Damien
The first sign that something was wrong arrived at 5:17 a.m.
Not a phone call.
Not a gunshot.
Not an emergency meeting.
A photograph.
I stared at the image on Roman’s phone while a slow, dangerous calm settled over me.
The penthouse kitchen was quiet.
Too quiet.
Dawn hadn’t fully broken yet.
Ashbourne remained wrapped in darkness beyond the windows, scattered lights reflecting across wet streets below.
Behind me, Lena was still asleep.
Safe.
For now.
Roman stood across the kitchen island looking like he’d rather be anywhere else.
Which meant the situation was bad.
Very bad.
“Where did this come from?”
My voice stayed calm.
Roman didn’t look reassured.
“It appeared online thirty minutes ago.”
I looked back at the photograph.
Lena and me.
Standing near the penth
