The USB drive felt like a shard of ice in my pocket, a cold, dense secret that burned against my thigh. I walked back to the hotel through the twilight streets of Geneva, the city's elegant façade now a backdrop to the gritty, dangerous game I was playing. The woman's words echoed in my mind, a seductive, poisonous whisper. He took something from me. Something I can never get back. It was the same story, the same wound that festered in everyone Charles touched. We were all just walking ghosts, haunted by the man who had taken a piece of our souls.
I entered the hotel lobby, its fancy hush a stark contrast to the storm raging inside me. The elevator ride to the suite was a silent, claustrophobic ascent. When the doors opened, I was met with the scent of expensive flowers and the faint, sweet smell of chocolate from room service.
