Lahat ng Kabanata ng Shattered chain : Kabanata 21 - Kabanata 30

Carter’s knuckles were white as he gripped the edge of the table, eyes locked on the photographs. He’d gone through them three times already, as if each pass would reveal some secret he’d missed. “It’s not over.” The words burned in the space between us like a fuse waiting to ignite. “This handwriting,” he muttered. “It’s too clean. Someone wanted you to read it clearly. No smudges, no rush. This was intentional.” I sat across from him on the couch, arms wrapped around my knees. “You think it’s a message?” He looked up at me, his gaze softening. “It’s a statement. A warning, maybe. Or bait.” “For what?” He didn’t answer. Just leaned back in the chair, running a hand through his dark curls. The bruises and scars along his arms had faded, but the shadows in his eyes hadn’t. “Do you think it’s someone from Damien’s network?” I asked quietly. “Could be.” He glanced at the last photo again. “But this doesn’t feel like them. Damien’s people weren’t subtle. They didn’t need to be.”

The coffee shop was small—barely more than a few tables and a bar near the window. But it smelled like heaven. Roasted beans, cinnamon, vanilla… like safety wrapped in warmth. Carter held the door open for me, the little brass bell jingling above us as we stepped inside. It was the first time we’d been out—really out—since everything fell apart. No back alleys, no stolen cars, no motel rooms with peeling paint and bloodstained towels. Just… a café. A quiet street. A moment of peace. I breathed it in, every second of it. “I feel like we’re playing dress-up,” I said, glancing down at my oversized sweater and jeans. Carter smirked. “You look like yourself.” That shouldn’t have made my heart flutter the way it did. But it did. He looked like himself too—his hoodie clean, his boots not scuffed from running or fighting. No bruises. No bandages. Just him. Alive. Here. With me. We ordered two coffees and sat by the window. Outside, the sky was soft gray, the kind that held off rain but

The sun hadn’t fully risen when we left Michael’s safehouse, the streets still ghostly quiet. The city felt smaller, quieter, like the looming threat had pressed down on everything—making the familiar seem distant, and the dangerous, close. Carter drove, his hands tight on the wheel, his jaw set in that way that told me he was thinking—thinking too much. His focus was all sharp lines, all shadows. I could see it in the way his eyes darted to every mirror, every car that passed. “You’re not sleeping again,” I said softly, my hand resting on his thigh. His fingers twitched. But he didn’t pull away. “I’m fine.” “You’re not,” I said, squeezing his leg. “You’re carrying too much. Let me help you.” He glanced at me briefly, his lips curling into that small smile I loved. “You already do.” I turned away, watching the city blur past, the cold breeze from the cracked window ruffling my hair. “Michael’s right,” I said. “This Elena—she’s not just some freelancer. She’s someone’s eyes. Some

The tension in the air after Elena’s departure was thick, like a cloud that refused to lift. We had just gotten a glimpse of the true scale of the game we were playing. Elena wasn’t just a ghost in the machine—she was a player, and her boss, Vasquez, was more dangerous than we’d ever imagined. But tonight wasn’t the night to play their game. Not yet. “Stay close,” Carter muttered under his breath, his eyes scanning the ballroom as if the room itself might be hiding a weapon. I nodded, my own senses heightened. The gala had transformed from a mere social event to a battleground in the blink of an eye. And though we had been invited as part of the crowd, we were anything but welcome here. The realization sat heavy on my chest, but I couldn’t afford to dwell on it—not yet. The evening had turned into a delicate dance of movements, of subtle steps and whispered conversations. We were part of the game now, whether we liked it or not. The only question was how far we would go to win. Ca

The silence that followed Vasquez’s threat hung over us like a storm cloud, dark and suffocating. The room was alive with the soft murmur of conversations and the clink of glass, but all of it seemed so distant now. The only thing that mattered was the man standing in front of us—Vasquez, the man who had woven his influence into every corner of the city. And the two men now slowly regaining their footing behind him, their eyes locked on us with murderous intent. Carter stood unwavering, his posture tense but still composed, his hand firmly gripping mine. I could feel the pulse of his heart under my fingertips, strong and steady, like a promise. But beneath the surface, I knew we were both on the edge. This was the moment where everything could change. It was no longer just a game. It was survival. “You’re bold,” Vasquez said, his gaze cold, measuring. “I’ll give you that. But boldness only gets you so far.” I could hear the warning in his voice, but it didn’t scare me. Not when Car