When the documentation desk asked Elena for her old records, the receipt was still clenched in her hand.
The form had two columns for names.
`Legal name.`
`Contributor name.`
Elena stared at them and felt herself split in two.
Elena Hayes was the former Cross Hotel temp worker whose locker had been emptied. She was Julian Cross's seven-day fiancee. She was the woman Logan said had sold a sketch and now wanted to regret the price.
E. Vale was the name she had built at night on an old laptop, cheap and hidden and without anyone behind it, but at least once, it had belonged only to her.
Now both names had to sit on the same piece of paper.
The form did not care which name had been hurt first. It offered two blank spaces with the same cold neatness. One space for the woman pushed out o
