Willa's apartment smelled like cinnamon and panic.
She met me at the door. Grabbed my face. Looked at me.
"You're alive."
"I'm alive."
"You're on every screen in America."
"I know."
"You took down an influencer with eight hundred thousand followers."
"I know."
"Federal agents are involved."
"I know."
She let go. Stepped back. Looked at me like I was a stranger.
"You're different."
"I haven't slept in two days."
"No. It's more than that." She tilted her head. "You're not the same person who walked out of here yesterday."
I didn't have an answer for that.
She pulled me inside. Three cats circled. Demanding attention. I sat on the couch. They immediately claimed me.
"I made food," Willa said. "Real food. Not pasta from a box."
She brought me a plate. Chicken. Vegetables. Rice. I ate it without tasting it.
While I ate, she talked. Updates. Sloane's building was still surrounded. The federal agents hadn't left. Dorian had been spotted at his mother's house. The internet was still exploding.
I listened. Nodded. Kept eating.
When the plate was empty, I looked at her.
"I need to shower."
"You need to sleep."
"Both. In that order."
She pointed to the bathroom. I went.
Hot water. Soap. Shampoo. I stood under the spray for a long time. Let it wash away the coffee and the tension and the forty-eight hours.
When I got out, there were clean clothes on the counter. Willa's this time. Not her ex-boyfriend's. Jeans that fit. A sweater that was mine from years ago. Socks with cats on them.
I dressed. Went to the living room. Willa had made up the couch. Pillows. Blanket. A glass of water on the side table.
"Sleep," she said.
I slept.
For twelve hours.
When I woke up, it was morning. Sun through the windows. Cats on my legs. Willa at her laptop, drawing.
I lay there for a while. Just breathing. Just existing.
Then I checked my phone.
Two hundred notifications. I ignored them. Opened Twitter instead.
Sloane was still trending. But the tone had shifted. The data was out. The federal investigation was confirmed. Her management had dropped her. Her PR team had quit. Her last post was from yesterday. No new content.
Comments: "She's done" "Where is she?" "In hiding" "Federal agents took her laptop" "She's finished"
I kept scrolling. Found a thread about me. Mara Cross. The dead wife. The one who walked out of the morgue.
Comments: "She's iconic" "The way she took BOTH phones" "She's the hero we didn't know we needed" "Someone give her a show"
I closed the app.
My phone buzzed. Unknown number.
I answered.
"Ms. Cross." Male voice. Professional. "This is Detective Morrison, LAPD. I'd like to schedule a time to speak with you about the events of the past few days."
"Which events?"
"Your husband. The carbon monoxide incident. The hospital's declaration of death. We have some questions."
"I'm happy to answer them."
"Today? We can come to you."
I gave him Willa's address. He said they'd be there in two hours.
I hung up. Looked at Willa.
"Police?"
"Police."
"What do they want?"
"Questions. About Dorian. About the carbon monoxide."
She put down her stylus. "You need a lawyer."
"I don't have a lawyer."
"You need one. This is serious. They don't send detectives for no reason."
I thought about it. She was right. But I didn't know any lawyers. Didn't have money for one. Didn't have anything.
My phone buzzed again. Julian.
"Good morning."
"Morning. Sleep well?"
"Twelve hours."
"Good. The police called me."
"Same. They're coming here in two hours."
"I know. They called me too. Asked about our collaboration. The data. Sloane."
"What did you say?"
"I said I'd cooperate fully. Then I called my lawyer. He'll be at your location in an hour."
"You have a lawyer?"
"I have several. One of them is very good with cases involving viral internet scandals and federal investigations. His name is Mitchell Cross. No relation to you, as far as I know."
I almost laughed. "You're sending me a lawyer."
"I'm sending you representation. There's a difference. Mitchell will explain."
"Why?"
"Why what?"
"Why are you helping me?"
A pause. Then: "You found the backdoor in forty-eight hours. You could have sold that information. You didn't. You wanted justice, not money. That's rare. People like that deserve help."
"That's not an answer."
"It's the only one I have."
I hung up. Looked at Willa.
"Lawyer's coming."
She raised an eyebrow. "Julian Croft sent you a lawyer?"
"Apparently."
"That's... interesting."
"It's practical. He doesn't want this blowing back on him."
"Maybe." She didn't sound convinced.
I stood up. Stretched. The cats complained.
An hour later, Mitchell Cross arrived. Older. Silver hair. Expensive suit. Carried a leather briefcase and an air of calm authority.
"Mara Cross," he said, shaking my hand. "Julian told me everything. Don't worry. Attorney-client privilege starts now."
We sat at Willa's small table. He pulled out a notepad. Asked questions. I answered. Everything. The morgue. The hotel. The phones. Julian. The data. All of it.
When I finished, he nodded.
"Good. You did nothing illegal. The phones were in plain sight. The data was on a public server. The release came from anonymous accounts. There's nothing tying you to the leak unless you admit it."
"I won't."
"Good. The detectives will ask. You'll say you don't know. You'll say you've been focused on recovering from your traumatic experience. You'll say you're happy to cooperate but you don't have any information about anonymous internet accounts."
"That's all true."
"Exactly. The truth is your friend. Stick to it."
The detectives arrived at 2 PM. Two of them. Morrison and Park. Professional. Polite. Not friendly.
We sat in Willa's living room. Mitchell beside me. The cats had retreated to the bedroom.
