21. New Rooms, Old Shadows
Mira hadn't planned on using the key.
Not yet.
Not like this.
She hadn't even told Jace she'd accepted it. But after another sleepless night in her too-quiet apartment, haunted by the ghost of a blank voicemail and a creeping, inexplicable sense of being watched, her fingers found the key in her coat pocket as if they'd been searching for it all along.
She stood at his door for a long moment, biting her lip, listening for sounds inside. When she heard none, she slid the key into the lock, turned it slowly, and stepped inside.
The smell hit her first—faint cedarwood, coffee grounds, something mechanical and warm. The air felt heavier here, dense with life. She dropped her bag by the door, let her shoes slide off, and walked barefoot to the couch. A hoodie of his was draped over the back. She pulled it on, curled into the cushions, and exhaled a breath she hadn't realized she was holding.
It didn't feel like intruding.
It felt like coming home.
---
Jace came home hours later, arms full of takeout, keys jangling.
He stopped in the doorway when he saw her.
Mira, curled up under his hoodie, fast asleep, a book slipping from her fingers. Her lips were parted slightly, a strand of hair across her cheek.
Something in him twisted.
Not like desire—not exactly.
More like… relief.
Recognition.
Something that whispered, This is right.
He stood there quietly for a moment, letting the image burn into his mind. Then he set the food down, covered her with a blanket, and tiptoed away.
---
They didn't call it moving in.
There was no conversation, no drawer-clearing ceremony, no romantic speeches. But slowly, inevitably, Mira's life folded into Jace's.
Her shampoo joined his in the shower. Her socks took over a corner of his dresser. Her favorite cereal appeared in the pantry, and he didn't even flinch when she brought a tiny indoor plant into his gear-strewn kitchen.
By the end of the week, they were living together.
By the end of the next, they were moving like pieces of the same machine—learning the rhythm of morning coffee, whose turn it was to grab groceries, which drawer the can opener actually lived in.
But just beneath the laughter, there was tension in Mira's shoulders that never fully dissolved.
A nervous glance over her shoulder when they walked home at night.
A phone that she never left out of sight.
A silence that wrapped around her when the sun went down.
Jace noticed.
And he said nothing.
Until he couldn't anymore.
---
It was a Thursday morning when it happened again.
Mira's phone buzzed with a blocked number.
Not a message this time.
Just a blank call.
Then another.
Then a third.
Her fingers trembled as she powered it down.
Jace watched, jaw tightening.
"That's it," he said. "We're going to Cal."
---
Cal looked like he belonged in a crime thriller—not in Jace's quiet garage-turned-office. Sharp features. Close-cropped hair. A way of standing like he was always half a second from pouncing.
He greeted Mira with a nod and a warmth that was carefully measured. "I'm here to help. But I need honesty. Brutal, ugly honesty. Can you do that?"
Mira nodded. "Yes."
He took her phone, plugged it into a laptop, and began scanning. "Whoever this is, he's smart. Using burner apps, hopping IPs. But he's careless, too. Left a digital footprint the size of a boot."
Jace leaned forward. "What kind of footprint?"
Cal turned the screen.
A map loaded.
Several pings—locations Mira had been in the last 48 hours.
"He's tracking her," Cal said flatly. "Not just guessing. Following her movements with precision."
"How?" Mira whispered.
Cal reached for her bag. "May I?"
She handed it over with shaking hands. Cal examined every seam, every zipper. Then he pulled out a scanner the size of a cigarette case and ran it over the lining.
It beeped.
Cal took out a razor blade, sliced open the seam, and revealed a sliver of metal no bigger than a matchstick.
"Tracker," he said. "Sophisticated. Military-grade."
Mira stumbled back a step.
Jace's expression darkened. "Eli."
"We can't prove that yet," Cal said. "But I'm close. You just need to let me watch him while he watches you."
---
That night, Jace held her tighter than usual.
She didn't cry.
She didn't shake.
She just curled into him, burying her face in his chest, and let herself believe—for a few quiet hours—that someone would catch her if she fell.
When she finally spoke, it was in a whisper.
"Do you ever feel like you're living someone else's life?"
Jace looked down. "All the time."
"Like this—us—it's too good. And that if you breathe wrong, it'll disappear."
He nodded. "But you know what's scarier?"
"What?"
"Not breathing at all."
---
Mira woke the next morning to a soft buzzing. Not her phone—Jace's.
He was already up, pacing the kitchen, listening intently.
Cal.
Jace met her eyes when she walked in, and she knew instantly: something had changed.
"We got him," he said. "Caught him on camera. Right outside the shop."
Her heart dropped. "What? When?"
"Two nights ago. Same time you got that weird voicemail. He was standing across the street, half-hidden, watching the windows."
Mira's breath came faster.
Cal's voice crackled through the speaker. "I cross-referenced facial points with a private database. Got a 76% match with an Elijah D. Hunt—last known address in Chicago. No formal charges, but sealed court records."
Mira sat down hard. "Sealed?"
"Restraining order, most likely. Maybe worse. But I need your permission to dig deeper."
"Do it," she said. "Please."
---
Later that afternoon, Cal showed up with a plan.
"We lay a trap," he said. "No violence. Just pressure. We pretend you're alone. We leak your location. We give him the illusion of control."
Mira flinched. "You want to bait him?"
"It's the only way he'll expose himself. People like him—they escalate when they think you've stopped watching. So we'll stop. On the surface."
Jace crossed his arms. "And beneath the surface?"
"I'll be watching everything."
---
The plan was set.
Over the next two days, Mira resumed a version of her old routine.
Coffee at the café she used to frequent. Walks through the bookstore aisle. Standing near the windows just long enough for a silhouette to appear.
It was exhausting. But she didn't do it alone.
Jace was always nearby. Always within reach.
And so was Cal—silent, invisible, documenting everything.
And then it happened.
On the third night, Mira came home and found an envelope on the doormat.
No name.
No return address.
Just her first name, printed in all caps:
MIRA
Inside was a photograph of her taken the night before through a window. She was brushing her hair.
The timestamp in the corner burned into her memory: 11:38 PM.
She dropped the envelope like it was acid. Jace was already on his phone, calling Cal. Within twenty minutes, Cal had the photo scanned, fingerprinted, and traced.
But that wasn't the twist.
The twist was what came next.
---
Cal returned two hours later, face pale.
"I traced the printer used to make the photo," he said. "It was purchased under a fake name two weeks ago at a tech supply store."
Mira nodded, confused. "So?"
Cal pulled out another photo—security cam footage from the store.
It wasn't Eli.
It was a woman.
Tall, sharp-featured. Wearing a coat Mira recognized.
Because it used to be hers.
Jace frowned. "Wait—who is that?"
Mira stared, the color draining from her face.
Her voice was a whisper. "That's… Kelsey."
Jace blinked. "Who?"
"My old roommate," Mira said. "Back when I was dating Eli. She moved out a week after I left him. Said she couldn't afford the apartment alone."
Cal leaned forward. "You trust her?"
"I did," Mira said slowly.
Something sick twisted in her stomach. "But now I don't know."
---
The web was wider than they thought.
And someone was pulling the strings behind the scenes.
Someone who knew Mira well.
Knew what scared her.
Knew exactly how to make her run.
But she wasn't running anymore.
Not this time.
This time, she was going to fight.