(Hailey Miller’s POV)
Night folded the warehouse into a hushed, hard-edged silence. The only sound that cut it was the crunch of gravel under a single pair of shoes — careful, measured, the sound of someone who never hurried. When the Accountant stepped into the doorway, his tall, lean silhouette looked almost absurdly composed against the wreckage of our lives. He wore an immaculate dark suit as if he’d walked out of a boardroom and into a battleground without blinking. The fabric whispered as he moved; the suit had the quiet confidence of a man who’d always paid the bill.
He stopped a few feet away, hands loose at his sides, and his gray eyes found me. They were cool and precise, like two flat stones taking measure. “Mrs. Miller,” he said, voice soft and almost paternal. “I deeply regr
