The call was placed from a phone that wasn’t registered to her name, in a hotel room paid in cash, under a reservation that didn’t exist on any public system. Maya had learned long ago that survival wasn’t about power—it was about distance. Distance from trails. Distance from blame. Distance from truth.

She sat by the window, city lights reflected in the glass like a second, darker skyline. Her fingers were steady as she dialed, though her pulse wasn’t. She waited through one ring. Two.

On the third, the line connected.

“Who is this?” a man’s voice asked. Low. Controlled. A voice that carried history like a scar beneath tailored...