Cassian didn't show up the next morning.
Elián waited in the studio, pacing, checking his phone, replaying the last message over and over.
"He's building you a cage. And you're decorating it."
He didn't know what it meant.
But it felt true.
Vivienne called twice. He didn't answer.
Instead, he opened the encrypted phone Cassian gave him.
Still nothing.
No updates. No warnings.
Just silence.
He left the studio.
Alone.
No security.
No plan.
He walked the streets of downtown, hoodie up, head down, blending into the blur of city noise.
It was reckless.
It was stupid.
It was necessary.
He ended up at a bookstore — quiet, dim, forgotten.
He wandered the aisles, fingers trailing spines, searching for something he couldn't name.
Then he saw it.
A book.
Cassian's name on the cover.
Not as author.
As subject.
The Architect of Obsession: Cassian Ryu and the Art of Control.
Elián froze.
He opened it.
Page after page of interviews, speculation, analysis.
Cassian's past projects. His manipulations. His obsessions.
One quote stood out.
"Cassian doesn't create art. He creates mirrors. And then watches people break in front of them."
Elián bought the book.
Read it in one sitting.
By the end, he didn't know whether to run or confront him.
That night, he returned to the studio.
The lights were off.
The door was ajar.
Inside, the piano bench was overturned.
And on the desk, a single envelope.
No name.
No stamp.
Just a photo.
Of Elián.
Sleeping.