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Her grip tightens around mine before she looks at the monitor again.

Spencer remains frozen beside the fountain, one hand near his phone and the bouquet tucked against his side, waiting for a woman who never told him where she’d be.

“I hate that we’re even having this conversation,” she says.

“So do I.”

She reaches for the remote and switches off the monitor herself, removing Spencer’s face from the screen.

“I can live with tighter building security,” she says. “For now.”

“And everything else?”

“You ask me.”

“I will.”

Emma holds my gaze for another moment before nodding, and I gather the exterior camera logs from the table instead of reaching for the list of instructions I wrote this morning.

Security can keep looking for Spencer, but the next decision involving Emma will begin with a conversation with her.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

Emma

JUNE 28TH

Reporters call my name as I cross the sidewalk, but the elevator doors close before anyone reaches me, leaving their questions behind just as my phone vibrates with another headline about Bane and me.

The notification disappears, taking Spencer’s face with it.

Security spent the last week reviewing footage from Wolf Shield and the surrounding streets without finding him hanging around the building before the day he confronted me.

They haven’t found a repeated vehicle or another person following my route either, which leaves us without proof that anyone was watching me and without an explanation Bane trusts enough to call the timing coincidence.

I understand why. Spencer knew how I organized my life for years, and my workdays have never been particularly difficult to predict once somebody pays enough attention. He could’ve learned when I usually left Wolf Shield without getting anywhere near my calendar.

The uncertainty still follows me whenever I walk outside and catch somebody standing too long near the entrance, but I refuse to spend another morning rearranging my life around what Spencer might do next.

I open Mara’s message as the elevator begins to rise.

Mara: Don’t forget the hair donuts. Benny bought the wrong size.

By the time the elevator reaches the penthouse, I’m thinking about ballet instead of Spencer.

The front door opens before I can unlock it, and Babs throws herself against me and Biddy stretches to see the shopping bag hanging from my shoulder. “You got them?”

“I did.”

I hand Biddy the bag, and she checks inside before smiling up at Mara, who sits at the dining table packing dance bags with military precision.

“I told your father Emma would fix it,” Mara says.

Bane walks out of the hallway carrying a hairbrush, a handful of clips, with his tablet tucked beneath one arm. His jacket is gone, and his tie hangs loose around his collar, making him look more prepared for another board meeting than to take two little girls to ballet class.

“The website made them look smaller,” he says as he eyes the new hair donuts.

“It made them look like bagels,” Mara replies.