I opened the folder. Eight pages of clean, clinical surveillance. My address, my office, the Tuesday coffee shop, Isla’s school schedule, her after-school activities, even which door she used every morning. All of it written down like it was nothing.
Victor had read every word and done nothing. I turned the page and my stomach dropped. There was Isla at thirteen, standing just outside the school gates, bag slung over one shoulder. She was looking up at something off-camera, her grey eyes wide and soft, completely unguarded. The way she only looked when she thought no one was watching.
I stared until the edges of the room went blurry. My throat closed up, I gripped the table hard, forcing air into my lungs so I wouldn’t break right there. When I finally looked up, Sebastian was watching m
