Behind the fogging window, Mya finally took a sip of her cold tea. She touched her silver locket. Inside was a tiny photograph—Abby, younger, laughing, her arm around a woman whose face had been scratched out.
“Memories.” Mya’s smile faded. “Specific ones. Wiped from the minds of three diplomats two years ago. A neural archive. They’re going to auction them to the highest bidder. The truth about the Baltic ceasefire. The real reason the envoy from Khazad vanished. Your last mission, the one in Prague that went sideways? That wasn't a leak, Abby. That was a test run.” abby winters mya
Now, this. A face-to-face in a place with too many windows and only one exit. Behind the fogging window, Mya finally took a
Abby’s blood chilled. Her handler, a man named Sterling with a face like a cracked leather wallet, had been adamant. Black market antiques. Destabilizing regional powers. Intercept or destroy. “Then what is it?” “Memories
“Then we’ll die together,” Mya finished, her sea-storm eyes unblinking. “Which is more honest than most partnerships, don’t you think?”
“Midnight,” Abby said, her voice steady despite the tremor in her hands. She stepped out into the clean, wet night, the scent of rain and cedar following her like a promise or a threat.
“I’m the one who wiped them,” Mya said softly. “I was the asset. Before I burned my own handler. I’ve been running from them ever since.” She tapped the napkin. “The location is the old Ferris wheel on the pier. Midnight. They think the height provides a clean signal. And I’m giving you the access codes because I can’t stop them alone.”