The lights came back on.
Cassian stood in the doorway, breath shallow, eyes scanning every corner of the studio.
Elián was still on the couch, panic button in hand.
"I didn't press it," he said.
Cassian nodded. "I know. I felt it."
They didn't speak for a long time.
Cassian checked the security feed. Nothing.
No breach. No movement.
But Elián knew.
Someone had been there.
The next morning, Cassian handed Elián a file.
Inside: names, photos, timelines.
People from Elián's past. Former assistants. Ex-lovers. Estranged family.
"Anyone stand out?" Cassian asked.
Elián flipped through the pages.
Then stopped.
A name.
A face.
Someone he hadn't seen in years.
"Jules," he whispered.
Cassian looked up. "Who is he?"
Elián's voice was hollow. "He was my first director. My first… everything."
Cassian's jaw tightened. "And now?"
Elián closed the file. "He's obsessed."
Cassian launched a deeper search.
Vivienne intervened.
"You're crossing a line," she said.
Cassian didn't blink. "That line was crossed when Elián got photographed in his sleep."
Vivienne stepped closer. "You're not his savior."
Cassian's voice dropped. "No. I'm his shield."
Elián watched them from the hallway.
He didn't feel protected.
He felt exposed.
Like everyone was fighting over pieces of him.
And no one was asking if he wanted to be whole.
That night, Elián filmed again.
This time, he spoke directly to Jules.
"I know you're watching," he said. "I know what you think this is."
"But it's not love."
"It's fear. Yours. Not mine."
The next morning, the studio was vandalized.
Red paint across the walls.
One word.
"LIAR."