Tous les chapitres de : Chapitre 111 - Chapitre 120

Chapter One Hundred and Eleven: The Final Choice The kiss got deeper. Ian’s mind was a storm of confusion and loneliness, and for a second, the warmth of another person, someone who seemed safe and kind, was all he wanted. Miller’s mouth was soft, his hands steady on Ian’s back. It felt like a promise of something normal. Something good. Then, a cold shock went through him. This is wrong. He jerked back, his breath coming in short gasps. He put a hand flat on Miller’s chest, pushing him back just an inch. “Wait… I… I can’t,” Ian stammered, his face flushed with shame and panic. “I don’t want to go further. I’m sorry.” Miller pulled back instantly, his expression softening into one of gentle understanding. He took Ian’s trembling hand and brought it to his lips, kissing his knuckles softly. “It’s okay,” he murmured, his voice a low, comforting hum. “I’m sorry. I just… got carried away. You’re under so much pressure and I forget that sometimes.” Just then, the door swung ope

Chapter One Hundred and Thirteen: A Kiss By The Altar. The doorbell wouldn’t stop. It was a shrill, screaming alarm slicing through the silent church. “ENOUGH!” Miller roared. He didn’t aim at the door. He aimed his gun right at Soren. “Let him go, or I drop you right here!” Miller fired. Not to kill. To stop. The bullet tore through the air and grazed Soren’s shoulder. Soren shrieked, his hand flying open. The knife clattered to the stone floor. In that single, fractured second, Zhedya moved. He threw his own body forward, wrapping his arms around Ian’s bound form and using his own weight to haul them both backward, away from the terrifying edge of the platform. The rope snapped taut. Ian swung, dangling, but he was no longer over the hungry, dark drop. “I have you,” Zhedya gritted out through clenched teeth, his voice a raw scrape against the quiet. “I swear to God, I have you.” He snatched the fallen knife from the floor. One hard, vicious slice through the thick r

Chapter One Hundred and Fifteen: If The Profiler Was a Monster. Miller looked like he hadn’t slept in a week. Dark circles hung under his eyes, and his usually crisp shirt was rumpled. He sat behind his desk like it was the only thing holding him up. “I had no choice but to reach out to you,” he said, his voice gravelly with exhaustion. “I’m… glad you came.” He didn’t wait for Ian to sit before sliding a thin file across the desk. It felt too light for the horror it contained. “Four teenagers. Vanished without a trace in three weeks. No ransom notes. No bodies. The press is calling them ‘The Teennapper’ The BSI is running in circles. We’ve got nothing. Literally, nothing.” Ian picked up the file, his journalist’s instincts firing. His eyes scanned the faces…two boys, two girls, all around sixteen, smiling school photos that were now posters of despair. “You don’t have to ask my permission to cover a story, Miller. You know I’d take this.” “It’s not just a story, Ian,” M

Chapter One Hundred and Seventeen: Despise The Guilt The morning light filtered through the curtains, soft and pale, the kind of light that made everything look gentle even when it wasn't. Ian sat at the kitchen table, newspaper spread out in front of him like evidence. His coffee had gone cold hours ago and he hadn't noticed. He'd been staring at the same paragraph for ten minutes. Maybe longer. The words blurred together then snapped back into focus, over and over. ‘CALLISTA MONROE EXONERATED. Wrongful conviction overturned after four years. New evidence reveals fabricated case files. Full investigation into misconduct pending.’ His thumb traced over her name, back and forth, back and forth. He remembered that visiting room so clearly it hurt. The scratched-up glass between them. The phone receiver pressed to his ear, still warm from the last person's desperate conversation. Her hands cuffed to the table, metal biting into her wrists, but her eyes…God, her eyes were still

Chapter One Hundred and Nineteen: That Warehouse Out of Town. The convenience store hummed with that cheap fluorescent light that made everything look slightly gray. Two in the morning, maybe later. The kind of hour when only insomniacs and people with something on their mind wandered the aisles. Zhedya fit neither category. He just wanted chips. Ian's favorite…the ridiculous spicy ones he pretended not to love but somehow finished in one sitting every time. Zhedya had been halfway home when he realized he had made a promise to grab some chips for Ian. A U-turn later, here he was, standing in a 7-Eleven at 2 AM, comparing two brands like it actually mattered. His car idled outside. Ian was probably already asleep, curled up on his side of the bed, stealing all the blankets like he always did. Zhedya reached for a bag. Then someone stepped up beside him. Close…too close for a stranger. The cologne gave it away before the voice did. Something cheap and overpowering, the kin