took a slow breath — not of frustration, but focus.
"Plan B."
The man swallowed hard. "Understood. What are the orders?"
Lamina walked back to her desk and tapped the photo they had taken at the stadium — Elias leaning close to Marin, Marin laughing, the two of them framed by cheering crowds.
"Marin Cross is no longer just a liability."
"She's bait."
The goon stiffened.
"You want her alive?"
"Alive," Lamina confirmed. "Until Elias Vale comes for her. And he will."
Her voice dropped to a silken, lethal whisper.
"We will make sure he sees her as the only path to me. Then we'll take both of them off the board."
She waved a hand dismissively.
"Prepare the safehouse. Mobilize the men. And send a message to the detective — something subtle. Something that makes her move."
The man nodded, bowing his head.
"Yes, Miss Antonio. Plan B begins now."
When he left, Lamina sank slowly into her chair.
For the first time in months, a smile curved her lips — not amusement… but anticipation.
"Let's see what you do, Interrogator," she murmured to the empty room.
"Show me how far you'll go… for your detective."
She raised her glass, the reflection of the Barcelona skyline shimmering in its surface like scattered flames.
"Checkmate begins."
Barcelona was still waking up when Elias Vale stepped out onto the narrow balcony of his apartment. Dawn light brushed over the city, softening the edges of rooftops and turning the sea into a pale ribbon of gold.
He leaned on the railing, eyes half-closed, not in fatigue — but calculation.
Marin Cross.
Detective.
Smart.
Brave.
Too brave.
Dangerously connected to Lamina's operation without even realizing it… and now tangled with him.
He couldn't let her know who he truly was.
Couldn't let her see the monster he kept polished and restrained behind a calm smile.
But he needed her.
She was now the only reliable line that led, however faintly, toward Lamina Antonio.
A direct approach would push her away.
Too much honesty would terrify her.
So he chose something else.
A soft trap.
Elias pulled out his phone and opened a secure messaging app — one that bounced signals across continents, erasing origins like wind erases footprints.
He began typing.
Anonymous:
Detective Cross. You've stepped on the wrong case. They know you're investigating the stadium incident. They're planning to retaliate. Be careful who you trust. Someone has been watching your apartment.
He paused, thinking.
Too vague would sound like a prank.
Too sharp would send her running to her precinct.
He added one more line — just enough to destabilize her world.
I can help you. But not through official channels.
Elias read it twice, then pressed send.
He didn't smile.
He didn't gloat.
This wasn't victory.
It was preparation.
A push.
Just the right amount.
Just enough trouble to ensure she would seek safety… with him.
He watched the city below, expression unreadable.
Marin would panic a little, then investigate.
She'd realize the message contained details no outsider could know.
She'd sense the threat tightening around her.
And eventually, she'd turn to the one person who appeared calm, steady, unconnected…
Him.
He slid the phone back into his pocket and stepped inside, already planning the next move.
"Come to me, Marin," he whispered under his breath.
"Let me be the only path that feels safe."
Across the city, Marin's phone buzzed with the anonymous message.
And just like that —
the game advanced.
Marin Cross stepped out of the shower with a towel wrapped around her hair, the steam still clinging to the small hotel bathroom. She glanced at her phone on the nightstand, expecting a message from her fiancé.
Instead, she froze.
One new notification.
Unknown source.
Encrypted.
No caller ID.
She opened it.
And the words sliced straight through her chest.
Detective Cross. You've stepped on the wrong case. They know you're investigating the stadium incident. They're planning to retaliate. Be careful who you trust. Someone has been watching your apartment.
I can help you. But not through official channels.
Marin's breath hitched.
Her first instinct was skepticism.
Her second was fear.
Her third was controlled analysis — the one that made her a detective long before she carried a badge.
She re-read the message twice.
Somebody watching her apartment?
How would anyone know she was connected to the stadium incident?
That information hadn't been released yet.
Not even to the press.
She swallowed, forcing her heartbeat to slow.
Fear only clouded patterns.
And right now, she needed patterns.
She grabbed her jacket, badge, and phone, pacing the room as her mind worked.
"Who the hell…?" she whispered.
Her phone buzzed again — but this time it was a simple vibration.
A new message from the anonymous sender.
They won't stop now. Not until you're off the case. Don't go to the police station. Don't tell anyone. Meet with someone you trust.
Marin stared at that last line.
Someone she trusted.
Her circle in Barcelona was practically nonexistent.
Her partner was miles away.
The officers at the precinct barely knew her.
