Chapter 1

The sedan that picked me up from the regional airport was a bland, gray Ford, the kind you forget the moment you see it. It was exactly what I' d requested.

"Everything quiet on the drive, Agent Miller?" I asked, keeping my voice low.

The man in the driver's seat, one of my two Federal Protective Service agents, glanced in the rearview mirror. His eyes were sharp, constantly scanning. "All clear, Ms. Fuller. Agent Davis is in the trail car, five minutes behind. We' ll maintain a perimeter at the hotel."

"Good."

I looked out the window as the Ohio landscape blurred past. Flat fields, skeletal trees against a gray November sky. It had been ten years. Ten years since I' d left this small town with an MIT scholarship and a burning need to escape. Now, I was Gabrielle Fuller, lead engineer for NASA' s Artemis program, a name that meant nothing here. To them, I was just Gabby, the quiet girl who apparently hadn' t made much of herself.

My parents, who still lived here, thought I worked a boring data analysis job for a government contractor. The lie was a constant, heavy weight, a necessity dictated by a non-disclosure agreement thicker than a phone book. My work on the life support systems for the lunar gateway was classified at a level that made my security detail mandatory for any travel outside a secure zone.

The reunion was Matthew Scott' s idea. He' d posted about it on Facebook, a gaudy invitation to "Scott' s Steakhouse," his newest, most expensive venture. Matthew, the high school quarterback who' d bullied me relentlessly, had inherited his father' s chain of car dealerships. He was the king of this small pond.

I knew why he wanted me there. In high school, I' d turned him down for prom. Worse, I' d caught him cheating on a physics final and reported him to the principal. He' d gotten a suspension, and his rage had been volcanic. He' d sworn he' d make me pay. It seemed he hadn' t forgotten.

My phone buzzed. It was a text from Anthony Owen, my old lab partner.

"Hey Gabby! Can' t wait to see you! Heard you' re flying in. Let me know if you need a ride from the steakhouse, I know how it is."

I sighed. Anthony meant well, but his pity was almost as grating as Matthew' s malice. He' d landed a comfortable job at a local chemical plant and assumed my lack of a flashy career meant I was struggling.

We pulled up to the steakhouse. It was a monstrosity of glass and chrome, completely out of place in our rustic town. A valet in a red vest rushed forward.

"I' ve got it from here," I told Agent Miller.

He nodded, his face impassive. "We' ll be on standby. Panic button is in your coat pocket. Press it if the situation escalates."

I got out of the car and handed the valet a twenty. As I walked toward the entrance, I heard a familiar, sneering voice.

"Well, well, look what the cat dragged in. Still can' t afford your own car, Fuller? Had to take an Uber?"

It was Matthew Scott. He stood there, flanked by his girlfriend, Nicole Johns, a former cheerleader who clung to his arm like a designer handbag. He gestured with his thumb toward a gleaming, orange McLaren parked ostentatiously right by the front door.

"Some of us have done pretty well for ourselves," he said, his voice loud enough for everyone arriving to hear. "But I guess not everyone can be a winner."

The small crowd of former classmates chuckled. The humiliation had begun.