Rafael;

The elevator climbed toward the executive floor with mechanical precision while I stood rigid against the back wall, my jaw clenched so tight I could taste blood. The numbers flickered past. Twenty-six. Twenty-seven. Twenty-eight.

"You're going to give yourself an aneurysm if you keep grinding your teeth like that," Marcus said without looking up from his phone.

I didn't respond. Couldn't trust myself to speak without putting my fist through the polished steel doors.

She had run. Again.

The memory of watching Fiona disappear into that crowd made my chest burn with something that felt dangerously close to panic. One moment she was in the van where she belonged,...