Chapter 68:
Ursula frowned. “What does that mean? Is it a riddle?”
“She’ll know,” Aurora said.
She turned and walked away.
Ursula watched her go, intrigued despite herself.
As Aurora walked back toward the Pulse van, a sleek black town car pulled up to the curb.
The rear window rolled down. Professor Catherine Yinn was sitting inside, heading out for lunch. She was scanning the crowd, a habit she had developed since the accident.
Yinn heard the voice first—a calm, melodic tone that cut through the street noise. It was the same command tone that had ordered the crowd back days ago.
She looked up.
She saw a figure walking away. The familiar beige trench coat. The confident stride.
And then she saw it. Tied to the handle of the woman’s bag was a silk scarf—azure and gold. The same scarf that had brushed against her hand as she lay dying on the pavement.
Yinn’s heart skipped a beat.
“Stop the car!” Yinn shouted.
The driver slammed on the brakes. The tires screeched. Yinn fumbled with the door handle, desperate. She pushed the door open and stumbled out onto the sidewalk.
Aurora heard the screech and turned around.
The two women locked eyes across the bustling New York sidewalk. The noise of the city seemed to fade away.
Yinn’s eyes widened. She saw the recognition in Aurora’s face. She saw the calm intelligence.
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Yinn whispered, her voice trembling with emotion.
“Found you.”
The bustling noise of the streets seemed to vanish the moment the heavy oak doors of the private tearoom clicked shut. Professor Catherine Yinn stood by the window, her trembling hands clutching a pristine blue silk scarf as if it were a holy relic. She turned slowly, her eyes locked onto Aurora Vance, who sat with serene composure at the low rosewood table.
“It has been a week of sleepless nights,” Professor Yinn whispered, her voice thick with an emotion that bypassed mere gratitude and touched upon reverence. “I searched every street camera, every dashcam footage from here to the hospital. I remembered the scent of the herbs. I remembered the cold bite of the gold needle. But mostly, I remembered this scarf that brushed against my hand as my heart stopped.”
Aurora poured the tea. The amber liquid descended in a perfect, unbroken thread, hitting the ceramic cup without a splash.
“You were a difficult patient, Professor. You tried to lecture me on neurobiology while you were in cardiac arrest.”
Yinn let out a wet, shaky laugh. “And you told me to shut up, or you would pierce my speech center. I knew then… I knew I was in the presence of a Master.”
Ursula, standing in the corner, looked as if her world had tilted on its axis. She stared at Aurora—the woman she had dismissed, the woman she had tried to block—and then at her employer, the legendary Nobel laureate who was now looking at Aurora with the adoration of a lost child finding its mother.
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