It had been a week since Meridian Agency.
Seven goddamn days since I'd walked out of Catherine Reynolds' office with thirty-three thousand SP sitting pretty in my account and the taste of Madison's aunt still ghosting my lips. A week since that basement meeting with Charlotte and ARIA where we'd mapped out the kind of tech that'd probably rewrite human history—or burn it down. Depends on who you ask.
And holy hell, what a week.
Now I was sitting across from Madison at a corner table in what was officially my Michelin two-star restaurant.
