Ethan
Ethan sat at the bar, fingers tap-tap-tapping against the wood in annoyance as Rowan typed on the tablet, struggling to make sense of the security footage. The grainy clips from the previous night flickered onto the screen—the entrance of his building, the lobby, the elevator. He leaned in, jaw tightening, waiting for a clear shot of the woman who had gone home with him. But of course, she always kept her face hidden.
"She's good," Rowan said quietly, tapping the screen to replay the footage. "Really good. Every camera misses her or only captures an angle. It's like she knows exactly where they are."
Ethan scowled, frustration simmering in his chest. "You think that was intentional?"
Rowan shot him a look that screamed disbelief. "You don't?"
Ethan exhaled sharply, his mind racing. Her movements and evasive behaviour were too deliberate to be coincidental. They'd already reviewed the video from his building. Same story there: no identifying shots, no clues to link her back. It felt intentional, purposeful, and his discomfort was only escalating with each passing second.
"Let's see the bar footage," Ethan demanded, irritation lacing his words.
Rowan nodded and swiped to another screen, calling up the bar's security logs. Almost immediately, his expression soured.
Ethan caught the shift. "What is it?"
Rowan tapped the screen, revealing the timestamps. "The bar cameras have been down for three days."
Ethan stiffened, disbelief hardening into frustration. "You're kidding."
"Nope," Rowan said, zooming in on the blank entries. "No recordings. No logs. Just… nothing."
Ethan leaned in, his voice sharper now. "And no one noticed?"
Rowan shook his head. "Apparently not. The manager said their system had been acting up, but they thought everything was still running fine."
Ethan's jaw clenched, disbelief sinking into his gut like a lead weight. "Three days. You're telling me they went three days without realizing they weren't recording anything? That's absurd. Most systems would have alerts if something like this happened."
"Exactly," Rowan shot back, his tone just as pointed. "Security cameras are supposed to be checked regularly. If a system crashes, there should be notifications. You don't just ignore it for three days and not know something's wrong."
Ethan scowled, raking a hand across his face in frustration. The fact that the bar's cameras were offline wasn't just inconvenient—it was downright suspicious. It fit too perfectly with her sudden appearance, with how she could vanish without a trace.
"She could've done it," Rowan said, voicing the thought Ethan had been trying to suppress. "Turned the cameras off before she arrived."
Ethan shook his head slightly, frustration boiling over. "If she did, wouldn't she have tried to stick around? Leave something behind? Come closer to me?"
"Not necessarily," Rowan shot back, his tone brimming with irritation. "What if she didn't want to leave anything? What if her whole purpose was to make you question everything?"
Ethan's father's warning echoed in his mind, a nagging irritation. She could be a spy. Someone whose purpose was to be close to you. You have no room to be sloppy.
Was Jonathan right? Had someone orchestrated this whole mess—turned off the cameras, manipulated her to show up just for her to disappear as quickly as she had materialized?
"But why didn't she give me her name?" Ethan muttered, mostly to himself, the frustration bubbling over.
Rowan paused, leaning back, narrowing his eyes as he processed it. "Maybe that wasn't part of the plan. Perhaps whoever is behind this is just trying to keep her untraceable. Someone who raises suspicion but leaves no trail."
With each word, Ethan felt the weight of frustration settle heavily on him. He crossed his arms, feeling the tension coil tighter. "So you think this was intentional. A setup."
"Feels that way," Rowan replied. "The cameras going down, her dodging every security feed in your building—it's too neat."
Ethan shrugged, trying in vain to ease the tension that was threatening to consume him. "Then that means whoever's pulling the strings isn't finished yet."
Rowan met his gaze, his expression solemn, as if they were both trapped in a web of frustration.
Whatever had started last night—it was far from over.
Luelle
Luelle's phone buzzed on the table, the low sound shattering the heavy silence of her apartment. She glanced at the screen, her heart sinking at the sight of the name: Brendan Mars. For a fleeting moment, she considered letting it ring, but she knew better. Brendan didn't call without reason. Inhaling sharply, she answered.
"It was you, wasn't it?"
Brendan's voice came through the line, calm yet unyielding. She tightened her grip on the phone, a whirlwind of frustration and self-blame swirling in her mind. She had broken her own rules—something she had prided herself on for years, thriving in her invisibility, stirring no dust, so far removed from the world that there was no water to ripple. Ethan had no idea she even existed. The Dominion guards were oblivious to her presence. She was the queen of stealth attacks. But last night, in a single reckless moment, she had shattered years of discipline.
Evading the cameras at Ethan's apartment building was easy. She knew their locations by heart, memorizing every blind spot from her countless nighttime visits. But the bar was different. She had to hack into their security system, meticulously erasing her tracks and making it seem as though the cameras hadn't been operational for days. It had been a calculated move, one she believed would conceal her trail. But deep down, she should have known better. The Dominion wouldn't overlook those gaps in the footage—nor would Brendan.
Luelle closed her eyes, bracing herself for the flood of thoughts she hoped would merge. She wasn't where she was meant to be. The guards would have kept Ethan safe from the troubled souls who loitered around the bar, as they always did. Yet when she had spotted him hunched over his drink, so profoundly lost, she couldn't resist intervening. And now, she has to explain herself.
She hesitated, Brendan's words hanging in the air. Finally, she exhaled and admitted, "Yes, it was."
On the other end, silence stretched long enough for her to wonder if he had hung up. Then Brendan spoke again, his voice steady but firm. "Report to head office." The call ended abruptly, and Luelle continued to stare at the screen, her heart racing with a myriad of possible scenarios.
She had seen this coming, anticipated it the moment she decided to step in. But that knowledge offered little comfort. She had broken the rules. And now, she would have to pay the price.