The address arrived at midnight, a single line of text from a number she had never been able to call back. A residential street in a part of the city she rarely visited, all tree lined sidewalks and old money converted into discreet luxury. His instructions were simple. Come alone. Wear the dress he had sent her, a slip of charcoal silk that clung to her like a rumour. No underwear. A blindfold in the pocket. Ring the bell at exactly nine and wait.

Eva had not seen the Navigator since the hotel. She had felt him though, in every orchestrated encounter, every whispered instruction, every signed note left on a pillow. He was the architect of her undoing, a ghost who knew her body better than she did. And tonight she would finally see his face. The anticipation was so sharp it hurt.