[Jake's POV]
I had seen Sofia for less than a second.
A hand. A ring. Pale fingers resting against the armrest of a wheelchair as someone pushed her through the west corridor.
That was all.
It was enough.
Because Sofia Aldridge had once spent forty-three minutes arguing with me about rings.
It had happened during an acquisition meeting in London almost three years ago. I had spent half the meeting studying the platinum band on her right hand instead of the financial projections she'd spent an entire weekend preparing.
Naturally, Sofia noticed.
"If you keep staring at it, Jake, I'll start charging you by the minute."
"It's ugly."
"It's practical."
"It's aggressively practical."
"Thank you."
"That wasn't a compliment."
"Everything sounds like one when you're wrong."
I had lost that argument.
I'd lost most arguments involving Sofia.
I would know that ring anywhere.
The certainty settled inside me with terrifying clarity.
Sofia was here.
Alive.
