Julian was anxious.
The envelope lay open beside him, its contents spread across the desk like a map of madness. Photographs curled at the edges. Scans of medical files blurred from how many times he'd stared at them. Pages reeked of smoke and obsession.
Silas Vale.
He'd always been off, Julian thought. Too polished. Too perfect. That smile that never reached his eyes, the way he'd scan a room like a predator behind a mask. Grace deserved better.
She deserved safety.
And now, Julian wasn't just interested in winning her back, he needed to protect her.
Even if she didn't believe she needed saving.
Julian found himself standing outside a tall Riverton apartment complex hours later. Modern, minimalist, and discreet, it didn't scream celebrity, but that was precisely the point. It was where Silas Vale had chosen to live. Hidden in plain sight.
He had followed the address Dahlia had scrawled across a napkin, half expecting it to be a trap.
He buzzed the security system. No response.
Again.
Just static.
And silence.
He looked up at the camera mounted above the building's sleek glass entrance. A faint red light blinked. Watching. Recording.
"Silas," Julian said into the intercom. "I know what you are."
Still, nothing.
Just the buzz of city life below and a faint breeze stirring the high branches of the trees flanking the street.
He stepped back, defeated for now, but not done.
He'd bring this to Grace, slowly if he had to. If she wouldn't listen to his words, he'd let the truth unravel her faith in Silas thread by thread.
But inside the apartment building, Silas was already watching.
From the shadows of his minimalist living room, surrounded by floor-to-ceiling windows and a single glowing monitor, he sipped espresso, gaze fixed on the screen. He had watched Julian the moment he parked his car down the road. Watched him hesitate. Watched him speak to metal and stone.
Then—
The screen glitched.
Static hissed across the monitor like a breath held too long. One feed after another fizzled into snow. Just for a second.
And when the image returned,
Julian was gone.
No trace. No footsteps. No shadow.
Just an empty sidewalk where he had been.
Silas leaned forward, his fingers still on the porcelain handle of the cup, unmoving.
"Interesting," he murmured to no one.
Was it a coincidence?
Or had someone intervened?
He tapped a few keys, rewinding the footage. Nothing but glitching frames. A flicker of shadow, but no form. It looked like the footage had been wiped mid-broadcast. Clean. Professional.
Too professional.
For the first time in a long while, Silas's jaw tensed.
And yet,
There was a glimmer of something behind his eyes.
Not fear.
Anticipation.
Because if someone dared remove Julian without leaving a trace,
That meant someone was playing Silas's game.
And perhaps, just perhaps...
That someone was him.