Maeve’s POV
The backstage executive suite was quiet oak, polished brass, and cold stone, a sealed bubble cut off from the muffled roar of classical music and fake high-society laughter in the foyer.
I locked the double doors behind us. The heavy deadbolt slid home with a solid click. Only then did the iron band around my ribs loosen enough for me to breathe properly.
Gawain didn’t waste a second. He crossed straight to the desk, pulled his custom high-encryption laptop from his briefcase, and opened it. His fingers flew across the keys, launching a secure diagnostic interface that lit his face in cold blue light.
“Hand me the burner,” he said, his voice clipped and razor-focused.
I pulled the cracked black phone from my blazer pocket and set it on the desk. “Can you crack the secondar
