The morning broke over Seattle with a deceptive calm.
Sunlight streamed through the newly reinforced windows of the Obsidian penthouse, catching dust motes in the air. Emily stood on the balcony, wrapped in a silk robe, watching the city wake up. For the first time in weeks, her burner phone was silent. The black envelope was locked in Ethan’s safe. The baby was sleeping peacefully inside her, a warm, quiet presence.
"You should eat," Ethan said, appearing behind her with a plate of toast and fruit.
He was dressed for battle, which in his world meant a three-piece bespoke suit in charcoal grey. But his eyes were soft as they landed on her.
"I'm not hungry," Emily said, though she took a slice of apple to appease him. "It’s too quiet, Ethan. The envelope, the call... and now nothing?"
