The notification had come on a Tuesday morning, sandwiched between a board memo and a supplier contract that needed her signature by noon.
Aurora had almost missed it.
She had been so deep inside the architecture of everything—the Ray operation, the Liam fallout, the grief of August, the thousand moving pieces of a war she was fighting on fronts that no one else could see—that the world outside had continued without her notice. It had, apparently, been paying attention to her while she wasn't paying attention to it. The nomination letter from the International Humanitarian Honors Committee had been sitting in her inbox for four days before she opened it.
Most Influential Woman of the Year.
