The morning air in the penthouse was thick with the residue of Ethel’s psychological warfare. Elea stood in the kitchen, her fingers curled around a porcelain mug of coffee that had long since gone cold. The photographs from the Vienna fair remained on the marble island, a silent testament to the fact that her shadow was catching up to her light. Kai was in the other room, likely finalizing their extraction to the airport, leaving Elea in a temporary bubble of isolation. It was in this precise moment of domestic stillness that her burner phone, hidden within the hollowed-out base of a decorative ceramic vase, vibrated with a jagged, rhythmic persistence.
"I need to check my vanity, Kai," Elea called out, her voice a pitch-perfect imitation of a bride fussing over her morning routine.
"
