The apartment was too quiet when Savannah stepped inside that night. The soft click of the door behind her felt final, like she'd locked herself in with the weight of everything she now suspected.
She set her bag down on the console, exhaled slowly, and made her way to the living room. The city glittered beyond the floor-to-ceiling windows, but for once, its lights didn't soothe her. They felt cold and Distant.
Savannah sank into the couch, hands trembling as she ran them through her hair. Her mind wouldn't stop replaying the last few days, the stolen moments, the heated glances, the taste of Cassian's kiss. His promises whispered in the dark.
And that tattoo.
She closed her eyes, saw it as clearly as if it was burned onto her own skin. The strange symbol inked onto his shoulder. The mark she'd brushed off because she wanted so badly to trust him.
But now… now she couldn't stop seeing it. Couldn't stop wondering what it meant. Why he'd never explained it. Why he deflected every time she asked something that mattered. Why, for all his warmth and passion, there were parts of him that felt like steel doors slammed shut.
Savannah rose, restless. She paced the apartment barefoot, arms wrapped around herself.
"He said he'd protect me. But from what?" she whispered into the empty room.
Because no matter how hard she tried to rationalize, Eli's warning kept echoing in her mind. "You're in deeper than you realize."
That night, sleep refused to come. When she did drift off near dawn, her dreams were fractured, flashes of Cassian's hands on her skin, of shadowed figures watching from dark corners, of herself running and not knowing who she was running from.
She woke up shaken, the morning light harsh through the windows.
Savannah pushed through her routine like she was wading through fog. The shower did nothing to clear her head. Her coffee tasted like ash. She dressed in black pants, a pale blouse, simple pumps, all business, but she felt none of the confidence the look usually gave her.
Work. Work would keep her grounded. Work would help her think.
She drove to Red Muse, the city already humming with life, people rushing to wherever they needed to be. She tried to focus on the familiar: the comforting hum of the engine, the rhythm of tires on asphalt. But her eyes flicked to the rearview mirror too often, scanning for… what? Someone following her?
She told herself she was being paranoid. But the tight knot in her chest didn't loosen.
The office was as she left it, polished, efficient. Savannah went through the motions: nodding to staff, offering tight smiles, glancing at her phone every few minutes as if she expected it to ring with answers.
She was reviewing design proofs when Gina appeared at the door.
"Savannah? This came for you."
Savannah frowned at the large envelope in Gina's hands. Plain. No name. No return address.
"Who brought it?" she asked, trying to keep her voice even.
Gina shook her head. "No idea. Security found it at the reception desk. No one saw who left it."
Savannah took it, fingers cold against the paper. "Thanks, Gina."
Alone, she sat there for a moment, just staring at it. Then, heart thudding, she opened it.
Photographs slid out.
And her world tilted.
They were of her and Cassian, at the restaurant, on the street, walking into the hotel. On the balcony of their suite. His arms around her, his mouth on hers. Private moments, stolen without her knowing.
Her hands shook as she turned them over one by one.
A note fell free.
You're in over your head. Walk away while you still can.
Savannah's breath hitched. She gripped the edge of her desk, the room spinning.
Who had taken these? Who was watching them? Why?
Her first instinct was to call Cassian. But something in her froze. He said he'd protect me. But he's part of this somehow. He knows more than he's telling me.
She hesitated. Then dialed.
He answered on the second ring. "Savannah. Are you okay?"
His voice was tense, as if he could feel her fear through the phone.
"Someone's watching us," she said, forcing the words out. "They sent me photos. Of us. And a note."
A pause. "What did it say?"
"That I'm in over my head. That I should walk away."
Another pause, longer this time. "I'm on my way."
"Cassian…"
"Stay where you are. Don't talk to anyone else. Lock your office."
The line went dead.
Savannah stood, legs unsteady, and locked the door. She drew the blinds. The photos lay on her desk like evidence of some crime she didn't understand.
Her heart raced, panic and anger battling inside her.
Cassian arrived, suit jacket forgotten, eyes sharp. He took one look at her face, then at the photos.
"Let me see them," he said, voice quiet but edged in steel.
She handed them over. Watched him as he flipped through them, jaw tight, expression unreadable.
"Do you know who sent these?" she asked.
His eyes met hers. "I'll handle it."
"That's not what I asked."
"I said I'll handle it, Savannah."
She stepped back, hurt flaring. "You're still keeping secrets."
"I'm trying to keep you safe."
"Then tell me the truth. Who's watching us?"
But he didn't answer. He gathered up the photos and note, tucking them back into the envelope.
"I need to deal with this. Please, trust me."
And he was gone before she could argue, leaving her alone with more questions than ever.
That night, Savannah sat on her balcony, staring at the city. She felt raw, exposed, as if anyone could be watching from the shadows. Every car that passed below made her tense. Every flicker of movement caught her eye.
Her phone buzzed. A message from Cassian.
>"I'm working on it. Stay in tonight. Please."
She didn't reply.
Her mind was already racing, trying to piece it together ,his evasions, the tattoo, the secrecy, the photos, the note.
And beneath it all, one truth she couldn't ignore:
Whatever Cassian was part of… it was bigger than her. And it was closing in.