Cassian stared at the name on the screen.
Ava Vale.
His sister.
Dead ten years.
The message had no sender. No subject. Just her name. And a timestamp.
Tomorrow. 3:00 p.m.
He didn't tell Elián.
Not yet.
Instead, he opened the old files. The ones he'd buried in a locked drive, behind passwords he hadn't typed in years.
Photos. Letters. A single video.
Ava, age 19, dancing in a rehearsal room. Laughing. Spinning. Falling.
The last frame: her looking into the camera, breathless.
"You're still filming, aren't you, Cass? You never stop."
He closed the laptop.
His hands were shaking.
Meanwhile, Elián was tearing apart the apartment again.
He found the second camera in the bathroom.
Tucked behind the vent.
Pointed at the mirror.
He didn't scream.
He just sat on the floor, knees to chest, and stared at it.
Luca didn't show up for rehearsal.
Didn't answer texts.
Didn't post.
Didn't exist.
Cassian called Vivienne.
"Where did you find him?" he asked.
She hesitated. "He came to us. Said he was a fan of Elián's. Said he wanted to be the next him."
Cassian's voice dropped. "Did you vet him?"
"Of course we did. He's clean."
Cassian hung up.
He didn't believe her.
That night, Elián finally spoke.
"I think I'm being punished."
Cassian looked up. "For what?"
"For surviving."
Cassian crossed the room, knelt beside him.
"You're not being punished," he said. "You're being hunted."
Elián met his eyes. "By who?"
Cassian didn't answer.
Because he didn't know.
But he had a name.
And a time.
And a choice.