Caleb was classified MIA on a secure grid, entirely off the radar. A man fighting for his life in hostile territory does not casually retain a Manhattan divorce attorney.

And if he wanted to leave me, he’d have looked me in the eye and said it.

Trust the training.

The signature was a forgery. Celeste had gotten hold of his exact signature and grafted it onto the document, using the chaos of his deployment to force my hand.

I stood, the grief burning off into a razor-sharp focus. I needed to find what Caleb had left for me.

I tore the apartment apart. I checked the loose floorboards under the rug, unscrewed the air vents, ripped the linings out of his winter coats. I pulled every book off the crooked shelf he’d built, shaking them until their spines cracked.