I hadn't planned on seeing Elias today. Not really. Boise was supposed to be safe, ordinary, mundane. A place where I could sip coffee without watching shadows, where I could walk streets without imagining eyes on my back. But of course, the world had other plans.
I spotted him outside the bookstore, leaning against the brick wall, arms crossed, eyes tracking every passerby. He didn't notice me at first. I hesitated, letting my instincts decide: confront, ignore, observe.
Observation won.
I watched as he pulled a folded piece of paper from his pocket, something I couldn't quite see. My stomach twisted. His timing was never accidental. He always knew. Always.
Finally, I stepped forward. "Elias," I said, my voice level but tense.
He looked up, eyes locking with mine. The faintest smile played at the corners of his lips, though it didn't reach his eyes. "Clara." Not my old name—Clara—but careful, deliberate. He knew when to push and when to draw back.
"Walk with me," he said. No invitation, just a command softened by civility. I hesitated. But something in his expression told me this conversation wasn't optional.
We moved down the sidewalk, past storefronts, past pedestrians absorbed in their own worlds. The ordinary chaos of the city was the perfect mask for something extraordinary.
Finally, he stopped in a quieter alley, the hum of traffic muffled by brick walls. He turned to face me fully, and I could see the shift in his demeanor. Serious. Intent. Not playful. Not casual.
"You know why I'm here," he said.
I didn't respond. Words were dangerous. Observation was safer.
"I was connected to him," he admitted suddenly, voice low. "The blackmailer. Before. Years ago."
The words hit me like a blow I had been avoiding. My chest tightened, a cold weight pressing against my lungs. I wanted to step back, to run, to disappear like I had before—but I forced myself to stay. I needed answers.
"You… what?" My voice was barely above a whisper, but the tension in it betrayed everything.
"Not anymore," he said quickly. "I'm not on his side. I haven't been for a long time. But I know him. I know how he thinks. How he plans. How he finds people."
I studied him. Carefully. He looked calm. Controlled. But I could see the flicker of guilt—or something like it—behind his eyes. Something dangerous. Something that made me hesitate, questioning what I had assumed about him.
"Why tell me this now?" I asked.
"Because you're in danger," he said simply. "And I can help. But you have to trust me."
Trust. The word tasted bitter in my mouth. Two years of building a life, two years of hiding, two years of carefully avoiding anyone who might connect me to Ava… and now this man, who had been close to the very person who threatened my life, was asking me to trust him.
"I don't know if I can," I admitted.
"I know," he said, almost softly. "But you can't fight this alone. Not him. Not this." He gestured vaguely toward the street beyond the alley, as if encompassing the unseen web of danger surrounding us.
My mind raced. Could I trust him? Was this another test? Another layer of misdirection? Houdini had taught me to watch for the smallest details, the faintest cues, the tiniest slips. And there was one now—a flicker in his expression when he mentioned knowing the blackmailer. Subtle, but human.
"Why did you stop?" I asked finally, testing him. "If you were involved, why not continue?"
"Because I realized what he's capable of," he said. "And I didn't want to be part of it anymore. Not with someone like you in the picture."
I narrowed my eyes. "Someone like me? You mean someone who vanished? Someone who outsmarted him?"
He gave a faint, rueful smile. "Exactly. And that scares people like him. Including me, once."
I studied him carefully. This confession could be a trap. But the way he held himself, the way he revealed just enough but not too much… it rang true. Sort of. My instincts told me to remain cautious, but also to pay attention.
"Alright," I said slowly. "If we're going to do this… if I'm going to trust you… you have to tell me everything. Every detail you know about him. Every connection. Every plan. Every weakness."
He nodded. "Everything. But it won't be easy. And it won't be quick. He has networks. People he trusts. Illusionists, magicians, manipulators. He's not just one man—he's a system. And it's still active."
I felt the weight of it settle over me. Two years of hiding suddenly felt like a brief pause. The danger I thought I had escaped was far more intricate than I had imagined.
"Then we plan," I said, letting my voice harden with determination. "No more running. No more hiding. We plan, and we strike when the time is right."
Elias looked at me, and for the first time, I saw something that resembled respect—or maybe recognition. "You haven't lost your touch," he said quietly.
"I haven't forgotten anything," I replied. "And I never will."
For the first time in days, maybe weeks, I felt a flicker of control. Maybe, just maybe, I could fight this. Not just survive—but turn the tables.
And I would.
Because Ava always found a way out.