Cillian Murphy Jonathan Crane Novels & Stories

Useless. Crane’s fury had been instant and merciless. He hadn’t spoken to her for days afterward, and it had taken Lilune herself to beg him to forgive her. And now… there was something in his eyes again. Something that felt too familiar. Almost as if… No. Ella’s tension loosened as she reminded herself: this time it was different. The woman in Crane’s life now — that human — was nothing like Lilune. She was an orphan, fragile, utterly mortal. And Lilune…

It was like we had stumbled upon some long-forgotten, abandoned castle - and who knew what secrets it held? As we approached, a large group of people, including both men and women, stood around the stairs leading up to what appeared to be a stone stage. Dane emerged and ascended the steps, followed by two men who escorted Catrina out. She had clearly been badly beaten, with bruises and blood staining her face. I stepped forward, but Kendra caught my arm and whispered, “Don’t,” keeping her eyes on the events ahead. How could she remain so composed while I was a bundle of nerves? My stomach was churning, and I felt like throwing up.

His gray eyes were slightly bloodshot, and he appeared jittery. “Cillian? What’s going on, man?” Jonathan asked. “Not to sound rude, but you look like shit. I haven’t seen someone look that messed up since John tried to stay away from Sarael.” Jonathan teased him. Jonathan may have been laughing, but the look on Cillian’s face said this wasn’t a laughing matter. Jonathan noticed and blinked. “Are you shitting me? You found your mate?” Jonathan asked. “Is that why you want out of your assignment? You don’t want to be away from her?” I questioned.

"She called me after you. She wanted to know if I could confirm the January 2008 date independently — whether there was any family record of Martin and Crane being in contact that early." "Can you?" "Lilly has a 2008 diary in her study," he said. "She keeps every diary she's ever kept. I checked this morning." He looked at the courtyard. "Geoffrey Crane attended a dinner at the Hale-Draven house in November 2007. Martin was there. That's the earliest documented contact." "November 2007," Lena said. "Yes." She sat beside him. "He was planning it before Crane was even on the foundation's payroll," she said.

Or at least as an acknowledgement, something to respect. I turned a corner too sharply and nearly collided into someone. A soft, familiar laugh met me as warm hands steadied my arms. “Well, well,” Madeline drawled, her copper hair tumbling over her shoulder as she grinned at me. “If it isn’t our brave Luna herself. I keep finding myself growing more curious about who you are and what you're trying to do, but trust me, you are catching Nolan’s eye. He's impressed by you. Had he not been, he wouldn't have allowed you to be in that room in the first place.”

The embers glow orange. Marcus is outside, checking the perimeter. I hear his boots on the gravel, the soft crackle of his radio, the murmur of his voice. Every few minutes, he passes by the window, a shadow in the dark. My phone buzzes. A text from Julian. Crane is moving. He left Switzerland. He is flying to the city. Arrives tomorrow morning. Whitmore is staying behind at the compound. Crane is coming alone, but he will have security with him. He wants to meet. Neutral ground. He says he has information about Whitmore's plans.

One attachment. He opened it. And what he saw turned his blood to ice. A CCTV footage; still... Blurry, but unmistakable. Julian, inside a VanDermere boardroom. And across the table from him, unmistakable too… was Dominic Crane. — Back in New York – VanDermere Tower Julian looked up as the conference room door swung open. He hadn’t called this meeting. Security hadn’t announced a guest. And yet, Crane stood there—impeccable in his navy suit, a glass of scotch in hand, and that serpent’s smile painted on his face.

I could feel the job, my future, within my grasp. Then, the heavy doors behind me opened with the force of a gale. Every single person at the table stood up instantly, their chairs shrieking against the floor. Director Miller’s face went from impressed to ghost-white in a second. Mr. Drake…Mr. Crane!" Director Miller stumbled over his words, his voice high and nervous. "We... we didn't think you were coming. Welcome, sir." Drake Crane. I had heard of the name before. There were many Cranes in this city, a whole dynasty of wealth and influence, but his name was the loudest among them.

Crane said quietly, "is the part I think you already know. I think you've been standing here doing the math since I said waiting and I think the math has arrived somewhere you don't want it to be." She looked at him. He looked back. The field between them was empty and bright and entirely indifferent. "Say it," she said. "Are you sure." "Say it." Crane held her gaze for one more second, and in the second was something that might have been, in a different man, in a different life, almost like regret. "His name," Crane said, "is Daniel Rourke. And before you tell me that's impossible... I know. I was there when they buried him too."

Growling at me, Nathan stood up with me and the three of us followed Mister Cartwright toward Jonathan's office. Taking a seat behind the Alpha's desk Darius propped up his boots on top of the desk and gestured for us to take a seat. “My father won't appreciate you sitting like that sir,” Nathan muttered sourly. Mister Cartwright shrugged and dropped his feet to the floor. “Please explain what happened here. I can smell my kind within these walls,” he asserted and leaned back gazing at the three of us awaiting an answer. Nolan sighed and started to explain about Ríoghán Crinan and what he wanted from Nathan and me.