Zara sat in a cramped coffee shop that smelled of burnt espresso and stale pastries. The text from Caspian had arrived twenty minutes ago: Delayed. Family emergency. Proceed with caution.
Caution was a luxury. Time was not. Every minute they waited was another minute for Isolde’s network to close in on the one woman who could tear it all down. Zara looked at the address she had memorized, a low-income apartment building two blocks away. She would not wait for Caspian’s signal.
She finished her coffee, left a few bills on the table, and walked out into the cool evening air. She found a position in the shadows of a bus stop across the street, a perfect vantage point. Ten minutes later, a woman matching Maria Sanchez’s description emerged from the building, pulling on a nurse’s jacket. She looked tired, her shoulders slumped with the weight of a long day before her night shift had even begun.
Zara crossed the street, her steps measured, her expression carefully neutral. She intercepted Maria at the corner.
“Maria Sanchez?”
The woman flinched, her eyes wide with a familiar, hunted fear. “Who are you? I don’t know you.”
“My name is Zara,” she said, keeping her voice low and calm. She didn’t introduce herself as Lyra’s friend. That would be a threat. She introduced herself as an authority. “I’m a doctor at St. Jude’s. We’re conducting a quiet review of Dr. Finch’s patient files due to some procedural irregularities. Your name was listed as a primary caregiver for Isolde Finch.”
Panic flashed in Maria’s eyes. She shook her head, trying to push past. “I don’t know anything. I don’t work for her anymore. Please, leave me alone.”
Her fear was palpable, a testament to the threats Isolde must have made. Zara didn’t move to block her. She didn’t push. She simply held out her hand. In it was a small, disposable burner phone and a plain white card.
“I’m not here to cause you trouble, Maria. I’m here because I’m worried about you.” She used her doctor’s voice—the one that conveyed competence and empathy in equal measure. “You are a good nurse. You know when something is wrong. You know the difference between palliative care and… something else.”
Maria froze, her gaze fixed on the phone.
“This is a pre-paid, untraceable phone,” Zara continued softly. “My number is the only one in it. When you are ready to talk to someone who understands your professional liability and can guarantee your safety—and the safety of your family—you call me. That’s all.”
Maria’s hand trembled as she reached out and took the phone and the card. She didn’t look at Zara. She clutched the items to her chest like a prayer and hurried away into the darkening street, melting into the crowd heading for the subway.
Zara watched her go. She hadn’t secured a witness. Not yet.
But she had planted the seed. She pulled out her own phone and sent a one-word text to Caspian.
Contacted.
About the Author
