ETHAN’S POV —The silence that followed the call felt like the calm before a storm that would rip everything apart.My fingers still trembled, clutching the cracked phone as if it might bite me back.“We know what you have.”The words echoed, sharp and accusing.What did they know? How much?Sophia’s eyes searched mine—fear flickering beneath the surface—but I couldn’t let her see the full fracture inside me.“Who was it?” she asked, voice barely steady.“No idea.”I should have felt something.Anger. Rage. A need to fight back.But all I felt was cold. Empty.Like a man who had run out of arrows but still had to stand at the edge of the battlefield.Sophia reached out and rested her hand on mine.The touch was small, but it anchored me to something I hadn’t dared hold on to.“Whatever this is, we face it. Together.”I nodded, but the lie tasted bitter.Together.I wasn’t sure I still knew what that meant anymore.---Hours later, I sat in the darkened room, the black feather still o
— Ethan’s POV —The black feather burned in my palm. I stared at it like it was a brand searing my skin. But the pain wasn’t physical. No. It was something deeper—an ache I couldn’t swallow down, no matter how tightly I clenched my fists.The way it fell from that man’s hand—like a silent warning carved out of shadow and spite.I wanted to tear it to pieces, crush it beneath my heel.But I didn’t.Because it meant something.Something dark. Something real.Something I still didn’t understand.Sophia was watching me, her eyes wide and unblinking. The faint tremble in her fingers gripped mine as we sat in the car, parked too far from safety but close enough to the past that haunted us both.“Ethan… what now?” Her voice was barely more than a whisper.I swallowed. The words wouldn’t come easy. How do I tell her that this black feather wasn’t just a symbol—it was a promise? A threat wrapped in a riddle. That whatever game was playing out wasn’t just about us. It was about everything we t
— ETHAN’S POV —The line went dead. The silence that followed was louder than any shout.Maurice was gone.Gone.The word repeated itself in my mind, over and over, as if saying it enough times would make it sink in, would make it real.My cousin… my blood—vanished.And with him, the last thread I had left connecting me to the world I once thought I understood.The phone slipped from my hand. It hit the polished wood floor with a dull thud. The noise seemed faint, distant, as if I were underwater.I couldn’t breathe.I couldn’t think.All I could see was that damn feather.White. Pure. Innocent.Or maybe just a cruel joke.Andre’s voice returned through the comm, breaking the numbness.“Sir? Are you there?”I didn’t answer at first.I closed my eyes.Swallowed the tight knot squeezing my chest.“Tell me everything.”Andre’s voice was cautious.“Surveillance confirms Maurice was meeting a man at the northwest corridor—”“White suit,” I finished for him.“Yes. The same man seen with the
— Ethan’s Pov —June 17th..He’d written it in black ink. No smudges. No fingerprints. Just those four words that made my blood run colder than the marble under our feet.You dance, or the curtain drops.I took the card from Sophia’s hand. Crushed it in my fist.“Was that him?” she asked, her voice tight.I scanned the crowd. Nothing. Everyone was pretending to enjoy their drinks, their conversation, the string quartet playing in the background. But someone had seen him. They always did. Even if they didn’t know what they saw.“He left it for us to find,” I muttered. “He wanted to be seen… just enough.”Sophia turned slightly, eyes wide, shoulders stiff. She wasn’t trembling anymore, but she looked like she was trying hard not to.“Why now?” she asked. “Why tonight?”Because he wants the audience.Because he likes a stage.Because we gave him one.I didn’t answer.Instead, I guided her to the champagne table, ignoring every outstretched hand trying to pull me into small talk. Her pa
— Sophia's POV The slippers were gone.I hadn’t touched them.I know I hadn’t.One minute, I was lying down, finally drifting into something close to sleep. The next, Ethan’s voice echoed through the house, sharp and cold through the comms. Then his footsteps. Heavy. Fast.I sat up, heart hammering. The room was dim. Quiet. Too quiet. It always got like this right before something happened.I wrapped the blanket tighter around me and hurried out into the hall.I found him in the foyer, jaw tight, note crushed in one fist. The box was there. But the slippers? Gone. And in their place, that single white feather.Ethan didn’t say anything when he saw me.He just looked up slowly, eyes darker than I’d ever seen them.“It wasn’t you?” he asked, voice low.“No,” I whispered. “I thought you moved them.”His silence answered for him.Something crawled up my spine.“There was another note,” he said. “From Isaac.”“What did it say?”He opened his fist, slowly.She was always meant to dance fo
—Ethan's POVThe ballet slippers were still sitting in the foyer.Untouched.Like they might bite.I didn’t move after I opened the box. Didn’t speak. Barely breathed.Sophia stood next to me, silent. But I could feel her—shoulders trembling, breath shallow, one hand hovering protectively over her stomach. She hadn’t said a word since she recognized them.Pink satin. Frayed at the toe. A child’s size.Aria’s.Hers.From before the world swallowed us whole.I should’ve burned the damn things. Thrown them back in the fire Isaac had crawled out of.Instead, I picked them up. Slowly. Carefully. My gloves back on.“Where was this left?” I asked Andre, my voice like ice cracking.“Main gate,” he said. “Driverless car. Windows tinted. We ran the plate—it’s a ghost. No record. No prints on the box either.”Of course there weren’t.Isaac was too smart for that. Too deliberate.This wasn’t just another taunt.It was a reminder.He was watching. Waiting. And he was still inside our story, deeper