Elena’s POV

The first sign that something is wrong comes quietly, almost politely, as if it wants to be overlooked. A misplaced digit here, an unfamiliar vendor there, nothing that would alarm anyone but me. I have always known my numbers. They are clean, precise, obedient things that speak in a language I understand better than most conversations. But this time, that language carries a tremor, a faint discordant note beneath the surface. Something in my ledger has been rewritten, and the ...