Amelia didn’t sleep that night.
The rain pelted the windows like a steady drumbeat, mirroring the chaos inside her head. Every word Maya had said replayed over and over. The woman who had come to the apartment. The way she had known Amelia’s name. The subtle warning in her voice. And Ethan’s cryptic remark: There are things about me I haven’t told you yet.
It wasn’t just a warning anymore. It was a challenge.
By the first pale streaks of dawn, Amelia had moved from the couch to the floor, laptop open, notes scribbled across the page, and her phone buzzing with unanswered messages. She wasn’t planning on calling anyone just yet. This was something she had to think through herself.
Every piece of information she could remember about Ethan—the way he carried himself, the resources he had,
