Campus – Late Morning
The kitchen had never been particularly lively, but now it felt... hollow. Ash chewed a cereal bar like it was a crime against humanity and stared at the coffee machine like it owed him answers.
Leo stirred sugar into his mug with silent precision.
"I swear the coffee tasted better when he was around," Ash muttered.
Leo didn't respond at first, just raised an eyebrow.
Ash chuckled. "Or maybe I'm just sleep-deprived. I stayed up repainting that stupid canvas. It kept looking like a whale."
Leo smiled faintly. "Maybe you're a sea boy now."
Ash grinned. "Leo, don't make me paint Poseidon in a crop top."
Leo sipped his coffee, smile ghosting the edge of his mouth.
The silence returned, but this time, it didn't feel empty. Just quiet.
Madrid – Ortega's Private Gym – 14:20
Sweat dripped off Ortega's chin as he slammed a fist into the punching bag. His two guards lounged near the entrance, pretending not to be bored.
Nox, now fully integrated into the estate staff, stood nearby. Silent. Watchful.
"Reyes," Ortega called between punches. "You box?"
Nox met his eyes. "I win."
Ortega laughed, the sound sharp and fake. "Cocky. I like that."
Nox didn't smile.
Campus – Midday
The art studio smelled like paint and sun-warmed wood. Leo had his sleeves rolled up, shirt lightly stained with umber and blue. Ash sat cross-legged on the floor, sketchbook propped on his knee.
"You're fast," Ash said, watching Leo sketch with almost meditative focus.
"Habit."
Ash flopped dramatically onto his back. "I wish I had habits. I just throw myself at the canvas and pray."
Leo didn't look up. "That's still a process."
They painted in silence for a while, the occasional scratch of pencil or clink of brush in water the only sounds. Leo's phone vibrated twice on the table.
He didn't look at it.
Ash stretched. "Wanna hit the park later? Get some sun, people-watch, maybe sketch weird dogs?"
Leo hesitated, then nodded. "Yeah. Sounds good."
He turned his phone screen-down again, unread messages stacking from a father he wasn't ready to face.
Madrid – 18:45 – A Seedy Bar in Lavapiés
Low lights, loud music, and the scent of fried calamari masked something darker: tension.
Nox sat in a corner booth, his back to the wall. Across from him, Jorge Delgado twitched with nerves.
"You can't just ask about Ghost," Delgado hissed. "He's not even real. He's like a warning. A boogeyman."
Nox sipped his drink. "I'm not asking. I'm tracing."
Delgado wiped sweat off his brow. "Look—if Ortega's even whispering about Ghost again, it means shit's going sideways. That deal he's setting up? Big money. Big buyer."
Nox leaned forward. "Where?"
Delgado gulped. "Abandoned gallery, La Latina district. Three nights."
"Thank you."
He stood and left before Delgado could answer. A silent shadow vanishing into the pulse of Madrid's veins.
Campus – Park Bench – Early Evening
Ash was trying to sketch a poodle that looked more like a cloud on legs. Leo leaned back on the bench, watching the shifting summer sky.
"You ever just... not think?" Ash asked suddenly.
Leo blinked. "What?"
"Like, not think about grades or the future or your tragically intense painting themes. Just... be."
Leo hesitated. "Sometimes."
"Teach me," Ash groaned. "I'm over here spiraling because I think my snail painting looks too phallic."
Leo laughed softly—genuine. "It probably does."
Ash elbowed him. "Rude."
Leo leaned his head back and closed his eyes for a moment. The sun warmed his skin. The quiet, the laughter, the bad sketches—it was a life he didn't deserve but couldn't stop wanting.
A moment. That's all it was. But it wrapped around his ribs like something he could live inside.
Madrid – Rooftop – 02:10 AM
The gallery in La Latina was locked down tight, but Nox wasn't in a rush.
He lay flat on the rooftop opposite it, camera lens pointed through a cracked window. Inside, crates. Heavy. Steel-bound.
He recorded their markings.
He'd hacked the estate's internal logs earlier that night—shipment manifests, encrypted correspondence with a buyer from Eastern Europe. Arms deal, high-caliber, illegal across every border.
The target list was solidifying. Ortega. The buyer. And Ghost—whoever they were.
Nox packed up quietly and vanished into the night again.
Campus – Dorm Balcony – Midnight
Ash had passed out half-draped on the couch after their late-night horror movie marathon.
Leo stood barefoot on the balcony, hoodie thrown over his head, a quiet beer in hand.
His phone vibrated again.
Father: Where are you? This is serious.
Father: Do not ignore us. You are being followed for your own safety.
Father: The dorm camera shows you are just with you're roommate. You are vulnerable. Return to the safehouse.
Leo turned the screen off.
He sipped the beer, eyes on the moon, letting the illusion stretch one more night.
He was safe. Probably. Maybe. But right now, Ash's snores and the leftover popcorn on the floor felt more real than a life full of secrets and guns.
He wasn't Leo Moretti, heir and hunted. Not here. Not tonight.
Just Leo. Roommate. Friend. Painter.
And he'd hold on for as long as he could.
Madrid – Hotel Room
Nox sat cross-legged on the floor, maps and photos spread around him.
He drew a line from the gallery to Ortega's compound. Then another to the names Delgado had stuttered out.
Next to one photo, he scrawled a single word in black ink:
Ghost.
Then, carefully, he sealed a new envelope and locked it inside a black case.
Three more nights.
Tick.
Tock.
End of Chapter 36