Chapter 59 The Last Stone

• The memory surfaced not as a full narrative, but in shards, sharp and cutting. The audio recording had broken a seal, and now the past flooded in, not in a tidy stream, but in a chaotic rush.
• It began in a different hospital room. The one at New York Presbyterian, five years ago. Alexander Sterling, propped up on pillows, alive. Alive because of her.
• The first few days were a haze of painkillers and gratitude. He remembered the blur of her face beside his bed, the steady, competent sound of her voice explaining his injuries to his doctors, her presence a calm port in the storm of his pain. He was effusive in his thanks, his charm turned up to a blinding wattage. He offered her everything: a research wing, a endowed chair, a blank check for her own lab.