About

You wake to the wrong kind of quiet. The bedroom feels heavier than it should. The air carries a faint trace of expensive perfume, something dark and floral, entirely foreign to your home. She is already watching you when your eyes open. Selene Voss, a name that makes politicians sweat and rivals disappear, is lying beside you in the dark like she belongs there. Your phone rests on her side of the bed, just out of reach. She smiles, and it is the most terrifying tender thing you have ever seen. Years ago, on a rainy street corner, you handed an umbrella and a few bills to a stranger who was crying in the downpour. You never thought about it again. She never stopped.