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"Get out."
I know she's saying it because her mouth shapes the words and her hand's already moving toward the drawer where she kept the gun last time.
No sound. Nothing.
I try to yell wait but I can't hear my own voice and Sienna's face goes hard in a way that tells me whatever came out sounded wrong. Desperate or crazy or both.
She's got the gun out. Barrel up.
"I said get out. I don't know what you want but you've got three seconds."
I see her mouth move. I know the cadence. Three seconds.
I lunge.
Not at her. At the pen on her desk. My hand closes around it and I slam it down on the notepad, dragging it hard. The letters come out jagged.
SHOOTER. WINDOW. 9:47.
Sienna stares at the pad. Then at me. The gun doesn't waver.
"What the hell is this?"
I can't hear the question but I see it. I tap my ear. Shake my head. Then point at my eyes and then at her.
She frowns. Her lips move again. Slower this time.
"You can't hear me?"
I nod. Fast.
She looks at the notepad again. I watch her eyes track the letters. SHOOTER. WINDOW. 9:47.
Then she looks up and I see the calculation happening behind those cold golden eyes. She thinks I'm insane or running some kind of con. I would too.
But she doesn't shoot.
"Prove it," she says. I read her lips. "Prove there's a shooter."
I grab the pen again. Write fast.
BLACK VAN. ACROSS STREET. SNIPER RIFLE. YOU DIE 9:47.
Her mouth twists. Not quite a smile. More like she's tasting something bitter.
"And you know this how? You see the future? Read my horoscope?"
I don't answer. I write.
YOU TOLD ME MIA'S NAME. THEN YOU DIED.
That lands differently. She goes still. Absolutely still. The gun stays pointed at me but her finger's off the trigger now.
"I never told you any name."
I know. That's the problem. I tap the pad.
NOT YET. YOU WILL. 9:46. ONE MINUTE BEFORE.
She's staring at me now and I can see her working through it. Trying to decide if I'm crazy, if this is some elaborate intimidation play, if I actually know something I shouldn't.
I check the countdown over her head. Seven hours eighteen minutes.
She takes a step closer. The gun comes down slightly but she's not putting it away.
"Who sent you?"
I shake my head. Write.
NO ONE. I NEED MIA.
Her expression changes. Just a flicker. But it's there. Recognition or fear or both.
"I don't know anyone named Mia."
Liar. I can see it in the way her shoulders tighten. The way her jaw sets.
I write again. Harder this time. The pen nearly tears the paper.
YOU KNOW. YOU SAID HER NAME. LAST TIME.
Sienna looks at the notepad for a long moment. Then she sets the gun on the desk. Not away. Just down. She crosses her arms.
"Let's say I believe you. Let's say there's a sniper across the street who's going to shoot me in—" She glances at the sleek chrome clock on her desk. "—six hours and fifty-one minutes. What exactly do you expect me to do about it?"
I point at the window. Then make a slashing motion across my throat. Then point down.
She reads me. I can tell. She's smart and she's survived this long in whatever business keeps a woman like her in a penthouse with that kind of security.
"You want me to stay away from the windows."
I nod.
"For six hours."
Another nod.
Her mouth curves. It's not warm.
"And I'm supposed to just trust you. A woman who broke into my home, can't hear, and claims she's living the same day twice."
I grab the pen. My hand's shaking now. I don't know if it's adrenaline or fear or the weird untethered feeling of not hearing anything. Not even my own breathing.
I write: CHECK THE VAN. SEND SOMEONE.
She considers. Then she pulls out her phone. Her thumbs move fast. She's texting someone.
We wait.
I watch her face. She's not looking at me. She's looking at her phone. Waiting for the reply. Her finger taps against the desk. Slow. Rhythmic. I can't hear it but I can see it.
The phone lights up. She reads. Her face doesn't change but something in her posture does. She looks up at me.
"There's a black van. Tinted windows. It wasn't there an hour ago."
I breathe out. She saw it.
She picks up the gun again. But this time she's not pointing it at me. She's checking the magazine. Smooth. Practiced.
"So. Either you're telling the truth, or you're working with whoever's in that van and this is the setup." She slides the magazine back in with a click I can't hear but can feel in my chest. "Which is it?"
