Fever, or fear?
Mika did not know.
He took a step forward.
“You must be her mother. I’m Mika.”
She cut him off with one word.
“Grace.”
He blinked.
“Sorry?”
“My name is Grace,” she said in a dry, weak voice. “Not just her mother.”
Mika nodded, polite, but still wondering why she was looking at him like she had seen a ghost.
But for Grace, it was no ghost.
It was him.
Flashback.
Seven years earlier.
A small city club. Loud music. Dim lights.
She was young, happy, dancing alone, laughter in her chest. He was at the bar in an immaculate black suit, watching her with intensity.
They talked, drank, and danced until the music stopped.
In the privacy of a hotel room, he gave her a necklace.
“This necklace is for the strongest girl I’ve ever met,” he whispered.
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