Marcus sat behind his massive desk, the dim light from the city below casting sharp lines across his angular face. The penthouse was silent, save for the faint hum of the air conditioning. In front of him, a detailed folder rested on the polished surface—photos, schedules, security logs, and personal notes on Amelia Hayes. Every small habit, every pattern of hers had been meticulously tracked for weeks.
He picked up a pen, tapping it against the desk. “Ethan Lyric,” he murmured, the name tasting like poison on his tongue. “So careful, so infuriatingly controlled… but even the strongest walls crumble.”
A soft chime on his tablet drew his attention. Marcus swiped the screen, revealing a secure message from a shadowy ally, someone high in the Silvercrest Council whose identity was protected
