Chapter 65
The first sign that something was wrong was the silence.
Not the calm kind—the heavy, watchful kind that pressed against the walls and made even the air feel complicit.
Kade felt it the moment he stepped out of the elevator.
The penthouse lights were on. The city hummed outside. Nothing looked disturbed.
Yet every instinct he had—every sharpened edge he'd developed from years of building power in hostile rooms—screamed.
"Kiera?" he called.
No answer.
He moved slowly, deliberately, checking corners, scanning reflections in glass and steel. His phone buzzed in his hand, but he ignored it. Whatever waited for him was closer than any call.
He found her in the study.
She stood at the center of the room, barefoot, arms folded tightly around herself, staring at the wall-sized screen. It was on, but frozen—paused on a single frame.
A man's face.
Middle-aged. Familiar in the way nightmares were familiar.
Kade stopped breathing.
"Kiera," he said again, softer now.
