The morning sun over Zurich was blocked by a thick, oppressive layer of clouds that turned the Enge penthouse into a gallery of shadows. Kai stood alone in the kitchen, the silence of the apartment feeling less like peace and more like the tense breath held before a gunshot. Elea was in the bedroom, supposedly catching up on sleep after their long journey back from Italy, but the distance between them felt like miles of treacherous terrain.
Kai moved toward the kitchen island, his mind retracing the events of the previous days. Every interaction, every scent, and every look had become a data point in a rapidly growing file of suspicion. He needed something tangible. He needed a crack in the porcelain mask his wife wore with such terrifying perfection.
He bent down, reaching for the cab
