The next morning began with a silence that pressed too hard against Elna's chest. She had hardly slept, Adrian's voice replaying in her mind like an unwelcome echo: Tell Elna I'll see her soon.
She told herself she would be ready. That she would not give him—or anyone else—the satisfaction of seeing her tremble. But when the elevator doors parted and Adrian stepped into the glass-lit corridor, she felt the cold shiver of inevitability.
He didn't knock. He walked into her office as though he already owned the space, as though he had been here before. His eyes lingered on the shelves, the desk, the framed sketches on the wall—each detail scanned like an intimate memory rather than a first impression.
"Elna." His voice was velvet, steady. "At last."
Her jaw tightened. "You don't walk into my office without asking."
A smile tugged at his lips, the kind that blurred the line between charm and provocation. "Forgive me. Old habits die hard. I was never good at waiting."
She stood, trying to place the right amount of distance between them, but he followed her movement with a precision that unsettled her. His presence was not like Neby's—no suffocating obsession—but something more elusive, a puzzle designed to pull her in.
"Why are you here?" she asked, keeping her voice clipped.
"To see you." He tilted his head, watching her with eyes that seemed too knowing. "Isn't that enough?"
Elna's chest tightened, but she masked it with a sharp laugh. "Not even close."
Just beyond the door, James slowed his steps. He had been on his way to check in with Elna, but the moment Adrian's voice slipped through the thin partition, he froze. Aresy whispered through his earpiece, low and urgent."James… record everything. This feels wrong."
Inside, Adrian leaned a little closer, his tone dropping. "You've kept me waiting long enough. Don't pretend you don't remember the night that started all of this."
Her blood ran cold. For a heartbeat too long, she didn't breathe. What night? She almost asked—but she caught herself, locking her expression into unreadable calm. If she faltered, James or Aresy might catch it. Worse—Neby would.
Because she knew he was listening, somewhere.
Adrian's hand brushed the edge of her desk, fingers tracing the polished wood. "I'm not here to ruin you, Elna. I'm here to finish what we left undone."
The words hung heavy, poisonous.
Elna forced herself to meet his gaze, refusing to yield. "You've mistaken me for someone else."
A silence stretched between them, dangerous and deliberate. Adrian's smile deepened, as though her denial was exactly what he wanted.
In the hallway, James's fists clenched at his sides. He didn't understand the meaning of what he was hearing, but one thing was certain—Elna was caught in something she wasn't telling him. And Adrian was no coincidence.
What James didn't see—what none of them saw—was Neby, standing in the observation wing above the floor, shadows hiding his presence. His pen stilled over the page, eyes burning as he watched Adrian lean closer to Elna.
For Neby, this wasn't just an intrusion. It was theft.
And he would never allow anyone to take what he believed was his.
Adrian's smile lingered, confident, predatory—but Elna didn't flinch. Instead, she leaned back against her desk, arms folded across her chest, her expression razor-sharp.
"You think you can walk in here, throw a few cryptic lines, and I'll fall into your little performance?" Her voice was steady, colder than even she expected. "Wrong audience."
For the first time, Adrian's smile faltered. Not gone, but cracked. A flicker of interest lit his eyes—like a chess player whose opponent had made an unexpected move.
"That edge of yours…" he murmured, almost amused. "It's going to make this even better."
Elna stepped forward, slicing the air between them. "No. It's going to make this impossible."
The silence that followed was sharp enough to cut.
Adrian studied her a beat too long, then—without another word—turned on his heel and left. The sound of his footsteps echoed down the corridor, a retreat that felt less like defeat and more like strategy.
Only when the door clicked shut did Elna allow herself a single exhale. Her pulse was steady, but beneath it lay the storm—because she knew Adrian was not finished.
Outside, James pulled back from the wall as Adrian passed. Their eyes met for a second. James stiffened. Something about Adrian's look carried the same unnerving weight as Neby's—but different, sharper, like a blade instead of a chain.
Inside the office, Elna forced herself to stand tall.
Aresy's voice filled the silence softly. "Elna, you're not safe if you keep this from us."
But Elna shook her head. "No. Not this. Not yet."
She would not give Adrian the power to spread his shadow over James and Aresy. Whatever game Adrian thought he was playing, she was determined to push him back, to deny him every advantage.
And yet—when the thought of Neby crept in, the resolve twisted. With Neby, it was never so simple. She couldn't just push him out, couldn't slam the door in his face without feeling the pull of the past, the trap of his gaze, the suffocating mixture of power and memory he held over her.
Above the floor, in the shadowed gallery, Neby lingered long after Adrian had gone. His eyes narrowed, watching Elna's frame stiffen at the desk, watching the way her hand trembled just slightly when she thought no one saw.
Elna was caught between the blades.
The building had long since emptied. Only the humming of distant lights and the occasional click of the heating system filled the silence.
Elna sat alone in her office, with the files on her desk untouched. Her reflection in the glass wall looked like a ghost—rigid posture, eyes fixed on nothing.
The soft knock startled her.
"Elna?" James's voice was cautious, low, and almost apologetic.
She considered ignoring it. But when the door opened a crack, she saw his face—half-concern, half-curiosity.
"You're still here?" she asked, her tone sharper than intended.
"I could ask you the same." He slipped inside, letting the door close behind him. "That man earlier—Adrian, was it?—he looked… wrong."
Elna's stomach tightened, but she forced a calm expression. "He's nothing you need to worry about."
James didn't move. He stood just far enough away to give her space, but close enough to let her feel the weight of his presence. "You always say that," he said quietly. "But I've seen the way you shut down after these encounters. Like you're bracing for something to break."
Her chest tightened. "James—"
"I'm not asking for secrets," he cut in gently. "I just don't like seeing you carry it all alone."
For a second, the words nearly cracked her. She swallowed hard, forcing herself to meet his gaze. He wasn't prying, wasn't demanding—just standing there, solid, as if offering her something she wasn't used to: quiet care without conditions.
She looked away first. "Don't make it your burden."
James lingered by the door, fingers hesitating against the frame as if he had something left to say but couldn't quite name it. She could feel his gaze on her—not invasive, not sharp like Neby's, but warm, steady, disarmingly patient. And for a flicker of a second, she feared it more than anything else.
"Don't stay too late," James said finally, his voice low, almost reluctant.
She looked up at him. Their eyes caught, and the silence stretched thin, fragile as glass. She almost wanted to break it—by pushing him away, by drawing him closer, she didn't know. But she forced a small nod instead.
When he left, the room felt colder. Elna pressed her palms against the desk, closing her eyes, her breath catching in the quiet. Neby's shadow still wrapped around her, suffocating and possessive. Yet James's kindness—the softness of it—pressed on her in a way that felt just as dangerous.
She told herself she couldn't afford either. Not Neby's obsession. Not James's warmth.
But the storm was already closing in.