Monday morning started like any other.
Marcus walked into the office at 8:35. Poured his coffee — cream, no stir. Sat at his desk. Opened his email.
And found a note.
Not an email. A physical note, handwritten on a piece of printer paper, folded once and tucked under his keyboard.
You looked tired this morning. I made you tea. It's on the corner of your desk.
Marcus looked up.
A ceramic mug sat on the edge of his desk, steam still rising. He hadn't noticed it when he sat down. He hadn't noticed Damian walking past. He hadn't noticed anything.
How long has this been here?
He picked up the note again. The handwriting was neat. Controlled. The kind of handwriting that didn't change whether the person was angry, happy, or tired.
Because the person writing it wasn't any of those things.
Marcus's skin prickled.
It's just tea, he told himself. A coworker being nice.
But no one else in the office had tea on their desk. No one else got handwritten notes tucked under their keyboard. No one else had a coworker who watched them closely enough to know they looked tired.
Marcus didn't drink the tea.
He pushed the mug to the far corner of his desk and tried to focus on work.
Elena found him an hour later.
She didn't announce herself. She just appeared in his cubicle entrance, arms crossed, dark eyes scanning his desk like a detective at a crime scene.
"What's that?" she asked, nodding at the mug.
"Tea."
"Whose?"
"Damian's."
Elena's jaw tightened. "He left it on your desk."
"He left a note too." Marcus held it up.
Elena took it. Read it. Her face went pale — not with fear, with anger.
"This isn't normal, Marcus."
"I know."
"Do you?" She set the note down carefully, like it might bite her. "Because you went to a movie with him on Saturday. You went to a bar with him. And now he's leaving notes on your desk like you're—" She stopped.
"Like I'm what?"
Elena looked at him. Her dark eyes were soft now. Worried.
"Like you're his," she said quietly.
The words hit Marcus in the chest.
His. Not a friend's. Not a coworker's. His.
"I'm not anyone's," Marcus said.
"Tell him that."
Marcus didn't respond. Because the truth was — he'd liked the tea. He'd liked the note. He'd liked the way Damian looked at him in the bar on Saturday, like Marcus was the only person in the room worth seeing.
What's wrong with me?
"Just... be careful," Elena said. She squeezed his shoulder and walked away.
Marcus stared at the mug.
The tea had stopped steaming.
Damian saw Elena leave Marcus's desk.
He saw the expression on her face — the worry, the frustration, the possession. She thought Marcus belonged to her. Or she wanted him to.
She's getting in the way.
She'd never found anything.
But she'd never stopped looking either.
Damian opened a new document. Typed quickly.
Elena — high threat. Not to me. To my access to Marcus. She's building a wall around him.
He stared at the screen.
How do I make him choose?
The answer came immediately.
Make her look like the threat.
At lunch, Damian found Marcus in the break room.
Marcus was eating a sandwich. Alone. Elena was nowhere in sight.
"Mind if I sit?" Damian asked.
Marcus looked up. For a second, Damian saw something flicker across his face — wariness, maybe. Or confusion.
"Sure," Marcus said.
Damian sat across from him. He didn't have food. He just sat, hands folded on the table, watching.
"You didn't drink the tea," Damian said.
Marcus paused mid-bite. "How do you know?"
"Because it's still on your desk. Full. Cold." Damian tilted his head. "You don't like tea?"
"I like tea."
"Then why didn't you drink it?"
Marcus set down his sandwich. He looked at Damian for a long moment — really looked, like he was trying to see past the surface.
"Elena said it was weird," Marcus said finally.
Damian's expression didn't change. But inside, something clicked.
There it is.
"Elena," Damian repeated. "She's been talking to you about me."
"She's just looking out for me."
"Looking out for you." Damian let the words hang. Then he leaned forward, lowering his voice. "Marcus, I've known Elena for years. We used to work together. And in all that time, I've never seen her get this close to anyone as fast as she's gotten close to you."
Marcus frowned. "What are you saying?"
"I'm not saying anything." Damian leaned back. Raised his hands. Innocent. "I'm just wondering why she's so invested in you. In us. In what we do."
"You think she has an agenda?"
"I think," Damian said carefully, "that Elena has always been threatened by anyone who gets attention she thinks she deserves. And right now, you're giving me attention. And she doesn't like that."
Marcus was quiet.
Damian could see him thinking. Could see the doubt spreading like cracks in glass.
Yes, Damian thought. Doubt her. Trust me. Come closer.
"I've known her for a few weeks," Marcus said slowly. "You've known her for years. You'd know better than me."
Damian nodded. "I'm not telling you to stop being friends with her. I'm just saying... be careful who you listen to."
Marcus picked up his sandwich. Took a bite. Chewed.
Damian waited.
"Okay," Marcus said finally. "I'll think about it."
That's enough, Damian thought. For now.
After lunch, Marcus went back to his desk.
The tea was still there. Cold. Unchanged.
He picked up the mug. Held it in both hands. The ceramic was smooth. The weight was comfortable.
It's just tea, he told himself again.
But Elena's voice was in his head: "Like you're his."
And Damian's voice was in his head too: "Be careful who you listen to."
Marcus didn't know which one to believe.
So he did nothing.
He set the mug down. Opened his email. Pretended to work.
But his eyes kept drifting to the note. The handwriting. The words.
You looked tired this morning.
How did Damian know?
Marcus hadn't told anyone he'd slept badly. He hadn't mentioned the dreams — the dark water, the hands, the feeling of being watched.
He just noticed, Marcus told himself. He's observant. That's all.
But something cold was spreading through his chest.
Because Damian wasn't just observant.
Damian was watching.
And Marcus was starting to wonder if he'd ever really been alone.
Damian didn't go back to his desk after lunch.
He went to the bathroom. Locked the door. Stood in front of the mirror.
His reflection stared back. Calm. Controlled. Empty.
She's trying to take him from me.
The thought should have been irrational. Marcus wasn't his. Not yet. But the word his felt right in Damian's chest. Felt like the only true thing he'd ever felt.
I won't let her.
Damian splashed water on his face. Dried his hands. Practiced his smile in the mirror.
Perfect.
He walked back to his desk and started planning Phase Three.