"It wasn't anything special."
Jack Brooks extricated his arm from her grasp, his movements deliberate and calm. He adjusted his cuff, his expression indifferent, before abruptly shifting the trajectory of the conversation, cutting through the playful atmosphere like a knife.
"Have you ever heard of a woman named Claire Lynch?"
The question hung in the air, a stark, jarring contrast to the opulent surroundings of The Peninsula’s main dining hall. Crystal chandeliers cast a warm, golden glow over tables laden with fine porcelain and silver cutlery. The air was thick with the scent of roasted truffle, expensive cologne, and the hushed, polite murmur of Northriver’s elite making deals. But for Jack Brooks, the name Claire Lynch triggered a cascade of dark, visceral memories that transported
