The rain started just after midnight.
Celeste was still at her desk, the city outside blurred by streaks of water on the glass. She told herself she was working late again, but the truth was simpler: she didn't want to be alone in her apartment, not with Damien's words still echoing in her head.
The building was nearly empty when the elevator chimed.
She looked up, expecting the night guard. Instead, a man she'd never seen before stepped out — tall, broad-shouldered, wearing a black coat that dripped rain onto the marble floor. His eyes swept the room, cold and assessing, before landing on her.
"Celeste Moreau?" His voice was low, almost polite.
"Yes," she said cautiously.
He reached into his coat. For a heartbeat, her pulse spiked — but he only pulled out a small, black envelope. He set it on her desk without another word and turned to leave.
"Wait—" she called, but the elevator doors had already closed.
The envelope was unmarked. Inside was a single Polaroid photograph.
It showed Damien, standing in an alley, his hand gripping the collar of a man whose face was bloodied and terrified. Damien's expression was unreadable — not angry, not triumphant. Just… calm.
Beneath the photo, in neat block letters:
Do you know who he really is?
Her hands trembled. She shoved the photo back into the envelope, but the image was burned into her mind.
The phone on her desk buzzed. A message from Damien.
Don't leave the building tonight.
No explanation. No greeting. Just an order.
And for reasons she couldn't name, she obeyed.