The third tries to drag Cassandra back. I rip him off her by the collar, hurling him into a parked car like a rag doll. The impact sets off the alarm, a wail that hesitates then dies. The knife hand slashes at me, and I seize his wrist, twisting until bone pops. I then slam him to the ground and drive my knee into his throat, pinning him to the pavement. My breathing is ragged, hands tools with one job—kill.
I turn to Cassandra. Her eyes are huge. I expect relief, gratitude. Instead, she screams, a short, raw sound that cuts deeper than the knife could.
It’s not fear of them.
It’s fear ofme.
A shop window catches my reflection, and I freeze. The face staring back isn’t mine—it’s a predator’s. My teeth are bared, myeyes glow a deep red, burning through the glass. It’s a nightmare version of everything I bury, turned inside out. The street tilts, sirens warp in the distance, cold bites my skin.
The red eyes stare, knowing me better than I know myself.
I wake in my bed, drenched in sweat, lungs clawing for air, my pulse a hammer in my chest. The room is dark and quiet—no blood, no violence. Just the memory of an awful reflection of that monster’s face, wearing my skin. I check myself. My hands are clenched, jaw aching like I’ve been grinding my teeth for hours. It was just a bad dream, but my body believes it was real.
I think about the part of me that Cassandra saw last night, and whether it resembles the thing in the window. I take a cold shower, letting the water sting my nerves into submission, dress fast, and head to her suite.
Her bed is made, sheets crisp and untouched. The wardrobe shows a gap where two empty hangers are. The bathroom is dry. There’s no trace of her. No note. My chest tightens, but I shove it down. Panic is a luxury I don’t have.
I call Mrs. Koval. “She didn’t come to breakfast,” she says, voice clipped, professional.
The gate log shows one staff SUV left pre-dawn for a supply run; my guard swears Cassandra wasn’t in it. Cameras reveal nothing on the main feeds, but the garden path motion sensor blinked at 5:12 a.m. and then failed—snow or sabotage—which one is unknown. I taste the old fury again, sharp and metallic, but I lock it away.
My phone buzzes. It’s a text from Alex.
Interview fruitful?he asks, meaning did I get anything from the survivor.
No. I’ll handle the leftovers.
We both know what that means—quiet cleanup, no questions. We trade logistics in code. It steadies me somewhat but doesn’t touch the growing dread in my gut.
Another text from Alex.
Two of last night’s IDs trace back to a Durov feeder crew. Off-book collections. Not my unit.
The name lands like a blade in my mouth. It’s Ivan, or someone framing him. Doubt blooms—Alex is either warning me straight up or steering me toward a trap.
I call Cassandra. Straight to voicemail. I ping Bennett and ask her to deploy a team to Cassandra’s usual haunts—the hospital, Thierry boutique, the safe flat across the park. Nothing. I check the study. Her sewing machine sits untouched. The note I gave her with it sits beside a half-finished sketch, lines frozen in time.
I tally the week—my vow in the hospital to always protect her, last night’s violence, my promise in the basement to never cross that line again. Then the dream, where I was the monster unmasked. I’m two halves bolted into one man.
She saw both and chose to stay… until she didn’t.
I call Orlov and tell him to tighten the house’s edges—more cameras on the east line, ditch the failed sensor, swap drivers, rotate Clara’s guard routes. My final order burns as I give it: ifCassandra’s spotted outside, stand down. She comes home by choice or not at all. The cost is mine to carry.
I call Mina next, looping her in just enough to shift budgets—more for Clara’s detail, more for street intel on Ivan’s crew.
“Is she safe?” Mina asks.
“She was when she left.” My response comes out weak and hollow.
She doesn’t ask about Cassandra again, respecting my privacy.
The moment in the hospital hallway replays of me on my knees, promising to give it all up.
Alex texts again.
NYE tonight. City will be loud.
Translation: a good night to move, or to lose someone in the chaos.
