The kettle screamed behind her, but Eden didn’t move. She stood barefoot in the kitchen, still in yesterday’s clothes, staring at the microwave clock as it ticked from 7:29 to 7:30.It felt like the longest minute of her life.The tea she meant to make had gone bitter in the bag. The scent of over-steamed water curled in the air, sharp against the quiet. Her apartment felt heavier this morning—like it had absorbed every sleepless thought that had kept her lying awake.She hadn’t slept. Not even for a moment.Three soft taps came at the door.She ignored them.Her phone buzzed on the counter, rattling against the wood.Cassian Vane.The text was short: I’m outside.She didn’t reply.Three more taps.Another message: I’m not leaving.Dragging a hand down her face, she crossed the apartment and pulled open the door. Cassian stood there in the same black coat from the night before, hair slightly damp from the mist outside, his expression maddeningly calm. The calm of a man who’d already decided how this conversation would end.“What do you want?” she asked, her voice rough from disuse.“Confirmation that you’re alive,” he said.“I’m not interested in being your conscience check-in.”His gaze didn’t waver. “Then be my partner.”She gave him a flat look. “Since when do you share power?”“I’m trying to keep you alive.”He didn’t wait for an invitation, but when she turned and walked back into the apartment, he followed.Cassian’s eyes swept the space—minimalist furniture, books on every surface, muted light through half-drawn curtains. Then he stopped cold.A wall across the room was covered—pinned papers, photos, strings connecting names, headlines, legal filings.“You’ve been running your own investigation,” he said slowly.Eden poured tea into a chipped mug without looking at him. “For a year.”He stepped closer, scanning the wall. Company names. Shell operations. A timeline of Marcus Calloway’s movements. Disappearances. Mergers. All cross-referenced with names of people who had simply… vanished. Her name sat at the very start of it all.A yellow post-it note beside it read in neat block letters: Every story starts with silence.Cassian turned to face her. “Why didn’t you come to me?”She met his gaze over the rim of the mug. “I did. Five years ago.”His jaw tightened, the words hitting harder than she intended—but not enough to make her take them back.“You think I just got fired and moved on?” she continued, her tone sharper now. “I couldn’t pay rent. My brother dropped out of school to help me cover bills. Every job I applied for mysteriously ‘went in another direction’ after the interview. I didn’t just lose a title, Cassian. I lost everything.”“I didn’t know.”“No,” she said coldly. “You didn’t care.”“That’s not true.”“You didn’t ask,” she said, her voice quiet but slicing through him. “You didn’t think, ‘What if the girl standing in front of me had a reason?’ You didn’t stop. You just picked up the phone and called security.”Her hand trembled as she set down the mug, but her face didn’t.Cassian took a step toward her. “Eden—”“No one protected me.”The silence that followed was thick, heavy enough to press against her chest.She walked past him toward the hallway. “So don’t show up now bringing bodyguards and warnings and whatever guilt you think passes for sincerity. I don’t need it.”“I didn’t come to protect you,” he said, his voice lower now. “I came to give you something.”She stopped. Slowly turned back.“I’ve spent the last six hours pulling surveillance,” Cassian said. “Whoever hit the building last night—whoever sent that drone—wasn’t trying to get to me. They were trying to make you run.”Her eyes narrowed. “How do you know?”“Because they wanted me to see the warning.”He pulled out his phone and handed it to her.The message glowed on the screen:> Tell her to walk away. Or next time, it won’t be a warning.Eden’s jaw tightened as she handed it back.“So they’re trying to scare me.”“No,” he said. “They’re trying to isolate you. Make you doubt me. Make you think you’re alone again.”She studied him. “Am I?”Cassian stepped closer, the air between them changing. “I can’t undo what I did.”“No,” she said softly. “You can’t.”“But I can make sure no one ever does it to you again.”Her pulse picked up. She hated that it did.“I don’t want your protection,” she whispered. “I want your honesty.”Something in his face shifted—like he’d just realized how little of that she’d ever gotten from anyone.“You have it,” he said. “Even if it ruins me.”She should have pulled away.She didn’t.His hand brushed her wrist—light, tentative, as if asking permission without words. She let it linger.The moment might have deepened—if not for her phone lighting up across the counter.One new message. From Raya.> Emergency. You need to see this. Right now.Eden moved quickly, crossing the room and unlocking the phone.The photo filled the screen.Leo. Her brother. Sitting in a corner booth of a diner. Across from a man in a gray suit.Her stomach dropped. She knew that face.Marcus Calloway’s private investigator.Beneath the photo, one line of text:> Why is your brother meeting with him?Eden’s chest went still.Cassian saw the photo over her shoulder, and his expression changed instantly.“Wait,” he said. “That doesn’t make sense—”She spun to face him.“Did you know?”“What?”“Don’t lie to me.”“I didn’t,” he said immediately. “Eden, I swear—”She was already moving, grabbing her coat from the hook.“Don’t follow me.”“Eden—”“Don’t.”The slam of the door echoed in the apartment.Cassian stood there, staring at the web of strings and notes on her wall, wishing it could tell him where she’d gone. Outside, the city swallowed her up. And for the first time in years, he had no idea if he’d see her again.