The night had grown quiet in a way that made the air feel heavy. Rose sat at the long mahogany table in the CEO's private lounge, files spread before her, but her mind kept drifting away from the printed words. The building's glass walls reflected the dim golden lights, showing her a faint, tired version of herself staring back.
It had been another exhausting day. Meetings, phone calls, negotiations… and whispers. Always whispers. Ever since she had taken the CEO position, she had learned that power didn't just invite envy — it bred it like a disease. Selena's sons and daughter were quieter now, but she wasn't foolish enough to think they had stopped. They were planning. Waiting.
Her thoughts were interrupted by the sound of the door opening.
Vincent stepped in without announcing himself, as he always did. His presence seemed to draw the air toward him — not in a suffocating way, but in the way you notice when the temperature shifts. He wasn't even wearing a jacket, despite the cool night air.
"You didn't come down for dinner," he said, his voice even, yet tinged with something softer.
"I wasn't hungry," Rose replied, pushing the papers aside.
He studied her for a moment, his eyes searching her face the way he often did when he suspected she wasn't telling him everything. "You're thinking about them again."
"Wouldn't you?" she shot back, leaning back in her chair. "They're still here. Still breathing the same air as me. And you know they won't stop until—"
"Until they try again," Vincent finished for her. He said it like a fact, not a warning.
Rose exhaled slowly, looking past him toward the large floor-to-ceiling glass. The rain outside had slowed, but the glass still caught the faint city glow. For a moment, she thought she saw movement in the reflection, a flicker like someone walking behind her.
She turned, but the space was empty.
Her hand tightened on the armrest. "I thought—"
"I saw it too," Vincent said before she could finish. His tone shifted, colder now, the warmth draining from it. He crossed to the glass, staring into it like it might speak back to him. "There's a mark here. Not physical. The kind that doesn't belong in your world."
Her brows furrowed. "You mean—"
"Yes," he cut in. "They've started moving earlier than I expected."
Her heart kicked against her ribs. "You're talking about them, aren't you? Not Selena's children."
His eyes met hers, and for a heartbeat, the silver light of the city seemed to catch in them, making them look less human. "No. This is different. And it's not something you need to chase. I will handle it."
She hated when he said that — as if her life was his responsibility to manage alone. "Vincent, I'm not some porcelain doll you can hide in a cupboard until danger passes."
"I know," he said quietly. "You're more dangerous than most of the threats you'll ever meet."
It was meant as a compliment, but it didn't erase the tension in the air.
He stepped closer, his voice low. "Stay in the office tonight. The glass here has its own protections. Your apartment doesn't."
Her instinct was to refuse, to tell him she wasn't going to cower, but there was something in his tone — an almost imperceptible thread of urgency — that made her pause. "…Fine. But you're staying too."
A faint smile ghosted his lips. "Of course."
The clock on the wall ticked softly as they stood there, the city sprawling beneath them. Rose tried to focus on the quiet rhythm, but her eyes betrayed her, drifting back to the glass.
And this time, she didn't imagine it.
In the reflection, behind her and Vincent, stood a third figure. Its form was blurred, its face hidden, but its smile — slow and deliberate — was clear.
She spun around. The space behind them was empty.
When she turned back to the glass, the smile was gone.