I glance down, but the text isn’t from her. It’s an unknown number, and the message says it’s encrypted.
A small, cold knot forms somewhere just below my ribs.
I shouldn’t open it.
Not in the middle of noise, laughter, and the warm, familiar chaos of people who believe the worst is behind us.
But, I open it anyway.
The image loads first.
Ghost’s bike is parked outside the clubhouse, exactly where he left it. It’s shot from a distance, at an elevated angle, definitely not a passerby’s lucky capture.
This is surveillance.
Intentional.
Someone has been watching.
Someone is still watching.
My fingers go still on the screen.
For a second, the room around me fades into something muted and far away, like sound underwater.
Then the message appears beneath the photo.
Unknown Number:You’ve always understood sacrifice.
My throat tightens before I can stop it.
A slow, controlled inhale. The kind you take before walking into a situation you already know will cost you something.
Another line.
Unknown Number:I’m curious how far that extends?
My pulse begins to climb, not in a frantic spike but in that steady, inevitable rise that comes with recognition. Not of the sender, but of the kind of game this is.
The next words land like a blade laid gently against skin.
Unknown Number:He looks loyal.
Unknown Number:Loyal men break beautifully.
Something inside my chest shifts.
Not fear.
Not panic.
Calculation.
Protective instinct, immediate and bone-deep.
I feel the exact moment this stops being about me.
My grip tightens on the phone, and the edges bite into my palm. I welcome the sensation—something physical, something controllable.
