Chapter 123: Evelyn’s silence
Evelyn's name showed on my phone, then didn't. No message. A blank call log that wasn't supposed to be blank. I called her back. Message.
Again.
It wasn't like her. Not Evelyn. She'd promised to call in daily, and now—nothing.
I stared at the screen, a cold emptying my stomach. "She said someone was tampering with her phone," I whispered to Caspian, who was beside me at the kitchen island, reading over the latest dead-end report from the new private investigator.
His eyes met mine, stormy and intense. "I don't like this."
"Neither do I."
We drove to Evelyn's apartment in silence, the kind of silence that suspended itself heavy between us—not cold, just unraveling. Every minute that passed without answers stretched out, a thread pulled too tight.
The entrance to the building opened with her passcode. That was the first bad sign.
Inside, everything was in place. Too much in place. The door had been closed, her coat on the hook, keys in the dish. Her half-drunk coffee was on the windowsill, still a little warm.
"Evelyn?" I called out.
There was silence.
Caspian searched the room like a soldier trained for worst-case scenarios. I moved slower, afraid of what I was going to find. All of the lights were on, every last one of them, even the bathroom light.
"She wouldn't go like this," I said.
"No." Caspian's voice was tight. "She didn't go. She was taken."
I moved into her bedroom. The sheets were rumpled, the closet doors ajar. I shivered before I even saw the mirror.
The message was scrawled in lipstick. Bold, defiant red.
She saw too much.
My hand flew to my mouth.
"Lily." Caspian's voice was behind me, cautioning. He was already studying the borders of the mirror, his camera flashing red in his hand as he recorded it all. "This was a message for you."
My breathing trembled. "Do you think she's still alive?"
"I think he wants us to question that."
We stayed in Evelyn's flat longer than we should have. Caspian made a call—off the record. I barely registered the conversation. My eyes were still on the mirror. That mocking, bloodied message.
Wherever I looked now, something was distorted regarding reflections. I had started covering our mirrors at home with sheets or scarves, trying desperately to control something. Now Evelyn's apartment was tainted as well. I felt like I was contagious. Like Nathaniel had contaminated everything I loved.
We left with leaden feet. In the elevator, I rested against Caspian. His hand found mine. Not in comfort. Just to assure himself that I was still present.
At the villa, we didn't speak until we reached the kitchen. I stared blankly at the gleaming under-cabinet lighting. "How is he always one step ahead of us?"
"We're tracking a ghost," Caspian snarled. "And he's enjoying the fact that we're failing."
That broke something in me.
"Then maybe we stop playing his game!" I snapped, wheeling on him. "Maybe we stop waiting for him to move, and we make our own rules!"
His eyes flared with anger. "And what do we do? Bring in the police? You think they'll assist us? You think Evelyn's message will mean anything when his family pays for silence?"
"I don't care about his family!" My voice cracked. "I care about Evelyn. I care about not being able to look in a mirror without wondering what's on the other side. I care that I'm losing people because I let this go on too long."
He stepped closer. "You didn't let this happen, Lily."
Tears blurred my eyes. "Then why does it feel like it's my fault?"
He didn't have an answer. Neither did I. We were both coming apart—opposite sides of the same unraveling.
"I'm scared," I admitted. "Not just of him. Of what I'm becoming. Of who I'll be if this goes on."
His face softened, and he reached out, his fingers skimming my cheek. "You're still you, Lily. Just. thin."
I nodded, hating the burn in my throat, hating the way my body craved sleep but couldn't have it.
The silence wasn't broken in words, but in touch. Caspian closed the space between us and wrapped his arms around me. I fought for a moment, tense with anger and grief, but then I fell against him.
He held me there in the quiet, where nothing existed except the thrum of his heartbeat against mine.
"I'm so tired," I whispered.
"I know." His voice was rough, broken. "Me too."
He returned later that night with tea but said not a word. We cuddled up on the couch, a movie on mute in the background, just for light and sound. I cried silently. I hated that I could not stop it. Hated more that his arms around me were what I needed to sleep.
"I hate feeling helpless," I whispered against his chest. "It reminds me of the worst of the past. The silence. The way he used to control the air around me."
"You're not helpless." He kissed my forehead. "You're surviving."
"Barely."
"No," he breathed. "Not barely. Fiercely."
His words were a salve. Not perfect, not enough to fix anything—but enough to breathe again.
That night, I did sleep. For he didn't let go. And through all the silence, that spoke volumes.
I awakened the next morning in Caspian's arms, the first rest I'd known in days. Sun filtered through the curtains, its warmth on our skin. He moved beside me, pulling me closer.
"Morning," he muttered, his voice thick with sleep.
"Is it?" I answered with a small smile.
“Still here. Still breathing. Still together.”
That counted for something.
But the peace didn’t last long. A notification flashed across his phone. A text from one of his contacts: Evelyn’s building camera feed was wiped at 3:14 AM. No backups.
And just like that, the weight returned.
He held my gaze, then reached for my hand. “We’ll find her. And we’ll stop him.”
I nodded. Not because I completely believed it. But because I had to.
And at the time, needing each other was all we had.