“Okay, I’m done,” I say, memorizing the layout and where it’s different, before closing the window. I log out and shut everything down, wiping the history. Even if someone goes to the website where the emails are hosted, they wouldn’t be able to log in. Quinn changes the password and portal address every time one of us logs in from a public computer. Ever since I started working with her, I’ve memorized the next five codes, just in case. Forgetting them is not an option. Dante drilled it into me not to be sloppy or leave trails for anyone to follow—unless you want to be found.
That’s how I know Dante is gone.
He’s left me nothing.
No breadcrumb. No sweet poem.
He’s just gone.
“Thank you,” I say to Paige as I push the door open to the other side of the glass. She looks up from her desk.
“Of course. I know what it’s like to lose contact with the ones you love.” I don’t miss her tearful look at the photo on her desk showing a smiling family.
Widowed.
I take that and tuck it away for later.