Chapter 4

The hospital was a blur of white ceilings and beeping machines. I drifted in and out of consciousness. In my brief moments of clarity, I saw Ethan. But he wasn't by my bedside. He was in the hallway, pacing, his attention focused entirely on Maria, who was being treated for "shock."

He never once came into my room. He never once asked if I was okay.

I knew then, with absolute certainty, that he would let me die. He needed me to die. My death would solve all his problems.

But I wasn't the woman he thought I was. Jocelyn Fuller, the architect, might be dying. But the operative I used to be was wide awake.

During a moment when the nurse was gone, I used my one good hand to pull out a hidden satellite phone from the lining of my purse, a relic from my past I never traveled without. I dialed a number I hadn't called in almost a decade.

It was answered on the first ring. "Jocelyn?" The voice was calm, powerful, and instantly familiar.

"Matron," I whispered, my voice hoarse. "I need an exit. Protocol Zero."

There was a pause. "It's done," she said, without question or hesitation. "Lie still. We're coming."

The Matron was my mother's sister, a high-ranking official in the agency I had left behind. She was the one who had trained me, the one who had reluctantly let me go. Protocol Zero was the agency's ultimate failsafe: a faked death, a complete erasure.

Hours later, a new team of "doctors" entered my room. They worked efficiently, silently. They informed the hospital staff that my condition had taken a turn for the worse.

A short while later, a doctor, one of the Matron's people, walked out to where Ethan and Maria were waiting. He had a somber look on his face.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Lester," he said. "We did everything we could. Ms. Fuller has passed away from her injuries."

I watched through the slightly ajar door. Ethan's face was a strange mix of shock and something else... skepticism.

"Passed away?" he repeated. "Are you sure? This isn't some... trick? Some ploy to get my attention?"

Maria clutched his arm, bursting into tears. "Oh, Ethan! She's gone! That poor, troubled woman is finally at peace."

The doctor's face remained impassive. "Her injuries were too severe. As per the instructions in her living will, her remains will be cremated immediately."

Ethan looked shaken, but Maria's performance seemed to convince him. He let her lead him away, her sobs echoing down the sterile hallway.

My "death" was orchestrated perfectly. A death certificate was signed. A box of ashes was prepared. Jocelyn Fuller ceased to exist.

As they wheeled me out through a service exit to a waiting, unmarked van, I felt nothing. No sadness, no regret. Just the cold, clean feeling of a mission beginning.