For a second, Adanna forgot how to breathe.
Malcolm stood less than ten feet away, in a gray sweatshirt and baseball cap, his hands tucked into his pockets like he was on a casual walk — not like a man who had faked his own death.
Her voice came out as a whisper. "You're supposed to be dead."
His eyes darted to the street, then back to her. "Not here. Not like this."
She stepped forward. "Then tell me where."
"No," he said. "It's not safe."
Anger surged through her. She didn't care about safe. She didn't care about timing. Her entire world had collapsed, and here he was — breathing, blinking, real. "I buried you, Malcolm. I cried over you. I thought—" Her voice cracked. "How could you do this to me?"
Malcolm looked away. "If I could've warned you, I would've."
"Warned me about what?"
He didn't answer.
She moved closer. "You owe me the truth."
Malcolm's jaw tightened. "You weren't supposed to get pulled into this."
"But I am. So either you tell me everything, or I scream right now and bring every eye in this neighborhood to us."
He winced. "Don't. Please."
They stood in silence for a beat, the wind sweeping around them. Then, finally, he said, "Follow me. Just a block. No talking."
Adanna hesitated. Every instinct screamed at her not to trust him.
But curiosity — and fury — were louder.
He led her down an alley and into an abandoned bookstore with boarded-up windows. Inside, it smelled like dust and secrets. Malcolm pulled a tarp aside, revealing a staircase that led down to a hidden basement.
The space was dimly lit, cold, and filled with old surveillance equipment, maps, and stacks of files.
Adanna looked around. "What is this?"
"My real life," he said, sitting behind a desk and rubbing his face like he hadn't slept in days.
She crossed her arms. "Start explaining."
He took a breath. "Three months ago, I discovered that one of my companies was being used to launder money. Not petty amounts — we're talking arms deals, data trafficking, and something called 'Project Red Clay.' It's not just illegal. It's deadly."
Adanna's stomach dropped. "Why didn't you go to the authorities?"
"I did. That's how I got marked."
"Marked?"
"They killed my friend. Burned down a safehouse. They knew everything about me — my schedule, my passwords, even you."
She swallowed. "So you disappeared."
"I staged my death to protect you."
Adanna shook her head. "You should have told me."
"If I did, you'd be dead too."
She sat down, her hands shaking. "Vanessa saw you."
Malcolm flinched. "She's still around?"
"She gave me a photo of you. And a warning. Whatever you ran from… she says they're still watching."
"They are," he said quietly. "And now that you've found me, they'll know you're involved."
Adanna met his gaze. "Then you'd better tell me everything. Because I'm already in it."