But right now, it’s a beautiful maze keeping me from what I came here for.

I drag in a slow breath, tapping my fingers against my knee as the taxi pulls up to Soul Sync’s office. I step out, staring up at the building, my pulse hammering in my ears. Months have passed, but standing here now, it feels like no time at all—like I’m right back where I was when she walked away.

My chest tightens at the thought of seeing her again, the weight of everything left unsaid pressing down on me. Part of me wonders if she’ll let me get a word in. Or will she turn and walk away the second she lays eyes on me.

Maybe she should. I’m fucked up in the head, even more so since I lost her.

But another part of me—one that’s louder, more desperate—clings to the hope that I might get something out of this.

A moment.

A conversation.

A chance to make sense of what happened.

I roll my shoulders, forcing down the nerves clawing at my throat. I can’t turn back now. Whatever happens, I’ll face it.

I step inside Soul Sync, the cool blast of air-conditioning hitting me like a welcome reprieve from the thick Charleston heat. The lobby is sleek and modern, similar to the one in Sydney. For a moment, it feels like I’ve stepped back in time.

Before I can take another step, a bright, cheerful voice calls out from behind the reception desk.

“Well, look who it is—Julius Caesar.”

I turn toward the voice, and there she is—the same client specialist rep from Sydney. “What a surprise seeing you here.”

My pulse kicks up, but I force a polite nod. “Yeah. Thought I’d drop in.”

She tilts her head, eyes sharp and curious. “I take it you’re here to see Magnolia?”

She knows about Magnolia and me.

This is bad.

My stomach flips. “Can I see her?”

Her smile slips, and it’s enough to tell me something’s off. I’m not going to like what’s coming.

The warmth in her eyes dims. “I’m sorry, but that’s not possible.”

She pauses, glancing around the lobby, before lowering her voice. “Magnolia doesn’t work here anymore.”

My heart sinks, heavy and certain—this is worse than I imagined. “Since when?”

“A few months ago.”

Right around the time she cut me off.

I stare at the client specialist rep, searching her expression for some kind of explanation, but she’s all polished professionalism now, her service smile back in place.

“Why?” The sound of it is all wrong—too raw, too exposed—but I can’t pull it back now.

A flash of sympathy crosses her face. “I’m not at liberty to discuss that. But I believe you already know the answer.”