ACE
The screen in the conference room glowed a sterile white, casting long reflections across the polished table. Numbers, projections, quarterly breakdowns, things I usually tore apart with precision, blurred into a dull haze as the CFO droned on about projected losses in one division and gains in another.
I wasn’t listening.
I hadn’t been listening for a long time.
Three years.
Three years of hunting ghosts. Three years of chasing a face I’d never fully seen, a memory half-blurred by drugs and adrenaline and a tattoo burned into my mind with vicious clarity.
Three years of her.
And just when I’d been on the brink of giving up, of assuming she’d vanished into a crack of the world I’d never be able to reach, my phone vibrated.
Once.
Twice.
Then again, insistently.
I glanced down
