His voice was low, carrying the quiet authority that had kept the Chicago streets silent for a decade.

Behind him, Luca stood in the shadows of the hallway, his face pale and his eyes fixed on the floor.

“Marcus,” I said.

I kept my voice steady, though my heart pressed hard against my ribs.

Sophia took a step backward, her shoulder pressing against the heavy velvet curtains.

“What is Sophia doing in our private quarters, Elena?” Marcus asked.

He walked into the room, his leather shoes silent on the Persian rug.

He did not look at the desk yet, but I knew his eyes registered every detail.

“She was just leaving,” I said.

On the screen behind me, the encryption warning blinked a second time.

The remote download was stalled at forty percent.

It required a secondary authorization, a rolling security key that changed every sixty seconds.

Sophia had Marcus’s physical credentials, but she did not have the algorithm key.

For six years, I had sat in the green armchair by the window while he worked late into the night.