Alexandra didn't sleep.
She sat at the kitchen table long after Andre had retreated to his room, the city dimmed to a distant pulse beyond reinforced glass. Her coffee had gone cold. She didn't drink it anyway.
The whisper at the gala replayed in her head—too familiar, too precise.
Still alive.
Not a threat.A confirmation.
She stood and moved through the penthouse, checking doors she already knew were secure. Old habits surfaced when her mind spiraled. Movement helped. Stillness invited memory.
At 3:04 a.m., her phone vibrated.
This time, she didn't hesitate.
A single message glowed on the screen.
You never were good at staying dead.
No number. No signature.
Her fingers tightened around the phone.
Andre's door opened quietly behind her.
"You're awake," he said.
"So are you," she replied without turning.
"I heard you moving." A pause. "Is it happening again?"
She considered lying.
Didn't.
"Yes."
She handed him the phone.
Andre read the message once, then again. His jaw tightened—not in fear, but recognition. "This isn't random harassment."
"No."
"Someone who knows you."
"Yes."
He looked at her then, really looked. "Do I need to worry about who you were?"
Alexandra finally faced him. The city lights carved her face into sharp lines, shadows hiding more than they revealed.
"You already are," she said.
Andre nodded slowly. "Then tell me what you can."
She exhaled, long and controlled. "There was a time when disappearing wasn't a choice. It was survival."
"Assassin?" he asked quietly.
She didn't flinch. "Once."
"How many?"
"That's not a number you ask if you want me functional."
Another nod. "Fair."
She walked past him, pacing now, tension coiled tight beneath her skin. "I walked away. People didn't like that."
"People," Andre repeated. "Plural."
"Yes."
He hesitated. "And the voice at the gala?"
Alexandra stopped.
"A man named Luca," she said. "He used to clean up messes."
Andre's brow furrowed. "For who?"
"For an empire that doesn't officially exist anymore."
The words tasted bitter.
Andre absorbed that. "And you think he's involved in what's happening now."
"I know he is."
Silence settled, heavy but honest.
"You should leave," Alexandra said suddenly.
Andre blinked. "What?"
"Get out of the city. Go dark. Let me draw them away from you."
"And what happens to you?"
She shrugged. "I've survived worse."
Andre stepped closer. "You're not expendable."
Something in his voice—firm, certain—caught her off guard.
"You don't get attached," she warned.
"Neither do you," he replied. "Yet here we are."
The phone vibrated again.
Another message.
He doesn't know what you are.
Andre watched her face change as she read it.
"What does that mean?" he asked.
Alexandra swallowed.
"It means," she said slowly, "they're testing how much I care."
Andre's gaze sharpened. "About me."
"Yes."
A dangerous quiet followed.
Andre broke it first. "Then we stop reacting."
She met his eyes. "You want to hunt the hunters."
"I want answers," he said. "And I don't think you're the only target."
Alexandra studied him—this man who should've been a liability, who was quickly becoming something worse.
An anchor.
"Fine," she said at last. "But understand this."
"What?"
"When ghosts rise," she said, voice low, "they don't come alone."
Outside, somewhere deep in the city, Luca watched lights flicker on in a penthouse he'd been waiting for.
Alexandra was awake.
Good.
The dead were never fun until they fought back.