Her handler, August, had warned her. “You won’t just lose the skill, Lena. You’ll lose the taste for it. And without that taste, you’ll remember every single face.”

Somewhere above, Voss poured a drink, unaware that mercy had just passed him by. And somewhere in Lena’s chest, a quiet voice that had been dead since Cairo whispered:

Unforgivable.

She slammed her palm against the bathroom tile. The crack echoed like a gunshot.

She tucked the Catalyst into a storm drain. Watched it wash away.