Only one person had been around her recently.
Only one she had interacted with more than once.
Elias.
The quiet South African who somehow ended up her temporary neighbor.
Polite.
Relaxed.
Joking more than she expected from someone traveling alone.
Nothing about him seemed threatening.
But something about him felt sharp beneath the surface — like a blade wrapped in cloth.
She hesitated.
Would he even help?
Why him?
Why was he the first name her brain reached for?
Because he was close.
Because she didn't know anyone else.
Because trouble, instinctively, made people look for the calmest face in the room.
She grabbed her phone and stared at it for a long moment.
Then she typed.
Marin:
Elias… you free? Something's come up. I need someone to talk to.
She sent it.
Across the city, perched on a rooftop overlooking the port, Elias watched his phone screen light up.
He read her message once.
A slow, controlled exhale left him.
Everything was unfolding exactly as he wanted.
He didn't text back immediately — that would look too eager.
He waited thirty seconds.
Then:
Elias:
Sure. What's wrong?
Marin stared at the reply, feeling a strange mixture of relief and unease.
She grabbed her keys and headed for the door.
Not knowing that the very man she was turning to…
was the one tightening the net around her.
And Elias pocketed his phone, stood, and murmured:
"Day three. Let's begin."
Marin didn't go straight to Elias.
Instinct — the old, stubborn, detective kind — nudged her in a different direction.
If someone really was watching her…
If there really was a threat tied to the stadium incident…
Then going to a civilian first — especially one she barely knew — was reckless.
Her badge was still clipped to her belt.
Her protocol was still drilled into muscle memory.
And danger made her default to training.
So she changed course.
Instead of heading down to lobby level and out the front door, Marin slipped through the service elevator, stepping out into the underground parking area. Her footsteps echoed as she crossed to her unmarked rental car.
She kept checking the mirrors.
Every shadow felt like a shape.
Every parked vehicle felt like it had eyes.
She hated that message for making her paranoid…
But she hated the feeling of being right even more.
Barcelona Policia – Provisional Office
The precinct's night shift was thin but alert, paperwork stacked on every desk. A tired officer glanced up as she pushed through the doors.
"Detective Cross?" he asked, surprised. "We weren't expecting you this late."
Marin flashed her badge — not with authority, but with the kind of weary caution that said I'm not here socially.
"I need to file a report," she said.
The officer straightened. "Of what nature?"
"Possible surveillance. Personal threat."
He blinked. "From the stadium case?"
Marin hesitated.
She wasn't supposed to discuss that openly — not with lower ranks. But she needed enough pressure to justify attention.
"Just… something connected," she answered.
The officer motioned her to a private room.
Marin entered, shut the door, and let out a breath she didn't know she was holding.
She gave the basics — someone entering her hotel room, signs of tampering, the possibility of being followed. She left out the message entirely. No mention of surveillance on her apartment.
No mention of the threat.
And absolutely no mention that she'd reached out to Elias.
Truth, trimmed and folded neatly into something the department could file without raising eyebrows.
The officer nodded, typing quickly.
"We'll put you under temporary watch. If anything else happens, report immediately. Do not return to your hotel room alone."
Marin nodded.
"Thank you."
But she knew she would return alone.
Partly because she wanted to appear normal.
Partly because she needed someone outside the system too.
She stepped back into the hallway, rubbing the bridge of her nose.
Her phone buzzed.
A message from Elias.
Elias:
Where do you want to meet? You sound… tense.
She swallowed.
He didn't need to know where she went.
And she wasn't sure she trusted him.
But she needed someone close — someone who didn't think like a cop.
She typed back:
Marin:
Just a rough night. I'll explain a bit when I see you. Nothing major.
A lie wrapped in a truth.
Rooftop – Near the Harbor
Elias read her message with narrowed eyes.
"A bit," he echoed quietly. "She's lying."
But not to deceive him — to protect herself.
Which meant she did feel threatened.
And more importantly — she didn't run to another officer first.
She ran to him.
Exactly as he'd intended.
Just… not as easily as he'd hoped.
She was still cautious.
Still measuring him.
That made him smile.
He liked her better that way.
He typed back:
Elias:
Alright. Want to talk somewhere quiet?
Then he slipped his phone into his pocket and stepped off the rooftop, feeling the tension tighten beautifully around the next part of his plan.
Marin thought she was being careful.
But she didn't realize that every step she took toward safety…
led her deeper into the shadows he chose for her.
Tonight, she would lean on him.
Just enough.
And tomorrow — he'd pull her closer.