The interview was at 3:00 PM. It was 2:15, and the sweat was already pasting my shirt to my back, a clammy, cold reminder of the $8.17 left in my bank account. New York City in October has a way of feeling crisp and hopeful in the movies. In reality, it just smells like hot…

The next day—Tuesday, since everything was closed for Christmas—was the first day of the war. Mitch met me at the courthouse. I’d had to wake Melody, who had clung to me, terrified I was taking her back. “We’re just going to talk to some people, sweetheart,” I’d said, my voice hoarse from lack of sleep….

The interrogation, because that’s what it was, didn’t happen in a police station. It happened in a room that looked like a museum. Alexander—or “Mr. Alexander,” as I was trying to call him—sat across from me. He had changed into a crisp shirt and slacks, but his hair was still wild, and his eyes were…

You don’t know my name, but you know his. Jonathan Hail. His name is forged on the side of skyscrapers, on bank towers, on the very hospital where I used to scrub the floors. I am Grace Miller. I was, until a few weeks ago, invisible. My job was to erase myself. I’d push my…

I’ve learned that there are two kinds of cold. The first is the easy kind, the wet, October chill that was seeping through the glass of the ‘Cedar & Steam’ cafe. It was just an inconvenience. It made my tea go cold faster and gave me an excuse to leave. The second kind of cold……

The memory of my silence is the only thing that haunts me. It’s louder than the dry, snapping sound the desert wind conveniently masked. It’s sharper than the glint in my sister-in-law Clara’s eyes. It’s a physical weight, heavier than the Arizona sun that was trying to bake us into the rust-colored dirt. The flight…

The officer’s barracks, Complex C, was all red brick and manicured landscaping, a perfect picture of military order. I entered through the service entrance, my instincts immediately cataloging the security features, the access points, the layout. It was automatic, a reflex honed over years of tactical assessment, not cleaning. The inside was what you’d expect…