Ava’s world shatters in an instant when Sidwell leans back in his chair with that sickening, smug half-smile and casually drops the one name she thought she had buried so deep in the past that even she could barely say it aloud anymore, because in that moment the floor seems to tilt beneath her, her breath catches in her chest, and every instinct screams at her to run, to hide, to deny everything, but Sidwell’s voice—smooth, cold, serpentine—wraps around her like a noose as he says, “You’ve been ignoring my calls because of him, haven’t you?” and Ava feels every muscle in her body lock into place as a memory she has spent years erasing tears itself open again, a memory drenched in regret, fear, and consequences she swore would never find her, yet here he is, saying the name she thought had been wiped from every file, every record, every whispered conversation, and the moment the syllables leave his lips Ava realizes that nothing is erased, nothing is forgotten, nothing is forgiven, and Sidwell has known all along, watching her scramble, lie, and dodge, waiting for the perfect moment to remind her that the past she tried to bury didn’t die—it just went quiet, and now it wants blood, but Ava keeps her expression frozen, refusing to give him the satisfaction of seeing her break, though inside her heart is pounding so violently she worries he can hear it through the thick tension filling the office, because if Sidwell knows the truth, then he knows everything she did to cover it up, everything she sacrificed, everything she betrayed, and the secret deal she made all those years ago, the one that cost her her innocence and nearly cost her her life, is now a weapon in his hands, sharpened and ready to strike, and Sidwell leans forward, enjoying every second of her unraveling as he murmurs, “You really thought you could outrun the past, Ava? You really believed he wasn’t coming back for what you took from him?” and Ava’s mind floods with images she has tried to drown—flashes of a dim warehouse, a man collapsing to the floor, her trembling hands stained with choices she couldn’t undo, the whispered promise that she would disappear if she helped clean up the aftermath, but instead of disappearing she rebuilt herself, created a new identity, a new life, a new world where no one knew what she had done or who she had crossed, but now the past is pounding on her door with Sidwell holding the handle, grinning like a puppeteer pulling tight on the strings she thought she had cut, and Ava feels the terrible truth settle like ice in her stomach: the man whose name Sidwell just spoke—the man she thought was dead, erased, lost to the shadows—is alive, aware, and coming for her, because no one survives a betrayal like that without wanting retribution, and Sidwell, malicious and delighted, seems ready to feed her to the wolves to save himself, but Ava refuses to crumble, even as her knees threaten to buckle, and she straightens her spine, lifting her chin with a calm she does not feel, saying, “You don’t know anything,” but Sidwell laughs softly, shaking his head, amused at her defiance, because he knows she’s lying and she knows he knows, and the walls seem to close in as he continues, “He wants answers, Ava. He wants revenge. And he wants you,” and that’s when Ava’s mask nearly cracks, because the idea of that man finding her, after everything that happened, after everything she hid, is a nightmare she swore she would never face again, yet Sidwell’s words make it clear that running is no longer an option, because he has already reopened the door she slammed shut, already whispered her name into the wrong ear, already set into motion the return of a ghost she cannot defeat alone, and the chilling truth hits her: the past isn’t just returning—it’s hunting, and Sidwell is holding the leash, pushing her into a corner where every move she makes could ignite a war she cannot win, and Ava’s mind begins racing through every possible escape, every person she can turn to, every lie she can reshape, but the list is terrifyingly short because she built her life on secrecy, isolation, and reinvention, and now the foundation beneath that carefully crafted world is cracking, piece by piece, under the weight of a name she thought she’d never hear again, and Sidwell leans back, satisfied with the fear he has stirred, and says, “You should answer your phone next time, Ava. He’s not a man who likes to be ignored,” and as he walks away, leaving her trembling in the silence, Ava realizes she has only two choices: confront the monster she helped create or be swallowed by the storm he is bringing with him, and deep down, beneath the panic, beneath the dread, there is something else rising inside her—something fierce, dangerous, and long suppressed—because Ava may have spent years running from her past, but if this man is coming to collect the debt she owes, she will not go quietly, and she will not go unarmed, because the past may want retribution, but Ava intends to survive it, even if it means unleashing the version of herself she hoped she had buried forever.