CHAPTER 9: WHISPERS AND WATCHERS
Sleep didn't come easily to Ivy that night.
Every time she closed her eyes, numbers and signatures resurfaced. Her father's name. Julian's involvement. Killian's guarded answers. It all tangled into something restless and unresolved.
By morning, she had already made up her mind.
She wasn't waiting for permission anymore.
The penthouse was quiet when she dressed. Mara greeted her in the kitchen with her usual warmth.
"You're up early."
"I have something to do today," Ivy said, pouring coffee.
Mara studied her briefly. "Careful curiosity is wise. Reckless curiosity… not so much."
Ivy paused. "Is that advice?"
"It is experience."
Ivy smiled faintly and left soon after.
Instead of heading toward any of Killian's usual haunts, she traveled downtown. The old hospital building still stood where her father had been taken years ago. Renovated, repainted, but unchanged beneath the surface.
The reception area smelled of antiseptic and memory.
She approached the desk. "Hi. I'm trying to access records from about ten years ago. Accident victim intake."
The clerk looked skeptical. "Records that old require authorization."
"I'm family."
"That still requires authorization."
Ivy expected as much.
She thanked them anyway and stepped aside, dialing a number she hadn't intended to use yet.
Killian answered after two rings.
"This had better be important."
"I need access clearance to Saint Branton Hospital records."
A pause.
"Why?"
"Because I'm done guessing."
Silence lingered just long enough to register resistance.
Then, "Give me five minutes."
Less than four minutes later, the clerk's phone rang. Their tone changed immediately. Respectful. Efficient.
Ivy received temporary authorization.
She didn't comment on it when she hung up. She simply proceeded.
The archive room was colder than the rest of the building. She scanned through digital logs until she found her father's intake file.
Time of arrival.
Condition.
Witness statements.
She leaned closer.
The report listed responding officers and initial scene observations. One detail made her chest tighten.
Another vehicle had been mentioned. Witness uncertainty. Partial plate identification. Never pursued.
Ivy photographed the information quickly.
Her pulse raced as she left.
Outside, sunlight felt sharper, more invasive. She called Killian again.
"You knew there was another car."
"I suspected."
"You didn't tell me."
"I tell you confirmed facts."
She fought irritation. "This matters."
"Yes."
She softened slightly. "Thank you for helping."
A brief pause.
"You're welcome."
She ended the call and started toward home.
She never noticed the dark sedan parked across the street.
Inside it, a man lowered his camera after snapping several photos.
He sent them off without hesitation.
—
Killian reviewed documents in his office when his phone vibrated.
The message displayed images of Ivy leaving the hospital.
His expression hardened.
Minutes later, Ivy entered the penthouse.
Killian stood waiting.
"You went alone."
She froze. "How did you—"
"That is not the point."
"It absolutely is."
His voice remained controlled but edged with tension. "You are stepping into situations you do not understand."
"I understand enough."
"Not the risks."
She crossed her arms. "You don't get to cage me."
"This is not about control."
"Feels like it."
Silence stretched tight between them.
Then Killian exhaled slowly. "What did you find?"
Her posture softened slightly. She explained the second vehicle. The partial plate.
His focus sharpened immediately.
"That changes things."
"I thought you'd say that."
He nodded once. "I will assign investigators."
"I want updates."
"You will receive them."
Their argument dissolved into uneasy cooperation.
Later that evening, Ivy retreated to the music room, drawn by instinct more than intention. The cello rested exactly where she'd left it.
She sat.
Played.
The sound filled the space, low and aching. Emotion flowed through every note. Grief. Determination. Fear.
Killian paused outside the doorway, listening.
He didn't interrupt.
For a moment, he saw her not as an agreement or complication, but as something fiercely alive within a world that had long numbed him.
He left quietly before she noticed.
—
Across the city, Genevieve lounged in her apartment while Julian reviewed updates.
"She's digging deeper," Julian said.
Genevieve smirked. "Of course she is."
Julian set the phone down. "Killian will tighten control."
"Which will push her further."
They exchanged knowing looks.
Genevieve lifted her glass. "Pressure reveals cracks."
Julian's smile thinned. "And cracks bring collapse."
—
That night, Ivy stood by the window watching traffic below.
Killian approached.
"The investigation begins tomorrow."
"Good."
He hesitated briefly. "You played tonight."
She glanced at him, surprised. "You heard."
"Yes."
A softer quiet settled between them.
"My father loved when I played," she said. "He said music showed truth words couldn't."
Killian studied her. "Then perhaps keep playing."
She nodded once.
Neither spoke again.
But as they stood there in shared silence, something shifted once more. Not trust fully formed. Not comfort.
But understanding.
And somewhere beyond their view, unseen forces were already rearranging the board.
The next move would not be theirs alone.