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Alexander Blackwood.

The same unexpected pull returned low in my stomach.

This time, it wasn’t a signature. It was an invitation.

Chapter 3

Emilia

Our official celebration occurred four days later. Priya had chosen a wine bar in the West Village and reserved a private corner for six of us. Looking around at everyone, I wondered how four days had managed to change the shape of my life.

I had to admit my work-life balance had grown unhealthy over the last eight years. It was a downward spiral: each breakthrough led to another question, and every question demanded more of me. Priya and I had worked nearly identical schedules, but her philosophy was that celebration was part of the job rather than a distraction. And I was thankful for her outlook. Left to my own devices, I would have been preparing for whatever came next.

We had not been here long, but Mateo had already proposed three separate toasts. The first had been dedicated to Project Aurora. The second had celebrated scientific progress. The third was to the future. By the time he stood up to propose the fourth, the team had concluded that Mateo was inventing reasons to continue drinking. He pushed a lock of brown hair back from his forehead, his light eyes bright with amusement, and raised his glass.

“To scientific progress,” Mateo announced.

Priya didn’t look up from her wine. “That was the second toast.”

“No, the second toast was to the future,” he said.

She lifted an eyebrow. “That was the third toast.”

“The third toast was to twenty-five million dollars,” he said.

Priya laughed. “You haven’t proposed that toast yet.”

“Well, that settles it then. To twenty-five million dollars,” he said as he raised his glass.

I still could not wrap my head around that figure. The financial award was more money than I had ever imagined having at my disposal for Project Aurora. Just a few days ago, I had been studying a spreadsheet to decide which supplies we could afford to postpone.

I took a sip of wine and continued listening to the conversations around the table. Priya was explaining the equipment relocation schedule to two postdoctoral researchers, proudly noting that she had developed the plan using three different spreadsheets.

“What about the imaging equipment?” one of the researchers asked.

Priya grinned. “We don’t need to move ours. Have you seen what Blackwood has? They have an ambr 250.”

Mateo raised an eyebrow. “How do you know? Have you toured the labs?”

“I did my research,” Priya said. “Thoroughly.”

“You are frighteningly prepared for this,” I said, smiling at Priya.

“The residential suites have heated bathroom floors and ridiculously deep bathtubs.”

I stared at her. “You researched the bathrooms?”

“Like I said, I was thorough,” she said with a smile.

Mateo leaned forward. “I don’t care about the equipment.”

No one looked surprised.

Priya swept her thick dark hair over one shoulder and looked at him over the rim of her glass, one perfectly shaped brow lifting. “You care about the ghost.”

“I absolutely care about the ghost.”

One of the other researchers shook her head. “There is no ghost.”