The world didn’t move for several long seconds.
Clara stood frozen on the sidewalk, the phone still pressed to her ear even after the line had gone dead. Nicholas Wolfe’s voice lingered in her mind like the aftertaste of ice—sharp, cold, and impossible to ignore.
“Do not meet with Matteo Cruz again without my knowledge.”
No goodbye. No explanation. Just that.
The traffic light turned green. The crowd surged forward in a restless tide, and someone brushed past her shoulder with a muttered curse. Still, she didn’t move—not at first. The weight of Wolfe’s words clung to her skin like damp heat, suffocating and invisible.
She lowered the phone slowly, slid it into her bag, and crossed the street in a haze.
It wasn’t the fact that he’d called her. It was how. Calm. Controlled. As if he ha
