Tous les chapitres de : Chapitre 11 - Chapitre 20

Chapter 12: The Ghost We OweRain lashed the windows of the mansion as if the heavens themselves mourned the sins buried within its walls. Ava stood by the grand fireplace, arms wrapped tightly around her chest, the warmth of the flames failing to touch the cold curling inside her bones.She hadn’t slept. Not since Damon confessed. Not since he whispered those four haunting words into the silence of their shared room: "He didn't kill her."The truth unraveled slowly, dangerously. A lie Ava had carried since her brother’s death now felt like a noose tightening around her throat.---Damon leaned against the doorframe, watching her. He had never seen her so undone. Her hair was a tangled mess, her silk robe askew, and her usually sharp eyes were rimmed with red."You haven’t said anything in hours," he murmured, voice soft but firm.Ava turned to face him, her voice brittle. "What’s there to say? That everything I’ve believed, everything I built this revenge on... was false?"He stepped

The file sat untouched on the breakfast table like a bomb no one dared breathe near.Ava stared at it between sips of tea that had long gone cold. Its edges were crisp. Labeled neatly. Too neatly. Her name was printed across the front in clear, confident type: Ava Monroe.No title. No warmth. Just judgment in Times New Roman.Damon hadn’t so much as glanced at it since placing it there.He sat across from her, reading something on his phone, as if this were any other morning. As if she weren’t quietly unraveling across the table.She couldn't stand the silence anymore.“So… you’re not going to open that?”Damon didn’t look up. “Not yet.”Her fingers tightened around her cup. “Why not?”He finally raised his eyes. Calm. Cool. Far too neutral.“I already know what’s inside.”A pause.Ava’s voice was too soft when it came. “Then why show it to me at all?”“To see what you’d do.”“And what am I doing?”“Trying not to crack.”His phone made a soft sound. He glanced at it, typed a single re

The car smelled like new leather and old silence.Ava sat in the back seat, her coat draped over her lap, her fingers clenched around the seatbelt strap like it might anchor her to something that wasn’t disappearing.The driver didn’t speak. He barely looked at her.The estate faded behind them — ivy-covered stone swallowed by fog and shadows. The night stretched long and dark ahead, and she didn’t ask how long the drive would be.She didn’t want to know.She didn’t cry.She didn’t break.She simply stared out the window, watching the trees blur into a black smear, her reflection faint in the glass — pale, shell-shocked, unblinking.She heard it again.> You used my heart as a weapon.It echoed like a crack in the spine.He hadn’t yelled it. He’d whispered it like a diagnosis. Like something final.---The city rose around her in glass and steel by the time they arrived.The driver parked in front of her building. She didn’t ask him to wait. He didn’t offer.The lobby was empty. The e

The burner laptop took two full minutes to power on.Ava sat cross-legged on the floor of her apartment, hair tied up, hoodie pulled low, every curtain drawn. The only light came from the screen as it flickered to life — blue, gray, then black. Then the login prompt.She typed the password from muscle memory.“SNDSTR-15”Sundestroyer. Her sister’s dumb childhood superhero alias. She hadn’t thought about it in years.The desktop was sparse. Two folders.One called TOOLS.One called SHADOWFALL.She opened the second.Inside: subfolders labeled with phrases she hadn’t let herself look at since the day she first laid eyes on Damon.ACQUISITION.COVER OPS.LIAISON CONTACTS.BLACKWOOD SATELLITES.UNCONFIRMED PLAYERS.She clicked LIAISON CONTACTS.A spreadsheet opened—old, cracked, but intact. Cell after cell of names, false names, job titles, shell companies. Most had been dead ends.But one row, third from the bottom, still made her stomach drop.> Name: K.N.Alias 1: Kara Nichols — Logist

The building looked like it hadn’t been touched in years.Two stories. Limestone trim. A tarnished brass plate on the front that read simply:24 Wellington Street.No company name. No logo. No lawyer signs. Just a boarded side door and a faded notice on the glass that read “LEASE EXPIRED.”Ava stood across the street in a thrifted gray coat, watching.She wasn’t expecting guards. Not here. That wasn’t how people like K.N. operated.They didn’t protect buildings.They erased them.She crossed when traffic cleared, ducked under the chain barrier, and peered through the dusty glass.The front lobby was gutted.No furniture. No files. Just worn carpet and yellowed walls.But when she pulled out the portable scanner in her coat pocket — one of Milo’s old tricks — it picked up a faint embedded chip still broadcasting.> MAC ID: F. VOSS – CUSTODIAL ADMINLast Pinged: March 03, 2025Ava’s pulse slowed.Someone had accessed the building within the last five months.And someone left a digital f