Marcus’s POVThe house was quiet by the time I stepped into the study and closed the door, a lamp remained on, just the way I wanted it.The vision board on the far wall still held its careful arrangement of names and pressure points, but I didn’t look at it long. Tonight’s work was simpler than paper.I unlocked the secondary phone, dialed the number from memory, and waited.He answered on the third ring. No greeting. Just the low, familiar voice of a man who preferred not to waste words.“You’re up late.”“So are you,” I said. “That means you already know this isn’t social.”A quiet breath of amusement came through the line. “Go on.”I sat on the edge of the desk and stared at the dark window. “Clara’s position is softening, though not publicly yet, Internally. Her father is starting to use language he wasn’t using a month ago.”“Because of you.”“Because of careful timing,” I corrected. “I’ve given him observations, not accusations, that’s all. The moment it looks like I’m reachin

Lena’s POVKarl’s message had been short.“Be home at seven. Don’t make me wait.”I was there at six forty-five.The apartment felt different when I knew he was coming, it felt smaller, like the walls leaned in to listen. I set my bag down, washed my hands, and checked my face in the mirror once. Calm and relaxed. The side of me that survived by giving him nothing extra to read.He arrived at seven exactly. The door opened without a knock, the way it always did when he wanted to remind me that locks were decorative.“You’re here,” he said.“You told me to be.”He looked me over once, slow and assessing, then walked past me into the living room. He didn’t sit right away. He rarely did. He moved through the space like he was confirming it still belonged to him, the window, counter, the hallway that led to the bedroom.“Any problems today?” he asked.“No, none at all.”“Hospital?”“I went in the morning. My mother is stable. Kamsy was there. I came straight back after.”His eyes stayed

Tamara’s POVJohnson was packing a bag when I came home.Not a full departure, at least from what I could gather, nothing that dramatic. Just a duffel open on the bed, two shirts folded with the kind of care that said he had already decided and was only now making it visible. He didn’t stop when I stood in the doorway.“You’re going somewhere,” I said.“My brother’s place for a few days.” He kept folding. “I need space to think without this apartment turning every silence into another strategy session about Clara.”The name landed between us like it always did.I stepped inside and closed the bedroom door. “So this is you distancing.”Johnson finally looked at me. There was no anger in his face. That almost made it worse. Anger I could fight. This quiet withdrawal was harder to hold onto.“This is me being honest,” he said. “I told you I was tired. I told you I didn’t know how long I could keep doing this. I’m not willing to wait until Clara’s collapse takes the rest of us with it.

Ace’s POVThe industry reception was the kind of event neither of us could skip without it being noticed. Neutral ground. Too many observers for an open fight. Perfect for the sort of conversation that looked polite from three feet away and felt like a blade under the words.I was near the far window when Jonathan approached, drink in hand, expression already set to that cool, measuring look he wore when he wanted something.“Sinclair.”“Jonathan.”He stopped beside me, both of us facing the room instead of each other. To anyone watching it would look like two executives exchanging the minimum required civility.“You’ve been quiet since our last meeting,” he said.“I’ve been busy absorbing hits that arrived with interesting timing.” I kept my voice low. “Quiet isn’t the same as still.”A thin smile touched his mouth and vanished. “You’re still convinced those contract shifts were coordinated.”“I’m convinced coincidences stop being coincidences when they share a pattern.” I glanced a

Clara’s POVTamara showed up twenty minutes late and didn’t even apologize.I was already pacing the living room of the apartment when she walked in, coat still on, expression set in that careful neutral she had started wearing more often. Like she was managing me instead of standing with me.“You’re late,” I said.“Traffic.” She closed the door and didn’t move further into the room. “You said it was urgent.”“It is urgent.” I stopped pacing and faced her. “My father had another private conversation with Marcus. Private Tamara! That son of a bitch framed me as an emotional risk to continuity. And my father listened. Again.”Tamara exhaled slowly. “You knew he was going to keep doing this.”“Knowing doesn’t make it bearable.” My voice climbed despite my effort to hold it down. “He is isolating me one quiet conversation at a time, and everyone keeps telling me to stay composed while he cuts the ground out from under me. I am done being composed.”She set her bag down on the chair but st