Chapter 21

Syria’s POV

The silence stretched. I couldn’t stop staring at him, trying to decipher the truth. Was this the man behind the message? Or someone sent in his place?

I wanted to ask him who he was and what he was doing here. The words sat on the tip of my tongue, but I couldn’t bring myself to speak.

There was something strange about him, something oddly familiar that kept me frozen in place.

He didn’t look like someone I’d met before, but something about his presence tugged at a memory buried deep in my mind.

His face—sharply defined, calm, and unreadable—resembled someone I couldn’t quite place. Maybe I was imagining it. Or maybe my instincts were trying to remind me of something I didn’t yet understand.

Slowly, I sat down on the edge of the sofa, my eyes cautiously studying his every movement.

His posture was straight. Composed. He didn’t fidget. He didn’t blink excessively like most nervous guests would. That was the first sign he wasn’t just some ordinary man. Then I noticed the