Ethan
Ethan sat at the bar, his fingers tapping an uneven rhythm against the polished wood. The faint sound barely registered over the low hum of the room, but in his mind, it matched the persistent beat of his frustration. Beside him, Rowan hunched over the tablet, his expression a blend of concentration and growing irritation as he cycled through the grainy security footage from the previous night. Each flickering frame—shots of the building's entrance, the lobby, the elevator—only fuelled Ethan's unease.
He leaned in closer, his jaw tightening as he scanned for something, anything, that would give him a clear image of the woman who had gone home with him. But every time he thought they were about to catch a break, the camera angle shifted, obscuring her face just enough to render her unidentifiable.
"She's good," Rowan muttered, his voice breaking the tense silence. He tapped the screen, replaying a particularly frustrating segment. "Really good. Every camera misses her or only catches her from an angle. It's like she knows exactly where they are."
Ethan scowled, his frustration simmering just beneath the surface. "You think that was intentional?"
Rowan shot him a look, one eyebrow arched in disbelief. "You don't?"
Ethan exhaled sharply, leaning back slightly as his thoughts raced. It was hard not to see the pattern in her movements. The way she slipped through the gaps in the surveillance felt deliberate—precise in a way that left no room for coincidence. The same story had played out in the footage from his building: no identifying shots, no discernible trail. It was too clean, and that precision sent an uncomfortable knot twisting in his gut.
"Let's see the bar footage," Ethan demanded, his irritation bleeding into his tone. The faint buzz of anxiety he'd been suppressing all morning was beginning to grow louder, threatening to unravel his patience.
Rowan nodded, swiping to another screen to pull up the bar's security logs. His expression darkened almost immediately, and the shift didn't go unnoticed.
"What is it?" Ethan asked, his voice sharp.
Rowan pointed to the timestamps; his lips pressed into a thin line. "The bar cameras have been down for three days."
Ethan stiffened, disbelief hardening into anger as he leaned forward. "You're kidding."
"Nope." Rowan zoomed in on the blank entries, his frustration evident as he dragged a hand through his hair. "No recordings. No logs. Just… nothing."
Ethan clenched his fists, his pulse quickening. "And no one noticed?"
Rowan shook his head, his irritation mirroring Ethan's. "Apparently not. The manager said their system's been acting up, but they thought everything was still running fine."
Ethan's jaw tightened as the weight of disbelief sank deeper into him. His voice dropped, low and cutting. "Three days. You're telling me they went three days without realizing their cameras weren't recording anything? That's absurd. Most systems send alerts if something like this happens."
"Exactly," Rowan said, his tone pointed. "Security cameras are supposed to be checked regularly. If a system crashes, there should be notifications. You don't just ignore it for three days and not know something's wrong."
The knot in Ethan's stomach twisted tighter. The lack of footage wasn't just inconvenient—it was suspicious. It fit too perfectly with the woman's sudden appearance and her calculated vanishing act. Every piece of the puzzle felt designed to frustrate their attempts to piece it together.
"She could've done it," Rowan said, his voice cutting through Ethan's thoughts. "She could've turned the cameras off before she arrived."
Ethan shook his head slightly, more in frustration than disagreement. "If she did, wouldn't she have stuck around? Left something behind? Tried to get closer to me?"
"Not necessarily," Rowan shot back, leaning back in his chair with a sigh. "What if she didn't want to leave anything? What if her whole purpose was to make you question everything?"
Ethan stiffened, the accusation hanging heavily between them. His father's voice crept into his mind, sharp and ever-present: She could be a spy. Someone whose purpose is to get close to you. You can't afford to be careless.
The words churned in his chest like acid. His father's paranoia had always grated on him, but now—now he couldn't ignore the possibility. Was someone orchestrating this? Turning off the cameras, planting her, making sure she vanished just as quickly as she appeared? Was he being played?
"But why didn't she give me her name?" Ethan muttered, mostly to himself, the frustration spilling into his voice.
Rowan tilted his head, narrowing his eyes as he considered the question. "Maybe that wasn't part of the plan. Maybe whoever's behind this is trying to keep her untraceable. Someone who raises suspicion but leaves no trail."
The weight of Rowan's words sank into Ethan like a stone. He crossed his arms, the tension in his body coiling tighter with each passing second. "So you think this was intentional. A setup."
"Feels that way," Rowan replied, his tone grim. "The cameras going down, her dodging every security feed in your building—it's too neat."
Ethan exhaled slowly, the knot in his chest threatening to unravel into outright anger. "Then that means whoever's pulling the strings isn't finished yet."
Rowan met his gaze, his expression solemn and steady, like they were both staring into the same web of doubt and frustration. Whatever had started the night before—whatever game they'd been pulled into—it wasn't over. Not by a long shot.