It's not important - one officer just called, as usual, to update me on Liam's movements. He's heading toward Camila's office."
Adrenaline surged through Ethan's veins, forcing him to his feet. He snatched his keys and jacket and stormed toward the door. Max groaned in annoyance, watching Ethan's sudden urgency until Ethan turned to him with irritation.
"Go home, Max. I don't need you tagging along in your half-drunken state."
---
Half an hour earlier, at Dr. Camila's office.
Camila sat on her sofa, a book on analytical psychology open in her lap, her eyes tracing the lines as she sought deeper understanding of the human mind-its motives, its hidden desires, its buried fears.
The sharp ring of her phone interrupted her focus.
An unfamiliar number flashed on the screen.
"Hello...? Hello, who is this?"
A faint sob echoed from the other end, growing louder with every passing second until it was almost right beside her ear. Confused, she closed her book, straightened in her seat, and strained to listen, trying to make sense of the sounds-until a trembling voice finally spoke through the tears.
"Camila... it's me... Liam."
Her pulse quickened. "Liam? Calm down-please. Listen to me. Where are you right now?"
A pause. Then his broken whisper:
"I'm coming to your office."
"Alright. I'll wait for you."
She hung up, rose, and called out to her secretary. "You can leave for today, Amy. No more patients."
As Amy gathered her things, Camila stood by the window, gazing out at the glittering San Francisco skyline.
Why had Liam been crying?
Why hadn't he come to his usual sessions?
Her hands trembled. Was it the chill of the city's night air-or the dread that had crept into her bones? Her breath came unevenly, as if she were drowning in still water, unable to scream or surface for air. Frozen before the window, her empty eyes betrayed the storm raging within.
It had been a long time since she'd felt this fragile-since her mind had surrendered to emotion rather than reason.
That emotion always led her to the edge of ruin.
It reminded her too much of Liam-of herself, once.
She should have been a child blowing out birthday candles beneath her family's applause.
Instead, she was a barefoot girl running through cold streets, feet torn and bleeding, fleeing from the man who should have protected her-her father.
That night, she learned life was never kind.
That it devoured the weak.
That if she didn't save herself, no one else would.
Would she ever find the warmth she'd been denied-the shoulder to lean on, the hands to still her trembling?
Her thoughts were shattered by the sound of slow footsteps behind her.
She spun around, heart pounding painfully in her chest, convinced she was about to face the monster that still haunted her nightmares.
Her lungs released a shaky breath of relief as she recognized him.
"Liam?" she whispered, surprised by his silence-by the way he'd entered without knocking.
She moved back to her chair, gathering her composure to focus on him. Something about him was off. Since his mother's death, Camila had known he would walk a darker path, one whose end she could no longer foresee.
His hands fidgeted, trembling as they clutched the edges of his leather jacket-too large for him, clearly borrowed. His lips were pale and dry, his clothes damp though the sky outside was clear.
"Liam," she called again, softly.
He looked up, lost, as though he'd forgotten how to form words or what it meant to smile.
He only knew how to cry.
"Liam, I'm your therapist. You don't need to be afraid of me. Say whatever you need to-no judgment, no fear."
She prayed her words might ease his panic.
"I... water," he rasped. "I need water."
She handed him a glass, watching every twitch of his lips, desperate for any word that could explain his state.
He looked at her, eyes red and wet. "You believe me, don't you, Camila?" His voice was raw, pleading for faith.
"Liam, I've always believed you. Tell me what's happening."
"They killed another man, Camila."
Her breath caught. "What?"
She rose abruptly, staring at him-his head bowed, buried in his hands, his body shaking with grief.
She gripped his shoulders, her own voice trembling.
"Liam, did you have anything to do with this?"
He lifted his face, eyes full of hurt. Even she doubted him now.
"I came to you for protection, not accusation, Camila."
She pulled a chair closer, the legs scraping the tiled floor.
Taking his cold hands into hers, she held them tightly between her palms, trying to transfer her warmth into his trembling skin. She knew it was unprofessional-an act forbidden-but she could no longer think rationally.
