Abby Winters Mya Here

“I have more than that.” Mya pushed a folded napkin across the table. “I have a confession.”

Come find me in the static, Mya whispered to the empty booth. And remember who you were before they made you forget. abby winters mya

Behind the fogging window, Mya finally took a sip of her cold tea. She touched her silver locket. Inside was a tiny photograph—Abby, younger, laughing, her arm around a woman whose face had been scratched out. “I have more than that

Abby’s blood chilled. Her handler, a man named Sterling with a face like a cracked leather wallet, had been adamant. Black market antiques. Destabilizing regional powers. Intercept or destroy. “Then what is it?” Behind the fogging window, Mya finally took a

“I’m the one who wiped them,” Mya said softly. “I was the asset. Before I burned my own handler. I’ve been running from them ever since.” She tapped the napkin. “The location is the old Ferris wheel on the pier. Midnight. They think the height provides a clean signal. And I’m giving you the access codes because I can’t stop them alone.”

She unfolded the napkin. A string of numbers and a crude map. “If this is a trap…”