PART 15:

She wondered what it would be like to have an ordinary life, to worry about oil changes instead of assassins, to make lists of good things instead of quarterly projections, to hold someone’s hand and feel safe instead of powerful. She wondered if it was too late to learn. Her phone buzzed again, a news alert about Montgomery Industries stock price, something about market fluctuations and investor confidence.

Claire dismissed it without reading. For the first time in 15 years, she didn’t care. She opened her notes app instead and stared at her list. Two things. Two good things in a life that should have had hundreds. By the time the Uber dropped her off at her building, Claire had made a decision. She didn’t know who was trying to kill her or why, didn’t know if Nate could help her solve it, didn’t know if she could become the kind of person who deserved to be saved, but she was going to try.

Because somewhere in Seattle, a little girl with a broken heart was coloring pictures and checking exits and believing that good people could win, and Claire Montgomery was tired of being the villain in her own story. She rode the elevator up to her penthouse, unlocked her door, and walked straight to her desk where the old spark plug still sat, worthless metal that Nate had given her as a reminder.

Fuel, air, spark, the basic elements of combustion. Claire picked up the spark plug and held it in her palm, feeling its weight, its potential. Then she set it down next to her laptop and got to work. If someone wanted her dead, they’d left traces. They had to have. Digital footprints, paper trails, patterns in the chaos.

She just had to find them. And Claire Montgomery had spent 15 years learning how to find what others tried to hide. Time to put those skills to better use. She worked through the night, cross-referencing employee records with security logs, looking for anomalies in her schedule that someone might have exploited, tracking down the maintenance company’s hiring records and insurance claims.

She didn’t find answers, but she found questions, the right kind of questions, the kind that led somewhere. Who had accessed her parking garage the day before the fire? Why had the maintenance company switched to a new employee 3 weeks ago without notification? Where did that new employee come from, and who recommended them? The questions piled up like kindling, waiting for a spark.

And somewhere in the dark city, someone else was awake, too, watching, waiting, planning their next move. Because the first attempt had failed, but failure was just information. Next time, they’d succeed. They had to. Too much was riding on Claire Montgomery’s death for them to stop now. The call came at 2:17 in the morning.

Claire was still awake, still staring at spreadsheets and security logs that refused to tell her their secrets, when her phone lit up with Nate’s number. Her heart jumped before she could stop it. Late-night meant emergencies, meant something wrong, meant the kind of news that changed everything. “What happened?” She answered without greeting.

“I need you to come to the shop.” Nate’s voice was tight, controlled in the way people got when they were forcing themselves not to panic. “Right now.” “Is Stella “Stella’s fine. She’s with my neighbor. But Claire, someone broke into the shop tonight. They were looking for something specific.” The way he said it made her blood freeze.

“My car?” “Your car.” He confirmed. “They didn’t steal anything, didn’t vandalize anything else. Just went straight for the Valkyrie. And Claire He paused, and she heard something in the background that sounded like police radios. “They knew exactly what they were looking for. This wasn’t random.” Claire was already moving, grabbing her coat, her keys, her phone charger.

“I’m coming. Don’t touch anything until I get there.” “Already gave that speech to the cops. They’re not happy about it, but they’re waiting.” “20 minutes.” Claire said, and ran for the elevator. She made it in 15, breaking every traffic law Seattle had, and not caring. The shop was lit up like a stage set.

Police cars with their lights painting the walls red and blue, crime scene tape across the entrance, uniformed officers taking statements. Claire parked illegally and walked straight through the perimeter like she owned it, which in essence she did. Money bought you the ability to ignore barriers that stopped other people. Nate was standing near the open bay door talking to a detective who looked tired and underpaid.

When he saw Claire, something in his face relaxed fractionally. “Ms. Montgomery.” The detective said, flipping open a notebook. “I’m Detective Sarah Chen. I understand this is your vehicle that was targeted?” “It is.” Claire looked past her into the bay, where her Valkyrie sat under harsh fluorescent lights surrounded by evidence markers.

From here, it looked undamaged. “What did they do?” “That’s what we’re trying to determine. Mr. Rhodes here seems to think you can help us understand what they were after.” “Can I see it?” Detective Chen hesitated, then nodded. “Don’t touch anything, and stay behind the tape.” Claire walked into the bay with Nate beside her, and immediately saw what he’d meant.

The car itself looked fine. No broken windows, no visible damage. But the area around it was chaos. Tools scattered across the floor, diagnostic equipment pulled away from the walls. The laptop Nate had been using was on the ground, its screen cracked. “They came in through the back door.” Nate said quietly.

“Cut the lock. Ignored seven other cars, including a Porsche and a Ferrari, and went straight for yours. They pulled up the diagnostic logs, accessed the computer system, and tried to download something from the vehicle’s memory.” “Tried?” “I installed a secondary security protocol after I found the spyware. Anyone trying to access the system without the right credentials gets locked out after three attempts.

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