She's so strong. So determined. So lonely.
I want to go to her. Want to introduce myself, explain who I am, tell her about what Alex meant to me. But how do I explain that I'm the reason her brother is dead? That I'm the monster who destroyed her family?
I can't. So I watch instead.
On the main monitor, she's returned to her desk. I zoom in slightly, watching her hands as she sketches. Those elegant fingers, the way she holds the pencil, the small satisfied smile when she gets a line exactly right. I've memorized every expression, every gesture, every habit.
I've had my people ensure her apartment building is secure—better locks, cameras in the common areas that feeddirectly to my system here, a more reliable superintendent on my payroll who actually fixes things. When that investor tried to back out of funding her spring line last month, I quietly bought his debt and made him understand that keeping his commitments was in his best interest.
Just like I made Senator Morrison understand today.
The world is full of leverage points. People with secrets, with weaknesses, with things they value more than their integrity. I find those points, and I press on them, gently but firmly, until everything aligns the way I need it to.
For her. It's all for her.
She doesn't know any of this. She thinks she's making it on her own. And she is, mostly. I'm just... removing obstacles. Smoothing the path.
"Sir." Bjorn's voice interrupts my observation. "The surveillance equipment for Miss Sinclair's apartment has been upgraded as requested. The new cameras are completely undetectable."
I don't look away from the screens. On the monitor, Eve is gathering her things, preparing to leave for the day. "Show me."
He pulls up the new feeds on a separate monitor. Six different angles of her apartment now, including one in the closet that I requested specifically. High definition. Night vision capable. Audio so clear I'll be able to hear her breathe.
"Good," I say, watching her lock up her office on another screen. She'll be home in twenty minutes. "And the audio?"
"Fully operational. Though I should mention, sir—" He hesitates, which is unlike him. "The level of surveillance we're conducting is illegal. If discovered—"
"It won't be discovered," I interrupt. "You're too good at your job for that."
"Of course, sir." He pauses again. "May I speak freely?"
I nod, though I already know what he's going to say. I track Eve's progress on the street view camera, watching her hail a taxi.
"This has gone beyond protection, sir. What you're doing... It's an obsession."
"I'm aware." I turn to look at him, finally pulling my eyes from the screens. "Do you have a problem with that?"
Bjorn holds my gaze for a moment, then shakes his head. "No, sir. Just wanted to make sure you knew."
When he leaves, I turn back to the monitors. Eve is in the taxi now—I can't see inside, so I switch to the camera outside her apartment building, waiting for her to arrive. While I wait, I pull up footage from last night. Eve in her apartment, curled up on her sofa with a sketchbook, her hair loose around her shoulders. She's wearing an oversized sweater and leggings, no makeup, just her natural beauty.
I've watched this clip dozens of times. It's one of my favorites. She looks so peaceful, so utterly herself.
The live feed alerts me—she's arriving home. I watch her pay the taxi driver, watch her walk to her building entrance. She pauses to check her mailbox—nothing today—then heads upstairs. I track her progress through the building's cameras until she reaches her floor, then switch to the apartment feeds.
The door opens, and she enters. I lean forward, watching her kick off her heels with that small sigh of relief she always makes. She hangs her coat on the hook by the door, sets her bagdown, and I follow her with my eyes as she moves through her apartment.
She doesn't know I'm here. Doesn't know that every moment of her life is captured, recorded, studied. Doesn't know her brother's killer watches over her every moment.
And she never will.
I'm just the shadow in her life. The guardian she'll never see.
That's enough. It has to be.
Except it's not. Not anymore.
Watching used to be enough. The knowing used to satisfy. But somewhere over the past months, something has shifted. The distance I've maintained has started to feel like torture rather than penance.
