Chapter 49:
A month.
Thirty days of questions with no answers.Thirty nights where Aren stayed a ghost and Kieller stayed worse—absent.
No messages. No warnings. No silver-eyed silhouettes watching balconies.Nothing.
My schedules ran like clockwork—boardrooms, contracts, flights, deals. No hurdles. No threats. Too clean. That scared me more than chaos ever did.
Because Aren didn't disappear.
He waited.
And Kieller—Kieller vanished so completely that even my anger ran out of places to land.
I stopped asking.I started counting instead.
Counting exits.Counting reflections.Counting how many seconds it would take to pull a trigger.
That was when the invitation arrived.
A private charity masquerade. Old money. New sins.A place predators liked to pretend they were civilized.
I went anyway.
Because silence doesn't mean safety.It means the trap hasn't closed yet.
The ballroom glittered like a lie—crystal chandeliers, violin notes stretched thin, masks hiding familiar greed. I moved through it in black silk, face bare, spine straight.
Then—
Silver.
Not a reflection.Not a memory.
Him.
Aren stood near the marble staircase, mask half-tilted, posture relaxed. No arrogance yet. No mockery. Just that infuriating calm—like we hadn't been orbiting the same war for months.
My hand went to the gun beneath my clutch.
I didn't hesitate.
The cold kiss of metal met his ribs as I stepped into his space, my voice low, lethal.
"Don't move."
He looked down slowly. Then up at me.
And smiled.
Not cruel.Not arrogant.
Amused.
"Lyra," he said softly, like my name had never tasted like blood between us. "Public place. Bold."
"You'll answer me," I hissed. "Now."
He tilted his head, eyes scanning the crowd—not for help.
For timing.
And then—
He moved.
Twisted, slammed my wrist sideways, the gun skidding across marble as bodies screamed and music shattered into chaos.
Aren ran.
I didn't think.
I chased.
Out the service corridor.Down the back stairs.Cold night air tore into my lungs as he vanished into the streets.
He was fast.
But I was furious.
My heels hit pavement as I ran, silk tearing, breath burning. Neon lights smeared the city into streaks as he cut through alleys, vaulted barriers, disappeared and reappeared like a glitch in reality.
"STOP!" I shouted.
He didn't.
He led.
That's when I realized—
The streets were too empty.The cameras too dark.The exits too narrow.
I turned—
Too late.
The ground shifted.
Steel jaws snapped around my ankle, slamming me face-first onto asphalt as pain detonated up my leg. The scream tore out of me before I could swallow it.
A bear trap.
Old-school. Illegal. Brutal.
I struggled—metal teeth bit deeper.
Footsteps approached.
Slow. Unhurried.
Aren stepped into the streetlight, breathing easy, jacket untouched.
Now—
Now the arrogance arrived.
He crouched in front of me, eyes glacial, voice stripped of all warmth.
"You always chase," he said calmly. "That's your flaw."
I glared up at him, teeth clenched, blood warm against my skin."Let me go."
He laughed—soft, humorless.
"No."
He rose, pulling a phone from his pocket, typing once.
"You wanted a conversation," he added, turning away. "I wanted proof."
"Of what?" I spat.
He paused.
Of course he did.
"That you'd come alone."
Then the streetlights went out.
Every single one.
Darkness swallowed the city.
And I understood—
This wasn't an encounter.
It was Phase One.