로그인CHAPTER 76: The Penthouse, Night Three Jasmine’s POV I woke up with a start, for a second I did not know where I was. The dream was still clouding my mind all I could see and hear was the dark corridors, the sound of someone calling Marc’s name from too far away, the cracked amulet burning against my skin like it was trying to split open. My heart was hammering hard enough that I could feel it in my throat. The hallway around me was dark and quiet. I was not in my bed, I was in the doorway of the guest room, one hand braced against the frame, breathing like I had been running. I tried to pull the dream apart from the real but I failed for a few more seconds. Then I saw him. Tristan stood a short distance down the hallway, close enough to his own door that he must have stepped out the moment he heard me. He was still, watching me as if he didn’t want to startle me. The realization that he had heard me at all unsettled something in my chest. I had thought I was quiet. I had though
Randall’s POV I kept following the money traces, that was the only part of the job that never lied. People could change their stories. Documents could be altered. Witnesses could disappear. Numbers, once they started moving, left a path whether the people moving them wanted one or not. I had been walking that path for weeks now, starting from the rogue attacks and the strange residue patterns at the scenes, and every time the trail bent it bent toward the same quiet places—shell companies, contractors who existed mostly on paper, and transfers small enough to look normal if you were not already looking for them. One contractor’s name kept surfacing. Invoices that matched the dates of certain movements around Apex-related territories. I wrote the name down every time it appeared, then crossed it out, then wrote it again when it showed up in a new place. Patterns like that were rarely accidents. When I laid the contractor’s activity beside the corporate organizational chart I had bu
Jeff’s POV Marc asked me to teach him how to fight on the third afternoon after they moved into the penthouse. We were in the wide living area, sitting near the windows. Having a quiet moment when he said. “Can you teach me how to fight?” I set the security tablet down. “No.” He waited, patient, like he had expected that response but still needed to hear the reason. “You’re six,” I said. “Fighting is not something you need to learn right now. My job is to keep you safe. Not to turn you into someone who looks for danger.” Marc considered that. His legs swung once against the edge of the couch, then went still. “Okay,” he said. Then, after a short pause,“Can you teach me how to watch?” The question caught me off guard. I studied him, his blue eyes were steady. There was no excitement in them, no childish hunger for something dramatic. He simply wanted to understand the space around him well enough that nothing could surprise him the way those men at the school had tried to.
Jasmine’s POV Tristan drove Marc and I home and tried to pretend the afternoon had been ordinary. Marc still had no idea how close the danger had come. Jeff had kept the whole thing away from the classroom, and I had picked him with the same calm voice I used for early pickups when work ran long. In the car he asked why we were leaving before the bell, and I told him the truth that was safe to give—Mom finished early and wanted extra time with him. He believed me without asking anymore questions, then spent the rest of the ride telling me about his day. I held on to them while my hands stayed tight by my sides . At the apartment I got him settled with a comfortable cloth and a snack before I turned my attention toward Tristan. He was already there, staring at me as I took care of Marc. Tristan stood near the table with the same focused stillness he wore when something operational had gone wrong. He had a tablet in one hand and the tight line at the corner of his mouth that meant
Jeff’s POV I was standing in my usual spot near the side gate when the two men arrived. They looked right physically, they wore dark trousers, plain button-down shirts, lanyards with laminated cards that looked official. One carried a thin folder. The other had a tablet under his arm. They spoke to the front office staff at the gate with a polite, and slightly bored tone, claiming there were education inspectors, and came for routine inspection. I heard their full conversation from the way they asked for the administrative office, to the way they smiled when the receptionist pointed them toward the main administrative building. Something in the rhythm of the questions were wrong. Real educational inspectors usually started with the building, the compliance files, and the general overview. These two moved too quickly toward other things. I left the gate and walked in after them, keeping my distance. The receptionist was already explaining the visitor log. One of the men nodded a
Jasmine’s POV I was standing in front of the bathroom mirror, pulling my hair into a tight ponytail, when I felt the amulet crack for the second time. It happened without warning, one second the iron sat against my skin the way it always did, the next second a sharp, clean snap ran through it, like someone had taken a thin blade and cut the metal. I froze with both hands still raised, fingers tangled in my hair. The sound was small, but inside my chest it felt enormous. I lowered my arms slowly and looked down. The crack was longer this time. The first one had been a fine line through one of the runes, easy to miss if you weren’t looking for it. This one cut deeper and wider, running almost the full length of the main symbol. The edges were sharp enough that I could see the difference even in the bathroom light. My stomach dropped. I touched it before I could stop myself. The moment my fingertip brushed the broken edge, my scent slipped through. It was stronger than the first







