Rain fell throughout the night.
That morning, the city looked grayer than usual. But what weighed heavier was not the sky it was the atmosphere in the dining room of Ethan's apartment.
A laptop lay open. The screen was filled with data.
The prepaid number that had called Sophia the night before had been traced. The result was nothing. Bought with cash. Used once. Switched off.
"Professional," Ethan murmured softly.
Sophia sat across from him, both hands wrapped around a cup of cold tea. "So this isn't some random person."
"No," Ethan replied. "And this isn't a petty game either."
He closed the laptop slowly.
"My father may be cruel," he continued, "but he never worked with methods like this. He's always upfront when he attacks."
"What does that mean?"
"It means there's another party that wants us to suspect each other."
Sophia nodded slowly. But her mind remained restless.
The words from the phone call echoed again.
Don't trust anyone from the Sterling family.
