~Flashback ~Sinveer's POV~
She moves like a shadow that knows it's being watched.
Silent. Clean. Almost calculated enough to make me forget the gun she probably wishes was in her purse.
Her scent clings to the air—warm, sharp, something like roses soaked in whiskey.
And I don't like that I recognize it.
Not because I remember her.
But because it reminds me of someone I buried a long time ago.
Serafin. My brother. My ghost.
The first perfect De Luna. The one who laughed louder, killed quicker, charmed everyone.
Until he died.
They told me it was a car crash.
That's what Rigo said when he pulled me into the old library, eyes too calm.
"There's been an accident," he said.
I didn't cry.
I didn't ask questions.
I just walked into my father's study, and he handed me a gun before I even sat down.
"The seat is open now," he told me. "Don't fail like your brother."
Then they dragged a man into the room, bloodied and weak.
My father didn't tell me who he was. Only said, "This one tried to speak."
I shot him once in the chest. Then again. In the mouth.
The silence after was the loudest thing I've ever heard.
That night, my mother locked herself in the dining room and shattered every wine bottle in the house.
"He was the good one," she screamed through the door. "Now you've cursed the wrong one."
I was fifteen.
And I became the heir in blood, not blessing.
~~ Flashback Ends ~~
I've never told anyone that story.
But watching Liach now…
I think she'd understand.
And that's what terrifies me.
What will I do if she turns out a shy?
No bullet wound ever bleeds as slow—or as deadly—as internal betrayal.
You don't feel it at first. It's not loud. Not messy.
It's quiet. Methodical and Strategic.
Just like this.
The reports are clean.
The numbers are balanced.
The security logs are... too perfect.
And that's the problem.
There's no chaos. No missed details. No trail.
Only a feeling crawling under my skin like heat before a storm.
Something is wrong inside my walls, and know what.
And the fractures are showing.
9:32 AM – De Luna HQ – Lower West Wing
Enzo and Marek are snapping at each other again. This time it's over a missing batch of firearms that were allegedly rerouted without proper documentation.
I don't need to hear the whole argument.
Just the pitch of their voices.
Sharp. Accusing and Distracted.
Two of my most trusted men—off balance.
Exactly how someone would want them to be.
I step into the room. And they fall silent.
"Get your shit together," I say, flat and cold. "You're not street dogs. You're captains in my house." They nod.
But the damage is done.
The loyalty I built is cracking under pressure I didn't apply.
~~MY OFFICE~~
I pull up the asset logs myself. Pages of manifests scroll across the screen. Most of it checks out.
But some entries have been adjusted—timestamped during hours when Marek and Enzo weren't present. Not faked—adjusted.
And only someone with mid-tier admin access could've done it.
Not a captain. Not a grunt. Not me.
Which narrows the list down to exactly one person with motive, access, and proximity.
I stare at the screen.
Liach Brian or Cisco instead.
But logic and instinct are still at war.
Because no part of me wants it to be her.
Which makes her even more dangerous.
~~
I find her typing reports like nothing in the world is unraveling.
She doesn't look up right away.
Just finishes her sentence, then lifts her gaze like she expected me.
"Mr. De Luna?"
"We need to talk."
"Of course."
She follows me into my office.
I sit on the edge of my desk, arms folded.
She stands by the door.
Calm. Neutral. Posture perfect.
"Tell me," I begin, "do you enjoy working here?"
She nods once. "Yes."
"Have you noticed anything... off lately? Between Marek and Enzo?"
Another nod.
"They've been tense. Short-tempered. Distracted."
"And any idea why?"
She hesitates not for long. Not enough to incriminate.
But enough to make my stomach twist.
"I assumed they were competing for your trust," she says carefully. "Territory realignment usually shakes up hierarchy."
It's the exact kind of answer I'd expect from someone innocent.
Or guilty.
She steps forward. "Is there something I should know?"
Her voice is genuine. Or at least she makes it feel that way.
I shake my head. "Not yet."
She doesn't flinch. Doesn't fidget. Doesn't break eye contact.
If she's hiding something, she's buried it deep.
Too deep for me to reach—yet.
I rewatch the same three hours of internal footage for the fourth time.
There's no breach. No hand-off. No evidence.
Just slight behavioral changes. Marek lingering near Enzo's locker. Enzo texting mid-meeting. Liach... moving with the same precision as always.
Except this time, when she exits the briefing room—she glances at the camera.
Just once. Just long enough.
She knows I'm watching. She wants me to.
Rooftop Balcony
I light a cigarette I don't even want.
Marek stands beside me, quiet.
"They're going to kill each other," he says flatly, meaning Rigo and Enzo.
"I won't let that happen."
"You shouldn't have to step in for this. They know better."
"They're not the only ones acting strange."
Marek looks at me sideways.
"Who?"
I pause. Then shake my head.
"Forget it."
Because saying her name out loud feels like treason. And I'm not ready to betray myself like that.
~~
She's leaving late again. No one else is around.
I watch her through the tinted glass from my office.
Every step she takes is a deliberate measured. She walks like a soldier. A dancer. A weapon.
My gut screams ~ It's her.
But I ignore it.
Because what I feel when I look at her has nothing to do with facts. And everything to do with fire.
I know Liach is the one pulling the strings. But I know I want it to not be her.
And wanting that much… is already a problem.