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They wanted me to know they could reach me. My personal number was known only to a limited group of people, and anyone capable of finding it could probably find the replacement just as easily. Changing my number because of a few silent calls would also tell whoever was behind them that they’d already succeeded in getting under my skin.

I refused to give them that satisfaction. By the fifth call, Trevor had stopped pretending not to notice. We were leaving a meeting when my phone rang again. I answered while we walked toward the elevator.

“Ronan.”

There was no response, but this time I heard something in the background that sounded like traffic before the caller disconnected. Trevor looked at me as the elevator doors opened.

“Still think it’s nothing?”

“I think someone wants me to think about it. Don’t trace it. And before you ask why, it’s because I want to know what they do next.” We stepped into the elevator, and Trevor folded his arms across his chest.

The sixth call came two nights later while I was at home. My phone vibrated against the kitchen counter when the number appeared on the screen.

I watched it ring for a moment before answering. The caller remained silent. I could hear faint static and what sounded like movement somewhere in the background, but there was nothing distinctive enough for me to identify the location. The line disconnected. I lowered the phone and stood there for several seconds, trying to understand why that particular call bothered me more than the others.

Until then, I’d treated the interruptions as an annoyance. Now I was beginning to suspect they were connected to something larger.

I’d learned a long time ago that quiet didn’t necessarily mean peace. Sometimes it simply meant that whatever was happening hadn’t become visible yet. I looked down at the phone in my hand before placing it on the counter. Whoever was calling would probably call again. When they did, I intended to find out why.

After a few days of the usual syndicate demands, I decided I needed to escape for a few hours. I couldn’t face another meeting filled with men judging every single thing I did.

I wanted something normal. I wanted a place I could sit for a while and simply cease to think about work. And so I found myself at Nora’s Café. I’d seen the restaurant at least five times before now, but had never found an excuse to eat there.

The café was alive, but not to the point of being overwhelming. Conversation buzzed, plates clattered, and dishes moved swiftly between tables with a casual, almost innate rhythm.

I picked a table in the back corner and ordered from the menu. No one paid me much mind, not that I was expecting anyone to. When the food came, I expected it to be ordinary, but as soon as it hit my tongue, I knew it wasn’t.

Though simple, every element had been perfectly executed. The flavor was balanced, the ingredients were fresh, and a sense of genuine thoughtfulness had clearly been invested in its preparation. I finished the meal and looked in the direction of the kitchen.

It wasn’t my intention to ask about the chef, but after a few minutes of wondering what made the dish so special, I asked for the server to have the chef visit my table.

A few minutes later, a woman appeared at my table. She wore a warm smile and a comfortable confidence.

“You wanted to see me?”

“Yes.” I nodded toward the empty plate. “I wanted to compliment the chef. The food was excellent.”

Her smile widened. “Well, that’s good to hear. I’ll tell her.”

“You’re not the chef?”

She laughed. “No. I own the place. I leave the complicated stuff to people who know what they’re doing. Sofia made this. She’ll probably pretend she doesn’t care about the compliment, but she’ll be pleased. She’d love to come by herself, but she might be busy.”

“I don’t mind waiting.”

“That’s a first. Most people want everything immediately.” She looked toward the kitchen again before turning back to me. “I’ll get her, then. By the way, I’m Nora.”

“Ronnie.” I gave that name when I wanted to hide in plain sight. She gave me a brief, assessing look, then smiled.

“Nice to meet you, Ronnie.” She disappeared through the kitchen doors, and I sat back and waited. A moment later, I heard Nora calling someone. There was a muffled response from somewhere inside the kitchen.

Another voice answered, sounding distracted. “What did I do?”

Nora laughed. “You didn’t do anything. Someone wants to compliment your food.”

There was a pause, and then footsteps approached. I looked toward the kitchen door. It opened, and Sofia stepped out. I didn’t expect her to be that young and beautiful. Her black hair was pulled tightly back, keeping every strand away from her face, and a faint smear of something dark marked one wrist. She glanced toward Nora first, then me.

“You wanted to see me?”