Chapter 107: Unspoken fears
The following morning broke like a sluggish fire—light creeping hesitantly through the filmy curtains of the villa, casting in weary, sweeping shadows on the marble floors. The air was thick, almost stubbornly refusing to move, as if it too remembered the night before and the burden it had brought.
I sat on the bedside, the nightgown silk cold against my skin. My fingers hovered over the creased letter again, on the dresser like a rebuke. I hadn't touched it since last night, but I hadn't forgotten it either. The stilted typewritten letters still danced before my mind like a challenge: You're never alone. I see everything.
Down the hallway, I could hear Caspian in the kitchen. The ring of a mug. The rumble of the espresso machine. All so. ordinary. Too ordinary. As if we might sit and have a cup of coffee and toast and act like our world hadn't just tipped ever so slightly on its axis.
I wrapped a robe around myself and padded barefoot to the hall. Dark roast filled my senses, earthy and warm. Caspian leaned against the counter, topless, muscles stretched taut with tension, his eyes scanning the laptop screen as if it held all our secret terrors.
He looked up as I came near, his face relaxing. "Morning," he said softly, offering me a mug.
I took it, the warmth almost shocking. "Thanks."
We both sipped in silence. Not a word about the letter. Not a word about the photo. Just the hum of the fridge and the gentle drumbeat of rain starting on the windows.
"Did you sleep?" he asked at last.
I nodded, lying. "You?"
He gave a noncommittal grunt and turned his laptop toward me. The image of the photograph glared back—the one we’d found slipped beneath the door. Me, wrapped in Caspian’s arms… but from a distance, through a lens. The way the light framed us made it feel almost like art. Almost.
"I've been trying to work out where it was taken," he mumbled. "Looking at angles, times, even matching up the buildings in the background to sat images."
My stomach churned. "Any progress?"
He shook his head. "Nothing concrete. But whoever took this. they were close. Too close."
I leaned against the counter, the cold stone biting into my hip. "Do you think it's him?"
Caspian didn't react right away. Instead, he closed the laptop and exhaled. "I don't want to assume. But whoever it is, they're not only watching. They're taunting."
I looked down into my coffee, watching the patterns that emerged and dissipated. "What do we do?"
He stepped closer, resting a hand on the counter beside me, caging me softly. "We leave."
I jerked my head up. "Leave?"
"Until we have to. Disappear. We discover someplace quiet, far from here. Safe."
I set the mug on the table with a clang. "We just got back. We were trying to rebuild. You wish to destroy all that once more—once more?"
"I want you safe," he snapped, jaw tight. "If that is what it takes, I'll pack the bags myself."
"And then what?" I mocked. "Hide every time there is movement in a shadow or a piece of mail?"
He grimaced. "That's not what I said."
"But that's what you're implying," I snapped out. "You so badly want to protect me you don't think I can walk through the fire with you. You want to carry me, not walk beside me."
His eyes flashed anger. "That's not fair."
"Won't it?" I said, pushing out of under his arm. "You're not alone in being frightened, Caspian. But I'm not going back on the run. I can't."
He paced, fingering his hair. "Lily, I'm not requesting that you go into hiding. I'm asking you to watch out. There's someone prowling around the front who is spying on us. And in light of what occurred with Nathaniel—
"This is not about Nathaniel," I cut in, though his name still tasted acrid on my tongue. "This is about control. You think if you can just continue to move the pieces around fast enough, you'll stay one step ahead."
He looked hurt, but said nothing. The chill of the silence between us grew broad.
I picked up the letter from the counter, holding it between my fingers like it might burn. “You can run, Caspian. I’m staying.”
He didn’t respond. Just nodded once, tightly, and turned away.
The rest of the day was a ghost. We wandered about the villa like strangers in shared skin. I tried to lose myself in laundry, in reading, even in rain etching lines on the windows. Caspian remained walled in the study, the muffled clacking of his keyboard a far-off metronome to my dazed mind.
By the time the evening arrived, I was exhausted—not from activity, but from the sheer weight of everything that hadn't been mentioned.
I sat on the bed's edge, combing my hair with idle, distracted sweeps of my fingers. The windows were open, letting in the scents of damp earth and lemon from the garden. The world outside was quiet—so quiet it seemed strange.
And my phone called.
I looked at it. Unknown number. No caller ID.
My breath was arrested.
The room felt colder for no apparent reason, shadows slightly too dark, corners slightly too far away.
I answered.
"Hello?" My voice trembled despite myself.
Silence.
No static. No voice. Only silence.
"Who is this?" I demanded, my voice slightly louder.
Still nothing. But the silence was not empty. It was full. As if someone was there, listening. Breathing. Smiling.
I gripped the phone tighter. "If this is your idea of a threat—"
The line went dead.
I glared at the screen, heart thudding against my ribcage. A shiver went down my spine. I turned towards the door.
Caspian was already standing there.
He looked at me, then at the phone in my hand.
"What happened?" he asked, voice low and menacing.
I swallowed. "They called."
His jaw clenched, the muscle ticking. "What did they say?"
"Nothing," I whispered. "They didn't have to."
"Nothing," we both said simultaneously. We stood there, the silence between us now sharpened into something else—fear made flesh.
This time, I didn't struggle when Caspian grasped me.
And for once, I didn't pretend like I wasn't afraid.