My blood ices. A dull roar rises in my ears, but I lock it down.
“Let him come.”
My father sighs, looking at me as though I’ve failed some unspoken test. Like I’m too stubborn, too naive to see the storm barreling toward me.
Maybe I am.
“You think you understand what you’re facing, but you don’t. You’re not ready.”
I meet his gaze without blinking. “I’m not afraid of Julian Lemaire.”
His eyes go dark, flat, and final. “You damn well should be.”
He stands, adjusting his jacket.
“This case isn’t worth dying for.”
He looks at me as if memorizing my face before I become a headline.
“I hope you’ll make the right decision. Before it’s too late.”
He doesn’t wait for me to answer. Doesn’t reach for a hug or kiss my cheek. He just turns and walks out, the door clicking shut behind him.
I sink into the couch, pulse thrumming. My hands tremble as they curl around my own elbows, holding tight. Containing the aftershock.
He didn’t come here as a father.
He came as a courier.
A threat wrapped in family. A warning delivered with the soft cadence of concern. That’s what makes it worse. If my father is this shaken, then Julian meant every veiled word he said. My being alive is no longer a given. It’s a favor. A courtesy.
One that’s running out.
I close my eyes and replay my meeting with Julian. His smooth voice. Charm slick as oil. The way he never had to raise his voice to make the message land.
Now my father’s voice joins the threat, layering dread over dread.
You’re still alive because you’re my daughter.
And even that won’t protect me for long.
I accepted the risk a long time ago. Prosecuting monsters. Challenging men with influence. But this isn’t risk.
It’s a quiet execution order, and I was just warned that I’m next.
One question echoes louder than anything else:Is justice worth dying for?
I’ve always believed it was and said it with conviction. But belief doesn’t feel so noble when death steps closer.
Tonight, the answer costs more.
I could go to the police. Report Lemaire. Give statements. Try tomake the system work. But this isn’t about justice anymore. It’s about power, and he has it in spades. Men like Julian leave nothing traceable behind. They leave whispers, gaps, and questions no one dares ask.
My worry isn’t paranoia. It’s a fact. And that’s what unsettles me most—how close the threat has crept. Not just to my office or doorstep, but into my living room, carried in my father’s voice.
I think about Bastien and his words.
Just so you know… I can handle anyone who threatens you. And I do mean anyone.