I don't write this time. I just look at her. I let her see whatever's in my face. Desperation. Exhaustion. The truth.
She holds my gaze for three seconds. Then she moves.
Fast.
She grabs my wrist and pulls me away from the desk, toward the interior wall. Away from the windows. Her grip is hard. Strong. I stumble and she doesn't let go.
She pushes me against the wall. Not rough. Efficient. Then she's next to me, shoulder to shoulder, both of us flat against the dark grey paint.
Her mouth moves. I catch some of it.
"If you're lying—"
I shake my head. Hard.
She watches me. We're close now. Close enough that I can see the faint scar along her jawline. Close enough to feel the heat coming off her. She smells like something sharp and clean. Vetiver maybe. Or steel.
Her eyes are the color of old gold. Cold gold. The kind that's been locked in a vault.
"You said I told you a name," she says. I'm reading her lips. They're precise. Controlled. "You said Mia."
I nod.
"When?"
I don't have the pad. I mouth the words. Try to make her understand. Before you died.
She goes still again. Then she leans in. Just an inch. Just enough that I can feel her breath on my cheek even if I can't hear her voice.
"Who is Mia to you?"
I mouth it. My sister.
Something flickers across her face. Too fast to name. Then it's gone.
"I can't help you."
I grab her arm. She tenses but doesn't pull away. I shake my head. I mouth, You will.
"Why would I?"
Because you told me. Because you're dying today and you know it.
I can see her reading me. Trying to parse meaning from the shape of my lips and the look in my eyes.
Then the window explodes.
No sound. I don't hear the glass shatter or the impact or anything. But I see it. I see the hole punch through the reinforced pane and I see the trajectory and I know exactly where it's going.
I move.
I shove Sienna hard. She goes down and I'm already turning, already stepping into the line. The second shot hits me in the shoulder and it's like being kicked by something with hooves. I go back into the wall and my legs don't hold.
I'm on the floor. Sienna's scrambling up. Her mouth is open. She's yelling something. Maybe my name. Maybe a curse. I don't know.
Blood on my hand. Hot. Wet. Spreading fast.
Sienna's pulling me. Dragging me further from the window. Her hands are on me. Checking the wound. Her face is close to mine and she's saying something over and over and I can't hear any of it.
I try to focus. Try to stay present. The pain's huge and white and it fills everything but I make myself look.
The angle's wrong.
Last time the shot came from across the street. High. Southeast.
This one came from the west. Lower.
The shooter moved.
I grab Sienna's wrist. She stops. Looks at me. I mouth the word: different.
She frowns. Doesn't understand.
I shake my head. Try again. Wrong angle.
Her eyes widen. She gets it.
She's up. Moving fast. She hits a panel on the wall and a section slides open. Security monitor. Four screens. She's cycling through camera feeds. Exterior angles. Rooftop. Street level.
She stops on one. Points.
I can't see it clearly from the floor but I see her face. And I see the way her hand clenches into a fist.
She turns back to me. Crouches down. Her hand goes to my shoulder. Presses down hard on the wound. It hurts like hell but I can't even gasp because I can't hear myself and the disconnect makes everything feel distant and surreal.
Her mouth moves. Carefully. Slowly.
"You saved my life."
I nod. Yeah. I did.
"Why?"
I mouth it. Mia.
She looks at me for a long moment. Then she reaches into her jacket. Interior pocket. She pulls something out.
A token. Black metal. Matte finish. Circular. About the size of a quarter.
She holds it up between two fingers. Shows me.
There's a date stamped into it. Small. Precise.
Six years ago.
My heart stops.
I know that metal. I've seen it before. Around Mia's neck on a chain she never took off. She said someone gave it to her. She said it was a promise.
It went missing the day she did.
Sienna's watching my face. Watching me recognize it.
Her lips move.
"You know what this is."
I try to speak. Try to say yes, where did you get that, that's Mia's. But I don't know if any sound comes out. I don't know what my voice sounds like right now. I don't know anything except the blood on my hands and the token in hers and the countdown still floating over her head.
Six hours left.
Sienna leans closer. Her face is inches from mine. Her eyes are locked on mine.
"Tell me," she says. I see every word. "Tell me how you know