The control room of The Ledger sat three floors beneath the Cavalli estate, behind a door that required my retina, my voice, and my left thumbprint to open. I had designed that door myself, the year before Dante and I married, when the only crown I wanted was the one I had coded.
It opened for me tonight the way it always had. That was the last thing it would do for me.
Dante was waiting inside, standing at the main console with his hands behind his back, the way he stood when he had decided something and wanted an audience. The crash had taken his memory two weeks ago. The car had left the coastal road, the papers said, and Dante Cavalli had woken up a stranger. He had not known my name. He had looked at me in the hospital room with polite, empty eyes and asked the nurse who I was.
Ton
