Damian’s POV

I’ve learned one thing in this business: nothing comes for free. Not information, not loyalty, not silence. Every scrap of detail costs something cash, favors, or blood.

That’s why when my men knocked on the office door close to one in the morning, I didn’t expect miracles. If they had news about the girl, I knew it would come piecemeal, dragged out of the city inch by inch.

“Come,” I said, closing the folder on my desk. Marco’s autopsy. Poison first, then the knife. The words clung to me like smoke.

They entered quietly, two of them. Both had the look of men who’d been outside too long: coats smelling of rain, shoes dirty with city grit, faces lined from patience.

The taller one Emil, spoke first.

“We went back to her old building. Elena’s.”

“And?”

“She hasn’t been there in days. Mail piling up. The landlord said she left in a hurry. Didn’t give notice. Left a few things behind.”

I leaned back, waiting. People vanish badly. They always leave traces.

“She left alone that night then after a while Clara left too probably to meet her,” Emil added.

My brows lifted. “Explain.”

“We talked to a neighbor on the second floor. Old woman. The kind who notices every face in the hallway. She said Elena’s friend was there the night she left. Clara. They went out together, both carrying bags. Middle of the night.”

“Did the old woman ask questions?”

Emil shook his head. “No. But we gave her a reason not to, if she ever gets curious.”

Good. Curiosity in the wrong hands could ruin the quiet we needed.

The shorter man — Pavel — stepped forward then. He held out a crumpled receipt. “Found this near the trash behind the building. Clara’s name. Local corner store. Yesterday’s date.”

I took the slip, smoothing it with my fingers. It wasn’t much, just proof of a purchase, but it told me two things: Clara was still in the area, and Elena trusted her enough to move with her.

“She’s hiding,” I said softly.

Pavel nodded. “Most likely. We checked the store. Spoke to the clerk. He remembered Clara — messy hair, big laugh, always buys snacks. Said she wasn’t alone this time. Paid in cash.”

“And?”

“She asked about prepaid SIM cards. The cheap ones. Bought two. Clerk didn’t think much of it, but he remembered her because she cracked a joke about running from her boyfriend.”

I sat back, a faint smile tugging at my mouth. Even when people think they’re clever, they give themselves away. Prepaid cards. Cash. Late-night exits. It was all the choreography of someone who thinks they can vanish.

“And the trail?” I asked.

“Thin. But we got something else.” Emil pulled a small notepad from his coat and flipped it open. “One of the local tellers at the bank. We pay him sometimes to keep eyes out for unusual movements. He called tonight. Said an account flagged by the system was temporarily frozen. Belongs to Elena.”

My chest tightened. “How much?”

He hesitated. “Large enough to trip alarms. High five figures.”

The number sat between us like a curse. Money. Always money.

“And she can’t touch it?”

“Not yet. Bank froze it automatically. Too big for her usual pattern.”

I tapped a finger against the desk. The image played in my head: Elena, pale and restless, staring at a number on a screen she never dreamed of. Her hands shaking not just from fear, but from the thought of what that money could buy her safety, distance, maybe even freedom.

“She told Clara,” Emil added carefully. “We don’t know what words she used, but we know Clara knows about the money now.”

I stilled. “How?”

Pavel rubbed the back of his neck. “We had someone tail Clara today. Kept her distance. They stopped in a cheap rental flat. Our man didn’t get inside, but he got close enough to the window to overhear pieces. Elena was worried. Clara tried to joke. Then there was talk about the bank, about how the money was blocked.”

A low sound rumbled from my chest. The picture sharpened. Elena wasn’t just running; she was talking. And Clara wasn’t just along for comfort she was listening.

“Good,” I said at last. “Keep it that way. If Clara knows, she’ll carry it with her. And people who carry secrets always spill them eventually.”

The men exchanged a glance, uncertain if that meant I wanted Clara handled. Not yet. Too soon. Sometimes betrayal was more useful alive.

“Where are they now?” I asked.

“Still in that flat,” Emil said. “Small place above a laundromat. No back exit except the fire escape. We’ve got two men posted across the street. No movement since midnight.”

“Let them think they’re safe,” I ordered. “Do not touch them. Do not scare them. Just watch.”

“Yes, sir.”

They shifted to leave, but I wasn’t finished.

“One more thing,” I said, voice sharp. They paused. “If either of you so much as blinks and loses them, you’ll answer to me. You understand?”

“Yes, sir,” they echoed.

The door clicked shut behind them. Silence pressed in.

I turned the receipt over in my hand, the ink smudged but Clara’s name still legible. My brother’s face stared at me from the autopsy folder.

But one had already walked into the light. Elena. The girl with the mask, the girl with the dance that still lived in my head no matter how many times I told myself I didn’t care.

She had carried the poison to Marco’s lips. She had left him slumped, helpless for the knife.

And now she thought she could run, thought she could hide in cheap flats and laugh with her friend like the world wasn’t sharpening knives for her back.

I pressed my palms against the desk, steadying myself.

Let her run. Let her talk. Let Clara betray her with a careless word or a greedy glance.

This city is a net. And I know how to tighten it thread by thread until there’s no air left.

Not yet, but soon.

Very soon.