3. Terrible Liar

Did I drink too much already?

For the first time since boarding this plane, I felt trapped. Because if that man was dead, then someone out there had tied up a loose end.

My loose end.

“Everything alright?” Elian asked, his voice softer now, his blue eyes sharper. As if he noticed the change in me.

I forced a nod, trying to swallow the lump in my throat. “Yeah. Fine. Just... didn’t expect the plot twist.”

But Elian’s piercing blue eyes stayed locked on me, unblinking, unrelenting. Like he was studying me under a microscope, looking for the crack in the glass. “You look like you’ve just seen a ghost.”

His words rattled something in me because, honestly? That’s exactly what it felt like.

I cleared my throat, gripping my phone with white-knuckled fingers. “It’s nothing. Just… the news. You know how it is.”

But Elian wasn’t buying it. His head tilted slightly, the corner of his mouth twitching like he was about to say something sharp, something clever.

Thankfully, he didn’t. Instead, he just waited.

I turned away from him, frantically unlocking my phone with shaky fingers. The screen briefly lit up with the blurry crime scene image again, the familiar watch and ankle tattoo peeking out from under the blur. My stomach churned.

I scrolled to my contacts, thumb hovering over a name. Lieutenant Barnes.

The plane’s intercom crackled to life as the flight attendants began their safety demonstration, but their words were drowned out by the rushing sound in my ears.

Pick up. Pick up. Pick up.

The line rang once. Twice.

Then, ‘Summers? What the hell, you know I’m in a briefing–‘

“Lieutenant, listen.” My voice came out sharper than I intended, drawing Elian’s attention again. I turned slightly in my seat, trying to shield my phone from his line of sight. “The perp – the one from the mafia murder case. Aaron Somerset. He’s dead.”

A pause. Static crackled over the line.

‘Dead?’ Barnes repeated slowly. ‘Where?’

“Harlen, England.” I said, keeping my voice low. “You know he escaped the country, and I’m over here on personal leave. It was just on the news. He’s… he’s dead, Lieutenant. Someone took him out.”

I could almost hear Barnes rubbing a hand down his face on the other end of the line. ‘Christ. You’re sure it’s him?’

“Positive. The watch, the tattoo, it’s him. There’s no mistake. Harlen’s authorities released the news, but they didn’t know who it was yet.”

‘Alright, I’ll get someone on it. Thanks for the head up, Summers.’

The line went dead.

I let out a breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding, but it didn’t help. My chest still felt tight, like I was strapped into this seat with steel cables instead of a seatbelt.

When I turned back, Elian was still watching me. His expression had shifted, less amused, more serious. The sharpness in his blue eyes had deepened into something unreadable.

“You know him, don’t you?” he said quietly, tilting his head slightly as if he were trying to piece me together.

My mouth went dry.

“No,” I said too quickly.

He raised an eyebrow.

“Maeve,” he said softly, my name rolling off his tongue in a way that made it sound like he was testing it. “You’re a terrible liar.”

I gripped the panda neck pillow tighter, wishing it could somehow swallow me whole. “Look, it’s none of your business. It’s just a case I worked on. That’s all.”

But Elian didn’t back down. Instead, he leaned back in his seat, arms casually crossed over his chest, his snake tattoo peeking from under his sleeve as if it were watching me too.

I tried to ignore the weight of his stare, but it felt impossible when his presence practically crackled with quiet intensity.

“Let me guess,” he said, his voice low and smooth, like a blade gliding over silk. “You’re not a journalist. You’re not a lawyer. And something tells me you’re definitely not an influencer.”

I gave him a flat look. “Do I look like someone who’d do brand deals for… I don’t know, pastel water bottles or glittery skincare serums?”

His lips twitched, but the amusement didn’t fully reach his eyes. “No. You look like someone who’s spent way too many nights in a damp office staring at cork boards covered in red string and photographs.”

I stilled.

Elian’s gaze sharpened, catching the subtle flicker of panic I couldn’t suppress in time. He leaned in slightly, elbows resting on the armrests, invading my space without even touching me. “You’re a detective, aren’t you?”

The word hung heavy in the air between us.

I hesitated, my throat tight, my heart pounding like a war drum. But denying it felt pointless. He was too perceptive, too sharp. Lying would only dig me deeper into a hole I couldn’t climb out of. He’d make a fine career in my line of work.

“…Yes,” I said finally, my voice quiet but firm.

His smirk returned. Amused and more knowing. Like he’d just unlocked some critical piece of the puzzle. “Let me guess, you’re the one who cracked the case. The Northvale mafia murder. That was you, wasn’t it?”

Something in me snapped at his words. Maybe it was the way he said it, so casual and certain, like it wasn’t something that had cost me months of sleep, sanity, and any semblance of a personal life.

“Yes,” I said, my voice sharp as glass. “I pieced it together. I followed every thread, every lead, every shadow. I found him. I. Found. Him.”

Elian didn’t flinch, didn’t waver under the sudden heat in my voice. He just watched me, letting me keep going.

“And you know what happened next? Nothing. Nothing happened because by the time we got our ducks in a row, he was already gone. Slipped out of the country like a ghost. And now–”

I gestured at the frozen image on my phone screen, my voice cracking slightly.

The silence that followed was deafening.

When Elian finally spoke, his voice was soft, but there was something cold buried beneath it. “Maybe some people don’t deserve a courtroom.”

His piercing blue eyes weren’t on me anymore. They were distant, sharp as broken glass, staring past me at something or someone I couldn’t see.

“Maybe,” he continued, his words deliberate, each one laced with quiet finality, “Some people deserve exactly what they got.”

A chill prickled at the back of my neck.

Because for a brief second, I saw something raw flicker across his face. Grief, maybe?

Or something darker.

Something settled deep in his bones.

He wasn’t talking about himself. He wasn’t making empty observations or playing devil’s advocate.

No. Elian knew.

He knew the kind of justice that had been served.

The plane hummed around us as it began its climb, cabin lights dimmed and cold.

The only question here was… do I want to know?