Elira didn’t cry.
She didn’t scream again.
She stood, barefoot on the nursery floor, glass from the shattered window crunching beneath her soles, and looked Damian dead in the eyes.
“Find her,” she whispered.
His face—already hard with fury—became something else entirely. Something lethal. He didn’t speak. He moved.
Ten minutes later, the suite was swarming with private operatives. Damian didn’t wait for police. He didn’t trust anyone.
“Elira,” one of the security men asked gently, “do you remember hearing anything?”
“No.” Her voice was numb. “I was asleep. She screamed. Then gone.”
Damian turned to his hacker.
“Every camera within five blocks. Private, public, traffic, ATM—get it all.”
The hacker nodded, fingers already flying across his tablet.
The timeline was short.
At 2:10
