The night had settled into a thick, suffocating quiet when the knock came at the door. At first, it was easy to ignore—the kind of sound that's barely a murmur, the kind that you think might just be the wind or a figment of your imagination. But when I saw the shadow under the door and heard it again, louder this time, I knew something was wrong.
Damien was standing by the window when I opened the door, his posture stiff, eyes scanning the darkness outside. The letter from Victor Ashford still rested on the table by the door, the weight of it bearing down on us in a way that felt more like an omen than a message.
"Emilia?" His voice held the faintest edge of tension. "Who's there?"
I stepped back, glancing at the door again. I knew it wasn't someone from our team—Sophie had left earlier for the night, and Lucas wasn't expected to stop by until tomorrow. And yet, standing there on the other side, was a figure I recognized far too well.
Victor Ashford.