REBECCA’S POV
I did not call Marcus from the house.
I drove to a coffee shop in a part of the city I had no reason to be in, a place I had walked past exactly once, months ago, on a day I could not now recall the purpose of. I chose it because nothing about my life connected to it. No pattern I had already established would predict me here, and if someone had been building a file on my movements for six weeks, then the only safe rooms left to me were the ones that did not yet exist inside that file.
Marcus was already at a corner table when I arrived, a cup of black coffee in front of him he had not touched, his expression giving away exactly nothing, which was the specific quality I had come to value most in him.
I sat down. I did not order anything.
“Olivia told you,” he said. Not
