Ethan
Ethan leaned back into the armchair, the subtle pull of exhaustion gnawing at the edges of his composure. He refused to let it show. The living room was calm but tense, the occasional clink of cups from the kitchen breaking the silence. Elena's quiet movements marked her presence—a mundane act of making coffee, though the weight of their circumstances hung heavy in the air. Rowan leaned against the fireplace, arms crossed, his sharp gaze fixed unwaveringly on Ethan, his concern practically radiating.
"Do you trust her?" Rowan asked, his voice low but clear, carrying the unmistakable edge of genuine concern. It wasn't teasing, nor was it accusatory. It was Rowan being Rowan—direct, protective, unwilling to let things slide without questioning them first.
Ethan didn't answer immediately. His gaze flicked toward the kitchen doorway, where Elena remained out of sight, then back to Rowan. Trust wasn't something he gave lightly. Elena King was guarded, enigmatic, someone who wore secrets like armor. She frustrated him as much as she intrigued him, but his instincts—the same ones that had kept him alive this long—told him she was safe. Complicated, yes, but safe.
"I am engaged to her, and she's living in my apartment," Ethan said finally, his voice firm but quiet, carrying the conviction of a man unwilling to second-guess himself. "She's secretive, difficult to figure out, but I don't believe she's a danger. Not to me."
Rowan's expression didn't shift entirely, though his brows furrowed slightly in thought. "I wondered about your engagement," he murmured, a hint of scepticism creeping in. "Are you two really in love, or is this just for show?"
Ethan smirked faintly, letting out a short laugh despite the lingering strain in his body. "That, my friend, is for me to know and for you to wonder about."
Rowan tilted his head, studying Ethan carefully. The scepticism in his gaze didn't fully fade, but his concern softened—just enough for the faith he had in Ethan to surface. He exhaled, straightening slightly. "I've got some information on the attacker I need to share. Do you want to talk about it privately, or should she hear it too?"
Ethan shifted in his seat, ignoring the pull in his muscles as he forced himself to sit upright. "The attack was aimed at her. Let's wait for the coffee. She needs to hear it."
Elena stepped into the living room, her movements smooth and composed despite the subtle weight in her tone as she spoke. "Needs to hear what?" she asked, her gaze flicking briefly to Rowan and Ethan before she focused on balancing the coffee tray in her hands. Her voice carried a sharp curiosity, the kind that demanded answers without sounding overly confrontational.
Rowan pushed away from the fireplace, his posture easing slightly as he crossed the room. "Let me take that," he offered, lifting the tray from Elena's grasp and setting it on the coffee table in front of them. The faint aroma of freshly brewed coffee filled the air, a mundane contrast to the tension hanging in the room.
Elena didn't wait for a response. She reached for Ethan's cup first, adding cream and sugar with precise movements, her attention clearly fixed on the task. Ethan, meanwhile, stayed quiet, his gaze flickering between the two of them as he worked to maintain the illusion of steadiness.
Rowan cleared his throat, his expression tightening just enough to signal the seriousness of what he was about to say. "I've got news about the attacker," he said finally, his voice carrying a weight that was impossible to ignore. "But it's not much."
Elena glanced up briefly, her eyes narrowing slightly in that careful, measured way she always did when she sensed trouble brewing. Ethan remained silent, his fingers curling slightly around the armrest as he prepared himself for whatever Rowan would reveal next.
Rowan leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees as his expression turned grave. "His name was Mark Leston," he began, his voice steady but with an edge of unease. "He was a bank cashier, with a small red flag in his file—a money laundering report that was never proven. It seems as if he needed money to pay back the money he laundered. That's probably why he was chosen."
Elena's hands stilled as she reached for her own coffee. Her face remained calm, but Ethan, watching her closely, noticed the smallest flicker of tension in her shoulders. She'd perfected the art of concealing her reactions, but sitting this close, he could see the cracks—the slight way she tightened her grip on the cup, the faint narrowing of her eyes.
