Noah sat alone in the minor kitchenette tucked into the plan wing, gazing at a cold container of coffee. The entryway to the meeting room was still half open behind him, voices resounding in clipped tones.
Every time he blinked, he saw Julian's face—impassive, polished, blank. The same face that once hovered above him in the dark, eyes stormy with want. And now? That man had vanished beneath a silk tie and silence.
He rubbed the side of his face, breathing out slowly.
Suspended. With pay. Until we encourage review.
A respectful way of saying: Don't come back until we've chosen whether or not to demolish your name.
Two hours passed.
Noah didn't go home.
Instead, he strolled the city capriciously. Past glass storefronts and advanced announcements, past the agency's most recent campaign put on the side of a bus—Royal Bowman: Brilliance, Reimagined.
His brilliance. His concept.
And presently? His signature wasn't on the mockups without a doubt.
By 9 p.m., his phone buzzed with a message from Max.
Heard what happened. You okay?
Noah didn't respond. He scrolled up through old messages, looking for anything, anyone that made sense. He paused at the number with no name—Julian's. There were only two texts.
Julian [Weeks Ago]:
Room 2110. Don't be late.
Noah [Next Morning]:
You disappear from hotel rooms too?
No reply. Just digital silence.
Noah closed the app.
This was over.
Except it wasn't.
The next morning, Julian stared at the agency's internal dashboard, jaw tight.
The IT report was conclusive: Noah's credentials had been used—but the location pinged from a café across the city, and surveillance showed Noah nowhere near it.
An IP mask. Someone had gone to deliberate lengths to stage the breach.
Julian closed the report, heart heavy. He already knew the truth. He had known about it before the meeting. But fear had kept him silent.
And fear had a cost.
He should've defended Noah. Instead, he'd covered up behind the arrangement, behind the same cold armour that had gotten him through the final four years.
Because the final time he let his watch down, it took a toll on everything.
Because the last time he let his guard down, it cost him everything.
Flashback
Three years ago.
Julian had trusted Evan.
Brilliant. Charming. Just dangerous enough to make every risk feel worthwhile.
And then—$1.3 million lost in a sabotage deal. Trade secrets leaked. Evan disappeared into a contract with Monarch Studio. Julian was left with a company on the edge of collapse and a board that never forgave him for sleeping with the enemy.
He rebuilt Cross & Cove from dust and reputation.
But he never forgot the burn.
And now, Noah was pressing against that same locked door. Same spark. Same risk. Same look that said, You want to believe in someone again? Try me.
Julian didn't know how to answer that.
On Thursday, Julian found a note in his private mail folder.
No envelope. No signature. Just a folded half-sheet of thick sketch paper.
He unfolded it.
Inside, one sentence in looping ink:
"I never needed your name to remember you. Just your silence."
Julian closed his hand around the note and didn't move for a long time.
The office buzzed without Noah. That was the first strange thing.
The second was Maddie from Creative whispering in the hall, "Did you hear? Royal Archer might pull the contract. Something's off."
The third was that Julian started showing up in Design Wing walkthroughs—brief, silent, but present.
People noticed.
And Max? Max noticed everything.
So when he slipped into Julian's path on the mezzanine, fake smile in place and hands in his pockets, Julian should've walked past.
He didn't.
"You don't seem like the type who enjoys unfinished business," Max said.
Julian looked at him coolly. "Get to the point."
"You hung Noah out to dry," Max said. "You think he doesn't know that?"
Julian didn't answer.
Max leaned in. "He cared. Don't think he didn't."
Julian's jaw ticked.
Max straightened. "You're not the only one with walls, Cross. But yours? They're starting to crack."
Noah, meanwhile, found himself in an unexpected place: the crowded bar at Maddox Hotel, a whiskey untouched in front of him and his sketchpad open.
He was sketching—not layouts, not logos. Just lines. Sharp ones. Chaotic. Like he was bleeding ink instead of thoughts.
He didn't hear the person sit beside him until a glass clinked gently on the counter.
"Julian won't say it," the voice said, "but I think you should know."
Noah turned.
It was Lena, one of Julian's executive assistants. Cold. Polished. Deadly efficient.
Noah blinked. "You think I should know what?"
She sipped her drink. "Someone on the board has ties to Monarch Studio. The same firm that leaked our contract last year. The same one Evan Carlisle disappeared into."
Noah froze.
"Julian suspected," Lena said. "But saying anything would make it look like paranoia. And after what happened with Evan, paranoia is… frowned upon."
Noah swallowed. "You think I'm being used to set him up."
"I think," Lena said, "someone wants him to break the rules again. And you're the perfect weapon."
Noah stared at her.
"Why are you telling me this?"
"Because you're not the weapon," she said. "You're the fuse. And someone's already lit you."
She stood, slid a trade card over the bar, and vanished into the crowd.
Julian sat in his office the other day, rehashing the mysterious note once more when his phone buzzed.
Text from Lena:You need to look at Board Member R. Klein's financials. Also, Noah didn't write that note. I checked the pen pressure. Different hand.
Julian blinked.
He pulled the paper from the drawer.
Read it again.
"I never needed your name to remember you. Just your silence."
He turned it over. Ran his fingers across the fibres.
Noah didn't write it.
Someone wanted him to think Noah did.
And if Klein was involved…
A trap.
Not just for Noah.
For him.
That night, Noah waited outside the agency building. He hadn't planned to. He told himself he was just walking past. But his feet didn't keep moving.
And when Julian emerged through the glass doors, Noah didn't hide.
Their eyes locked. Streetlight caught in Julian's eyes, sharpening the tension between them.
"Walking or waiting?" Julian asked.
"Maybe both," Noah said.
Julian hesitated. "There's something you should know."
"You first," Noah said. "Why didn't you defend me?"
Julian didn't answer immediately.
Then: "Because I was afraid I'd be wrong again."
"I'm not Evan."
"I know."
Silence again.
Then Julian stepped closer.
"Someone tried to frame you," he said. "But it wasn't just to hurt you. It was to destroy me."
Noah frowned. "What?"
"I'll explain," Julian said. "But not here."
Noah crossed his arms. "Then where?"
Julian paused. "Somewhere we can be honest."
Noah studied him, his heart beating too fast.
"Okay," he said. "But I'm not coming quietly."
Julian smiled, faintly. "I'd expect nothing less."
As they walked off down the street, someone in a parked car across the block lowered their phone.
Snapped a photo.
Then send it.
To a contact labelled only: "Monarch Ops".