The rain finally came just after midnight.

It didn’t announce itself with thunder or drama. It arrived quietly, soaking the city in a steady, relentless fall that blurred lights and softened edges, turning New York into a reflection of itself.

Amara stood at the window of her hotel room, watching it happen.

She hadn’t changed out of her clothes. Her heels lay discarded near the door, her coat draped over a chair like a forgotten afterthought. The city stretched beneath her, indifferent and alive, unaware that something inside her had shifted irrevocably.

She replayed the day in fragments.

The man in the office. The folder she hadn’t opened again. Lana’s...