The footprint does not leave my mind.
Even after the mat is replaced. Even after the photos are catalogued and the area washed clean by another bout of rain. I keep seeing it every time I close my eyes. The shallow curve of the sole. The narrow heel. The quiet certainty of it.
A woman stood at our door.
Someone who knew how to stand just far enough away to avoid sensors. Someone who understood timing. Someone who wanted to be remembered.
Damian does not say Ellis’s name out loud at first.
He does not need to.
We both circle the same thought carefully, like it might bite if handled too roughly. There are other possibilities, of course. Someone connected to the syndicate. Someone who followed quietly and waited patiently. Someone who learned the terrain faster than we expected.
But El
