instantly with tears. “Jane, I didn’t…”
“Don’
