The Enemy's Shadow
The storm had returned that night — sheets of rain washing against the windows as if the sky itself was trying to cleanse the sins inside the mansion.
Ethan stood by his office window, staring out into the darkness, the pendant clutched in his hand. Behind him, the room was dimly lit — papers scattered, a laptop open with maps and coordinates flashing across the screen.
The door creaked open.
Damien stepped inside, his black coat still damp from the rain. "You called?"
Ethan turned slightly. Their eyes met — not as enemies, not anymore, but as two men who had seen too much.
"I need you to track the vehicle that left through the west road last night," Ethan said. "The security footage was wiped. But if anyone can recover the data, it's you."
Damien gave a short nod, already pulling his phone out. "You think it's connected to Eleanor's disappearance."
"I know it is."
There was silence for a moment, the only sound being the soft hum of the computer.
Damien finally said, "You've changed, Ethan. The man I knew would've gone straight for Marcus's throat by now."
Ethan's lips curved bitterly. "And the man I was would've lost Clara in the process."
That name made Damien glance up, his expression unreadable. "She's still in the dark?"
"Not for long."
They exchanged a wordless look — one of reluctant trust. Rivals once, but tonight, bound by something deeper: the need to protect what little good was left.
Outside, lightning flashed — and far from the mansion, deep in the woods, a woman bound to a chair blinked awake. Eleanor's wrists bled against the ropes as she struggled weakly, whispering, "Clara… she must know…" before the sound of footsteps silenced her.