The door swings open before I can unlock it. Orion stands there, his broad frame filling the doorway, his expression grim. He steps aside to let me in, and I immediately spot the others—Theo, Morgan, and The Great Wall of FBI, aka Special Agent Lucian Stirling, who is standing near my bookshelf, arms crossed like a human skyscraper with a badge. Celeste somehow found out the broody agent’s full name.

I unclip Valkyrie’s leash, and she bolts past Orion, making a beeline for her usual spot on the couch. I shrug off my coat and hang it by the door, exhaling sharply. “It wasn’t what I wanted to happen when I left the house, but I guess I knew there was a risk of running into her.” I rub my arms, still feeling the ghost of her touch. “She hugged me like we were best friends and invited me to some little anniversary gathering at Gabriel’s grave tomorrow.”

Theo, who’s leaning against the arm of the couch, stiffens at that. His hands curl into fists at his sides, jaw locking.

Orion’s jaw tightens. “She’s not wasting any time, is she?”

“She’s good,” I say, sinking into the chair nearest the door. “Too good. If I didn’t know what I know now, I’d believe her. She talked about Gabriel like he was the love of her life. Told me this sweet story about one of their anniversaries, how he rented out some rooftop for dinner under the stars.” I laugh bitterly. “I almost believed her for a second. Almost.”

“She’s a pro,” Orion says, crossing his arms. “She’s had years to perfect her act. That’s what makes her dangerous.”

At the dining table, Morgan is bent over a map of the cemetery, making adjustments to a few marked spots. Meanwhile, Agent Stirling—who has no need for furniture—remains standing, watching the discussion with his usual unreadable expression.

“She said she also wanted to celebrate with Teddy and Morgan,” I say, the name nearly catching in my throat. “Like this is some heartfelt anniversary.”

Theo exhales sharply, running a hand through his hair. He’s quiet, but I know what’s running through his head—how she manipulated him, how she looked him in the eyes for years and pretended to care about him.

“She’s trying to isolate them,” Orion mutters. “Make them feel like this is some sentimental moment, not a setup.”

“She’s still playing the role of the grieving widow,” I say, looking at the map Morgan is marking up. “And she expects them to play along.”

“We’ve got teams covering every angle—entry points, exits, surveillance. We’ll let her get comfortable, and then we’ll move in.”

I nod, but the weight in my chest doesn’t ease. “What if she doesn’t slip up? What if she’s as careful tomorrow as she’s always been?”