Fear doesn’t arrive loudly.
It sharpens the edges of everything.
I feel it before I can name it — a subtle recalibration in my body, the way instinct shifts posture before thought catches up. My gaze moves automatically now, scanning exits, reflections, patterns of movement in the glass beyond the reception hall.
Someone else is watching her.
The realization lands cold and precise.
“How long?” I ask quietly into my comm.
“Unclear,” my head of security replies. “But they’re not amateur. No obvious tail. No electronic footprint we can trace.”
Which means they’re either very good — or very patient.
“Do they know who she is?” I ask.
A pause.
“They know what she’s worth.”
That’s worse.
I turn away from the glass wall, pulse steady, mind already building threat trees. This isn’t abou
