Cassian didn't sleep.
He sat at the edge of the bed, laptop open, the glow of the paused video flickering across his face.
Elián's sleeping form stared back at him from the screen — peaceful, unaware, exposed.
The timestamp didn't lie.
Six nights ago.
Their bedroom.
Their sanctuary.
Violated.
Elián stood in the doorway, arms crossed over his chest, towel forgotten on his shoulder.
"Where was it filmed from?" he asked, voice low.
Cassian didn't answer.
He was already scanning the room.
They tore the bedroom apart.
Pulled drawers from dressers. Checked vents. Lifted the mattress. Ran their fingers along the seams of the curtains.
Nothing.
Then Cassian paused.
The mirror.
It was new.
A gift from a "fan," delivered weeks ago.
He turned it over.
There — a pinhole.
A lens.
Hidden in the frame.
Elián stepped back like it had burned him.
"Someone's been watching us."
Cassian nodded. "Inside our home."
The next morning, Elián confronted Luca.
He didn't accuse.
He just asked.
"Have you ever been in my apartment when I wasn't home?"
Luca blinked. "What? No. Why would I—?"
"You've been… off lately."
Luca's jaw tightened. "I'm tired, Elián. That's all."
"Then tell me the truth."
Luca's eyes narrowed. "You think I'm spying on you?"
"I think someone is. And I think you know more than you're saying."
Luca stood. "I looked up to you. I still do. But if you're going to treat me like a suspect, maybe I shouldn't be here."
He walked out.
Elián didn't stop him.
That night, Cassian received another message.
This time, it wasn't a video.
It was a name.
"Ava Vale."
Cassian's sister.
Dead for ten years.