Morrison did the talking. Park took notes.
"Ms. Cross, can you walk us through the day of the incident?"
I did. Waking up. The morgue. The phone. The video. The hotel. The confrontation. The run.
"Did you know your husband had filmed you?"
"I saw the video after I woke up."
"Did you know about the carbon monoxide leak?"
"I'd told him about it. Multiple times. He said he'd fix it. He didn't."
Morrison exchanged a look with Park.
"We found his phone, Ms. Cross. His search history. From the morning of the incident."
I waited.
"He searched: 'how long does carbon monoxide take.' 'can you survive CO poisoning.' 'life insurance payout timeline.'"
I felt Willa tense beside me. Mitchell put a hand on my arm. Calm.
"Do you have life insurance, Ms. Cross?"
"A policy. Through his work. Two hundred fifty thousand."
Morrison nodded. "We're investigating the possibility of attempted murder, Ms. Cross. Not just negligence. Your husband may have known the car was leaking. May have known you'd be exposed. May have waited to call for help."
I didn't say anything.
"We have hospital records. You were declared dead at 9:14 PM. He didn't call 911 until 10:30. That's an hour and sixteen minutes after he left the house."
"He left me there?"
"His statement says he thought you were asleep. That you'd been dramatic about the flu. That he needed a break. But the timeline doesn't match. You were unconscious when he left. He filmed you. Then he left. Then he drove to the Ritz. Then he checked in. Then he ordered champagne. Then he called 911."
I processed that. The timeline. The hours. The choices.
"Ms. Cross," Morrison said. "Why didn't you come forward sooner? After you woke up. After the hotel. Why didn't you call us?"
I looked at him. Really looked.
"I was busy being dead, detective."
He didn't react. Just nodded. Made a note.
Park spoke for the first time. "The hotel footage. You took Ms. Parrish's phones. That's theft."
Mitchell jumped in. "My client was in a state of extreme distress. Recently declared dead. Barefoot. In a hospital gown. She wasn't thinking about property law."
"We're not here to charge her with theft," Morrison said. "We're here to understand what happened. And to tell you, Ms. Cross, that we're building a case against your husband. We'd like your cooperation."
"You have it."
"We'll need a formal statement. Tomorrow at the station. Mitchell can bring you."
I nodded.
They stood up. Morrison handed me a card.
"If you think of anything else. Anything at all. Call."
They left.
The apartment was quiet. Willa exhaled slowly.
"Attempted murder," she said.
"Yeah."
"Your husband tried to kill you."
"Yeah."
I looked at my hands. They were steady. That surprised me.
Mitchell packed his briefcase. "I'll pick you up tomorrow at 9. Wear something comfortable. Answer questions honestly. Don't volunteer anything. We'll be fine."
He left.
Willa looked at me. "You okay?"
"I don't know."
"That's honest."
I sat down on the couch. The cats emerged. Climbed onto me.
My phone buzzed. Julian.
"Detectives left?"
"Just now."
"Mitchell said it went well."
"He said we'll be fine."
"You will be."
A pause.
"Sloane's been arrested," he said. "Federal agents took her an hour ago. Data trafficking charges. She'll be held without bail."
I didn't say anything.
"I thought you'd want to know."
"Thanks."
Another pause. Longer.
"Dinner tonight?" he asked.
"What?"
"Dinner. Food. Conversation. You've been awake for twelve hours. You need to eat. I know a place."
"I'm wearing cat socks."
"Wear them. I don't care."
I almost smiled.
"Okay."
"Okay?"
"Okay. Dinner."
"I'll pick you up at 7."
He hung up.
Willa was staring at me.
"Was that Julian Croft asking you on a date?"
"It's dinner. Not a date."
"It's a date."
"It's dinner."
"With a billionaire. Who sent you a lawyer. Who gave you a job offer. Who's been helping you destroy his sister. It's a date."
I didn't have an answer.
At 7, a black car pulled up outside. Julian got out. No suit. Dark jeans. Leather jacket. He looked different. Softer.
He knocked on the door. Willa let him in. The cats circled. He ignored them.
"Ready?"
I stood up. Willa grabbed my arm. Whispered: "Text me everything."
I nodded.
We walked to the car. He opened the door. I got in. The seats were leather. Warm. The driver pulled away.
"Dinner," Julian said. "Not a date."
"Good. Because I'm not ready for dating."
"Me neither."
We drove in silence. Through the city. Past the Ritz. Past the coffee shop. Past all of it.
The restaurant was small. Private room in the back. A table for two. Candles. Wine.
We sat. Ordered. Ate.
Talked about nothing. Systems. Vulnerabilities. The next threat. Not Sloane. Not Dorian. Not the investigation.
Just food and wine and conversation.
At the end, he looked at me.
"The job offer stands. Head of Security. Your byline on the encryption protocol. Start whenever you're ready."
"I'll think about it."
"Take your time."
He drove me back to Willa's. Walked me to the door.
"Goodnight, Mara."
"Goodnight, Julian."
He left.
I went inside. Willa was waiting.
"Well?"
"It was dinner."
"It was a date."
"It was dinner."
She smiled. "Okay. Dinner."
I went to the couch. Lay down. The cats joined me.
My phone buzzed. A notification. Sloane's arrest was trending. Comments: "She's going to prison" "Data trafficking is serious" "She'll do years"
I swiped it away.
Closed my eyes.