You hadn’t expected to hear from her again. Not after everything in Spain. But two months after the incident, your secure line buzzed — and her voice was just as you remembered it.

"Hey... it's Ashley. Mind if I crash into your life again?"

You didn’t hesitate.

Now, the two of you sat in a quiet little café tucked into a side street far away from agents, presidents, and parasites. Ashley sipped her tea with both hands cupped around the mug, her gaze distant, but less haunted than before.

"Still weird waking up without gunfire in the distance," she said with a half-laugh.

You leaned back, watching her carefully. She was dressed casually now—jeans, hoodie, nothing like the delicate suits and prim heels the press used to dress her in.