Chapter 15: Unanswered Questions...

The city never stopped moving, but in this moment, Isabelle Monroe felt like the world had gone eerily still.

She sat on the worn-out leather couch of the safe house, her knees pulled close to her chest. The air inside was thick with silence, save for the distant hum of passing cars outside.

Damian stood near the window, his silhouette tense as he looked out onto the street. His fingers drummed lightly against his side, a movement so subtle she might have missed it had she not been watching him closely.

He hadn't said much since they escaped the ambush.

Not about the sniper.

Not about the men who had followed them.

Not even about the fact that someone was willing to kill just to keep them from learning the truth.

But Isabelle could see it—the controlled anger in his eyes, the calculation behind every move.

She took a deep breath. "They knew where we'd be."

Damian's jaw tightened. "Yeah."

"They silenced that man before he could talk."

He nodded.

Isabelle exhaled sharply. "So what now?"

Damian turned, his expression unreadable. "Now we find out who sent them."

His voice was calm, but there was something beneath it—a weight, a frustration he was holding back.

She watched as he pulled out his phone and made a call.

"Reed," he said, his tone sharp. "Did you find anything?"

A pause.

Then, a faint voice crackled through the speaker, but Isabelle couldn't make out the words.

Damian's expression darkened. "Understood. Keep digging."

He hung up and exhaled through his nose.

"Bad news?" she guessed.

Damian didn't answer right away. "The men who followed us—no trace of them. No IDs, no records. It's like they didn't exist."

A cold shiver ran through Isabelle.

"Whoever we're up against," Damian continued, "they're good. And they have resources."

She swallowed. "And what about my father?"

Damian hesitated.

"That's where it gets worse," he admitted. "Reed traced some old financial transactions linked to your father. They stopped suddenly… three years ago."

Isabelle felt her stomach drop.

Three years.

The same amount of time Marcus Hamilton claimed her father had been alive.

Damian watched her carefully. "If your father went into hiding, someone cut off his access to money. Which means…"

"Which means he wasn't just running," Isabelle whispered. "He was trapped."

Damian's silence stretched between them.

Something flickered across his face—something distant.

"Damian," she said slowly, "you've seen this before, haven't you?"

He met her gaze, but he didn't speak right away.

A long pause.

Then, finally, he said, "Not exactly. But I know what it's like to have your entire life erased."

Isabelle's heart skipped. "What do you mean?"

He exhaled, rubbing a hand over his jaw. "Forget it."

"No," she pressed. "Tell me."

Damian's gaze darkened, but this time, he didn't shut her out completely.

Instead, he sat down across from her, his movements slower, heavier.

"There was a man I knew once," he said. His voice was quieter now. "A good man. He got caught in something bigger than him. And when the people in power didn't want him around anymore, they made sure he disappeared."

Isabelle's breath hitched.

"What happened to him?"

Damian hesitated, then said, "They buried him before he was dead."

A chill ran through her.

He wasn't talking about a stranger.

He was talking about himself.

She wanted to push further, to ask the question lingering on her tongue, but before she could, Damian stood.

"We don't have time to get into that," he said, slipping back into his usual controlled tone. "Right now, we need answers."

Isabelle clenched her jaw. He had just let her in, just for a second—only to shut her out again.

But she wouldn't push. Not yet.

Instead, she stood and met his gaze. "Where do we start?"

Damian grabbed his keys. "Hamilton told you your father was alive three years ago. That means there's someone out there who knows more than he let on."

Isabelle frowned. "You think Hamilton lied?"

"Not necessarily." Damian tilted his head. "But if someone silenced the man we caught tonight, it means there's a bigger player in this game. And that means Hamilton isn't safe either."

A realization dawned on Isabelle.

"You think they'll go after him."

Damian's lips pressed into a thin line. "If they haven't already."

Minutes later, they were in Damian's car, the city lights flashing past them as they drove toward Hamilton's office.

The tension in the air was thick.

Damian barely spoke, his focus locked on the road. Isabelle could tell he was thinking three steps ahead, mapping out every possibility.

As they neared the building, a gut feeling twisted in her stomach.

Something was wrong.

The street was too quiet. The lights inside the office were still on, but the usual security guards were missing.

Damian pulled to a stop and reached for his gun. "Stay close."

A lump formed in Isabelle's throat.

As they stepped out of the car, the night air felt heavier.

Damian led the way, moving with the kind of lethal grace that made it clear he had done this before—too many times.

Isabelle followed, her heart pounding.

As they entered the building, the scent of gunpowder hit her first.

Then, she saw it.

Marcus Hamilton was slumped over his desk—blood pooling beneath him.

Isabelle gasped, her stomach churning.

Damian moved quickly, checking for a pulse. His jaw clenched.

"He's gone."

A sickening realization hit her.

They were too late.

Hamilton had been their only lead, and now… he was gone.

Damian scanned the room, his sharp gaze locking onto something on the desk.

A phone.

He grabbed it and checked the last received call.

His expression darkened.

"What is it?" Isabelle asked.

Damian turned the screen toward her.

The last call was from a blocked number.

And the message left behind?

"STOP LOOKING."

A chill crawled down her spine.

Whoever was behind this didn't just want them to stop.

They wanted them gone.

Damian exhaled, his grip tightening around the phone.

"This just got personal."

Isabelle's hands trembled. "What do we do now?"

Damian looked at her, his blue eyes colder than she had ever seen.

"We keep looking."

She swallowed hard. "But they're watching us."

A small smirk ghosted across Damian's lips, but there was no humor in it.

"Good," he murmured. "Let them watch."

Because now, this wasn't just about finding answers.

This was about finishing it