The message was delivered at 02:13 a.m.
It did not go through encrypted Blackwood channels or Lucia's private network. It appeared on a device that had not been used in seven years, a device that should have been obsolete and buried beneath layers of forgotten identities.
Lucia stared at the old phone in her hand.
She had kept it for one reason only.
Closure.
She had never powered it on again after the night she disappeared. Never allowed herself to reopen the life it was tied to. But now it was awake again, its screen glowing with a quiet, deliberate cruelty.
You came into my house.
Now I'm coming into yours.
No signature.
None needed.
Vivienne Laurent had never needed theatrics. She preferred precision. The message was not a threat made in anger. It was a statement of intent.
Lucia powered the phone down and placed it on the table.
