Lena's POV
Reeves arrived in eighteen minutes.
I heard the car in the rear lane, heard the garage door, heard his footsteps in the hallway and then his voice, low and direct, running through logistics with Damian in the way they communicated when something was active. Clipped sentences, no wasted words, the shorthand of two people who had worked together through enough difficult situations to have developed their own language for them.
I sat on the edge of the bed in the smaller bedroom and checked the bag I'd packed at the farmhouse.
Folder. Envelope. The two notes. My books — I'd left those, in the end. Too heavy. What mattered was the paper trail I'd accumulated, the evidence I'd been quietly building without fully articulating to myself that's what I was doing.
I'd been doing it f
