The penthouse's library became their unintended war room over the next few days, a sanctuary of towering shelves and leather-bound volumes that smelled of aged paper and unspoken secrets. Elara had expected resistance when she suggested it—Julian's study was his domain, after all—but he'd surprised her, clearing the space with a nod and a tablet loaded with encrypted files. "Partners," he'd said, the word still carrying that electric weight from their almost-kiss, "means shared ground." No chains, no guards at the door. Just them, poring over documents under the soft glow of a brass desk lamp, the city a glittering backdrop beyond the windows.
Elara traced a finger down a spreadsheet on the screen, her brow furrowed. "Here—three transfers to ShadowLedger, dated six months before you cut D