"Where is he now?" Ethan asks
"They found him in a motel room. Dead. Suicide, or at least that's what it looks like. And his house…" Rowan hesitated, glancing between Elena and Ethan. "Burned to the ground. No evidence left behind."
Ethan said nothing, his gaze lingering on Elena as she absorbed the news. Her mask remained firmly in place.
Before anyone could break the silence, a sharp knock at the door shattered the stillness. Ethan's head turned sharply, his instincts kicking in despite the fatigue dragging at him. Elena set her cup down quietly, already rising to her feet, her movements controlled but alert. Rowan stood as well, his stance shifting into something more deliberate, protective.
Elena stepped toward the door with confident strides, her expression neutral but alert. The knocks had been persistent, demanding attention, and she wasn't one to hesitate when a situation needed handling. Rowan followed close behind, his posture tense but steady, standing just far enough to let her take the lead yet clearly ready to intervene if necessary.
She swung the door open, revealing a woman standing on the threshold. The visitor was striking, though there was a sharpness to her presence—a demanding air that felt as if she'd already decided she didn't owe an ounce of politeness to whoever answered. Her eyes swept over Elena quickly, assessing, before her lips curved into a smirk.
"Finally," the woman said, her tone clipped and bordering on rude. "You're not exactly quick to answer, are you?"
Elena's eyebrows lifted slightly, but before she could deliver one of her trademark, cutting replies, Rowan stepped forward, his expression shifting rapidly from guarded to shocked. "Sarah?" he asked, the single word carrying a mix of surprise and disbelief.
The woman's smirk faltered for a moment before she tilted her head, her gaze landing squarely on Rowan. "Well, well," she said, the sharpness in her voice softening but not disappearing. "Hello, Rowan."
Rowan stepped closer, his brows furrowing as he held Sarah's gaze. The initial shock of seeing her at Ethan's door hadn't entirely faded, and it was written across his face. "What are you doing here?" he asked, his voice sharper than he intended, but the question came from a place of genuine surprise.
Sarah folded her arms, meeting Rowan's question head-on with an expression that was cool but unapologetic. "I heard Ethan was injured," she said simply, her tone carrying just the faintest edge of irritation, as if she didn't appreciate being interrogated. "I thought I'd check on him."
Rowan's frown deepened, his scepticism clear as he glanced over his shoulder toward Ethan, who sat quietly in the armchair, watching the exchange with a guarded expression. Elena, meanwhile, remained just behind Rowan, her own sharp eyes darting between the two with her usual composed demeanour.
"Who told you about Ethan?" Rowan pressed, his voice lowering slightly, more cautious now.
Sarah arched an eyebrow, leaning lightly against the doorframe. "Does it matter? I'm here. Are you going to let me see him, or is this turning into a debate?"
Rowan's jaw tightened as he considered her words, the history between them threading into his thoughts. Whatever had brought her here, he knew one thing for certain—this wasn't a casual visit.
Ethan's voice cut through the tension from where he sat in the armchair, calm but firm. "Rowan, let her in."
Rowan hesitated for a moment, his gaze darting between Sarah and Ethan, before stepping aside. Sarah straightened, brushing past Rowan with a measured air of irritation, her heels clicking against the floor as she entered. Elena—Luelle—followed quietly, her expression unreadable as she glanced briefly at Rowan. Together, the three made their way into the sitting room, Sarah walking ahead with a deliberate stride.
Ethan straightened slightly as they entered, doing his best to project strength despite the lingering weakness that still weighed on him. His sharp eyes focused on Sarah first, his voice warm but composed. "Sarah," he greeted, his tone carrying both familiarity and caution.
Sarah's gaze softened briefly at the sound of her name, but the warmth faded quickly as her attention shifted, landing squarely on Elena. "And who is this?" she asked, her voice sharper now, a hint of challenge in the way her eyes narrowed as she appraised the woman standing close to Rowan.
Without hesitation, Ethan reached out, taking Luelle—Elena—by the wrist and pulling her gently but deliberately closer to him. He slid an arm around her, the gesture protective yet unshaken. "This is Elena," he said, his voice steady as his gaze fixed on Sarah. "My fiancée."