"Another murder," he said hoarsely. "Same method."
His words made her shiver. Ethan's voice echoed in her mind:
You can't trust every patient. You're a doctor, not a detective.
Too late for that now.
She couldn't abandon Liam-not halfway through his descent.
"How do you know that, Liam? Tell me everything."
Tears streamed down his cheeks. "The killer... he's been sending me threats. That's why I never called you from my phone."
Camila froze. Her mind went blank, her body cold as ice. How deep was Liam's entanglement in this?
Was he the next target?
She had to think clearly.
"Liam, go. Leave now. Let me figure this out."
He nodded and left, dragging his despair with him.
Moments later, she grabbed her bag, deciding to head straight home. She entered her car, tossed her purse onto the passenger seat, and started the engine. It sputtered, then died. She tried again-nothing.
With a frustrated sigh, she stepped out, leaning against the door, considering calling a ride.
"Need a lift?"
She turned. Ethan leaned casually against his car beneath a tree, half-hidden by shadows.
She walked toward him, her frustration radiating through every step.
"Are you following me, Ethan? You said yourself I'm not even a suspect."
Her voice shook-not just with anger, but with something more volatile.
"I'm not following you," he said, his tone cool and clipped. "But I didn't think you'd be sentimental enough to meet a potential criminal-and try to help him."
The usual playfulness in his voice was gone, replaced by that icy detachment she knew too well. She hated that he was right-but she wouldn't admit it.
"Liam isn't a criminal," she snapped. "He's a victim. You should be protecting him, not watching him."
Before he could answer, the sharp crack of gunfire split the night.
Camila screamed, instinctively throwing herself toward Ethan as he pulled her close, shielding her behind the car door as bullets shattered the silence.
"Don't move," he ordered, voice low and unyielding, drawing his weapon from beneath his jacket.
He leaned out carefully, returning fire, while she crouched behind him, clutching the back of his shirt with trembling hands.
Her body shook violently. She had never heard real gunfire before-only in movies.
But now, she was living one.
Ethan's eyes darted across the street, scanning for movement. The dim light from a single lamppost revealed two-no, three-armed men near two black SUVs.
Then, a sudden shot.
A sharp groan escaped Ethan's lips as a bullet tore through his chest.
Blood soaked his white shirt as he stumbled backward, collapsing to the ground.
Camila froze, staring at the spreading red stain, unable to breathe. Her scream caught in her throat as she dropped to her knees, cradling his head in her lap, lightly slapping his cheek to keep him conscious.
He tried to speak, but his lips only trembled soundlessly. With immense effort, he pulled his police transmitter from his jacket.
"This is Detective Ethan Kane... Federal Investigations, Unit Three..."
His voice wavered, fading with each word. "Shot by four armed men-need immediate medical support... Lombard Street, San Francisco..."
The device slipped from his weakening hand. His body went limp against her as his consciousness faded.
Her pulse roared in her ears, adrenaline flooding her system, primitive fear taking over-like prey sensing the predator's shadow in the dark. Her breathing quickened; beads of sweat formed on her forehead as her blood-slicked hands trembled while she checked his pulse.
It was faint-too faint.
When she lowered her ear to his chest, movement caught her eye-a man approaching, gun raised. Her vision narrowed; her heart pounded so loudly she could hear it in her head.
With desperate instinct, she seized Ethan's fallen gun, laid his head gently on the ground, and peeked from behind the car.
Her hands shook violently, but she fired.
A scream tore through the night-the bullet had struck the man's thigh, sending him crashing down. The others fled, jumping into their vehicles and disappearing into the darkness.
Distant sirens wailed. Relief washed over her as the flashing lights drew near.
The police and medics rushed in. Ethan was lifted onto a stretcher and carried into the ambulance. Camila followed, hands trembling, blood still drying on her skin.
She stared at them-the red stains she knew too well. The smell she could never forget. Her cold limbs quivered, her body shaking like someone just pulled from battle.
Her heartbeat thundered in her chest until she wondered-
Had it stopped altogether?