Lena's POV
"Catherine."
She stopped.
Turned slowly, the particular caution of someone who had been expecting to be followed but not by a voice they recognised. In the low light of the industrial estate she looked different from the gala. Less polished. The careful arrangement of herself — the elegant frames, the composed manner — was still there but something underneath it had shifted. She looked like a woman who had been holding a great deal together and was very tired of doing it.
She stared at me.
"You're—" she said.
"Lena," I said. "Yes."
She looked behind me. At the car I'd come from. Then up the street toward where Reeves was positioned, and I could see her calculating — how many people, where, what this meant.
"I'm not with Victor," I said quickly. "I'm with Damian. He's at
