Claire's pulse hammered as the screen faded to black, leaving only the soft hum of the projector. She was still staring at the empty space where her father's image had been, her mind replaying that single phrase she caught, before they find out.
Before who finds out? About what?
Her gaze snapped to Evan. He stood beside the projector, hands in his pockets, perfectly calm. His eyes, however, were locked on her face as if measuring every flicker of her reaction.
"I asked you a question," she said finally. "Who is that man?"
"You'll know when you need to," Evan replied.
"That's not an answer."
He stepped closer, the faint scent of his cologne threading through the cool cedar air of the room. "It's the only answer you'll get tonight. Because the moment I tell you his name, your life changes. And not for the better."
She refused to look away, though the weight of his gaze made her chest feel tight. "Then why show me at all?"
"Because you still think you have time to decide whether you want to be involved. You don't. You've been involved since before you walked into my office."
Her jaw clenched. "If you think that's going to scare me into saying yes…"
"It's not about scaring you," he interrupted smoothly. "It's about preparing you. You think you're protecting your father's company. I'm telling you to start protecting yourself."
The room felt suddenly smaller. She hated that his words were starting to dig under her skin, hated the sharp twist in her stomach that told her he wasn't exaggerating.
"You could tell me the truth," she said, voice low.
"I could," he agreed. "But you're not ready for it. Not yet."
He moved past her then, heading toward the door as if the conversation was finished. Kangwoo was waiting in the hallway, his gaze level, his face revealing less than a closed book.
Claire followed, her heels clicking against the polished wood floor. "You brought me here for one cryptic video and nothing else?"
"I brought you here to see the clock running out," Evan said without slowing his stride. "Now you've seen it."
They stepped out into the cold night air, the city glittering in the distance. The car was waiting at the curb, engine idling. Kangwoo opened the rear door, but Claire didn't move to get in.
"I'm not playing your game," she said.
Evan's lips curved faintly, though it wasn't amusement. "You already are."
Her temper flared, sharp enough to burn away the lingering unease. "You think I'm just going to walk into whatever trap you're setting?"
He leaned closer, his voice a quiet blade. "Claire, this isn't my trap. And when it closes, you'll wish it was."
She hated the way that sank into her chest, hated that she couldn't shake the chill it left behind. But she got into the car, if only to put distance between them and the shadows pressing in on the edges of her thoughts.
The ride back was silent. Evan didn't look at her, and she refused to look at him. When the car stopped in front of her building, she stepped out without a word.
Inside her apartment, she locked the door and leaned against it, letting the quiet seep in. The city lights spilled through the curtains, soft and distant. She thought about the man in the video, his eyes sharp, his posture controlled, his voice cool. Someone with power. Someone her father feared enough to lower his own.
She paced the living room, trying to fit the pieces together. Her father had never mentioned anyone like that. If this man was a threat, why hadn't she heard his name before? Unless… the threat wasn't new. Unless it had been there for years, hidden just out of sight.
Her phone buzzed on the coffee table. She almost didn't check it, but the screen was already lighting the room. Another unknown number. Another image.
This one made her stop breathing.
It was her father again. But not from the hospital, and not from years past. This was tonight. He was sitting at a table in a dimly lit restaurant, a glass of water in front of him, and across from him, her blood went cold…was the same man from the video.
The message beneath was only three words.
You're running out.
Claire sank into the couch, staring at the image. Her father hadn't told her he was meeting anyone. And if he was with that man again… it meant whatever was happening wasn't over. It was escalating.
Her first instinct was to call him, demand an explanation, but she stopped herself. If he wanted her to know, he would have told her. If he hadn't, there was a reason. And now, whoever was sending these messages wanted her to know too.
That was the part that scared her.
She rose abruptly and went to her desk, pulling open the bottom drawer. Inside was a slim leather notebook, the one place she wrote down anything she didn't want living on a device. She flipped to a fresh page and began jotting down everything…dates, places, phrases from the video, the exact wording of the texts. If she was in the middle of something bigger than she understood, she needed her own record.
By the time she finished, the city outside was wrapped in midnight. She sat back, staring at the page, feeling the edges of exhaustion but not daring to sleep.
A knock at her door jolted her upright.
Three sharp raps. No voice this time.
She approached slowly, checking the peephole. The hallway was empty.
Her pulse quickened. She unlatched the chain and opened the door just enough to look down.
An envelope lay on the floor.
She picked it up, hands steady despite the tightness in her chest, and carried it inside. The paper was heavy, the kind used for formal invitations. There was no name, no return address.
She broke the seal and pulled out a single card.
It read:
Friday. Midnight. The rooftop.
No signature. No instructions. Just the time and place.
She stood there for a long time, the card balanced in her fingers. She didn't know if it was a threat or an invitation. She didn't know which one would be worse.
But she did know one thing. Friday was only two days away.
And whatever waited for her on that rooftop, she had a feeling it would change everything.