Brandon's POV
Seeing Elizabeth felt like stepping into a crack in reality. For half a second, I genuinely thought my mind had finally snapped—some delayed reaction to weeks of pressure, secrets, and sleepless nights. But she was there, leaning against the low stone wall outside the quiet compound where Donovan had texted me. She maintained the same sharp posture and composed elegance that had once made people stop mid-conversation when she entered a room.
Elizabeth.
My first instinct wasn't anger; it was to flee. I turned sharply toward my truck, my hand already reaching for the door handle, my chest tightening as if it had been punched from the inside.
"Brandon!" she called, urgency slicing through the calm afternoon. "Where are you going? Don't you have it?"
I froze.
Slowly, I turned back toward her. "I don't understand," I said, my voice rough. "What are you doing here?"
She straightened up. "Donovan said you had the file."
