Chapter 25
Cece
Istare at my reflection in the bathroom mirror, studying the woman who stares back. The face is mine, technically. But beneath the surface lives tension. A mind running twenty miles ahead.
I look calm. Composed. Normal. Even good. That’s what they need to see. Routine.
I pull on the jacket, the fabric stiffer than I remember. Maybe it just doesn’t feel like mine anymore.
At the office, everything feels foreign in a familiar way. I move through the day like clockwork. I type out email responses. Nod in meetings. Chime in with the occasional half-hearted joke in the hallway. If anyone is watching—and someone always is—it has to look seamless.
But behind my eyes, I scan. Constantly. Every shift in tone, every flash of motion just outside my periphery. I am the decoy in the middle of a trap we’re setting. The bait.
Luc’s message buzzes quietly in my pocket, just enough to feel through the lining. I don’t need to open it. I know what it says.
Keep calm. Stick to the routine. We’re watching.
I almost laugh. Watching. Of course they are. But they’re not the only ones, are they?
By mid-afternoon, the line between real and pretend dissolves. The building is the same. The faces are the same. But everything feels different. I can practically feel the enemy brushing against the veil, pressing closer, searching for cracks. For me. I can’t slip. Not for a second.
That’s when the meeting invite hits my inbox.
Daniel wants to talk. Project check-in.
Shit.
When I step into his office, I force a smile and sit down, smoothing my hands over my skirt as if it will help keep the mask in place. But one look at his face tells me I’m not as subtle as I think.
“I just want to check in with you, Cece,” he says, his tone kind but edged with concern. “You haven’t quite seemed like yourself lately. And with the number of eyes on this project right now, I just want to make sure you have the bandwidth for it.”
No. No, no, no. Not now. Not like this.
“Absolutely,” I say quickly, leaning forward a little, working to sound controlled and focused.
“I know I’ve been a bit . . . preoccupied, but I promise it won’t be an issue.
It’s just some personal things. They’re being handled.
” I lock eyes with him and add, “I can assure you it won’t interfere again.
And I’m sorry if it’s caused any hiccups already. ”
I glance at my hands, then back to his face, letting the silence stretch just enough. He studies me for a moment, searching my expression for something. Truth, maybe. Or stability.
Whatever he sees must be close enough, because his expression softens.
“All right. I’ll take your word for it,” he says, shifting back in his seat.
“We’ll keep things moving.” Then his tone softens further.
“The team’s having dinner tomorrow night.
Corinne’s organizing it. It’s been a while since we’ve all gotten together, and we figured it’d be good for morale. Can you make it?”
My thoughts scramble. Will this compromise the plan? Will Luc or Xan see it as too risky? Or will skipping it draw more suspicion?
“Of course. I’ll be there,” I say, adding a warmth I don’t quite feel but hope sounds real.
Daniel smiles for the first time in weeks.
Which only confirms it. I have seemed distant. Zoning out. Off my game. And now? Now I need to play the part better than ever. Because if I slip, the enemy won’t need a plan to get to me. They’ll just waltz right in.
As I make my way to the work dinner, I replay the conversation from last night—Luc and Xan laying out the tactical framework like a game of multidimensional chess. For the plan to work, I have to look like I’m just another person living a regular life.
That means tonight is business as usual.
So I show up.
I walk through the restaurant doors, scanning quickly for our table, for anything off. Just another dinner with coworkers. Friendly. Predictable. Normal.
Right behind me, the door swings open again, and Corinne steps in. “Chloe,” she says, smiling. “I’m so glad you could make it.”
I turn, matching her expression. “I wouldn’t miss it. This looks like a great place,” I say, adding a warm smile that I hope doesn’t look as forced as it feels.
“Daniel messaged me,” she says as we walk through the restaurant side by side. “The team’s waiting at the bar while our table is prepared.”
I keep pace with her, every step an exercise in appearing casual.
As we move through the maze of tables and quiet chatter, she glances over at me. “Daniel mentioned that your logistics and project support have really helped the collaboration. He even said he’s considering working with you on his next project. Well done, Chloe.”
I blink, surprised at yet another project coming my way, but I recover quickly. After the way he looked at me yesterday?
“He’s an amazing lead,” I say, smiling back at her. “I’ve learned a lot working with him.”
We reach the group just as the server arrives to guide us to our table. The team stands, laughter and drinks in hand, and I offer quick hellos as we follow.
I grab an open chair, and before I can settle in fully, Daniel steps in beside me and pulls out the seat next to mine. “Glad you made it,” he says with that easy, practiced smile, before turning back to a conversation across the table.
I return the smile and nod.
The team places their orders, and soon conversation and glasses of wine are flowing easily around the table.
Laughter rises and falls like a tide, constant and familiar.
At some point, without even realizing it, I relax.
The tension in my shoulders eases. I stop watching every motion in the room like it’s a threat waiting to give way.
For a few minutes, it almost feels like nothing’s wrong.
I lean toward Daniel, lowering my voice just enough to make it personal. “Hey,” I say, “thank you for advocating for me with Corinne. She mentioned what you said about my performance, and I appreciate it.”
His expression shifts and softens. There’s something in his eyes—wonder, maybe, or something close to it.
“Absolutely, Cece,” he says gently. “I see how hard you work. We’re all human. Sometimes life gets in the way. What matters is how you handle it once you realize that.” He pauses. “And like I said before, if you need to talk, I’m here. I don’t mind being an ear for what’s going on.”
No judgment. No edge. Just warmth.
Then he adds, “I’ve got another project coming up soon. And honestly? I know your involvement would be a tremendous gain for the team.”
He turns fully toward me now, eyes clear, a genuine smile forming, and for a moment, I’m caught in it. It’s about being seen. But more than that—it’s about being valued for my work.
“That would be amazing,” I say, the words slipping out before I overthink them.
He holds my gaze a second longer, that same smile tugging at his mouth. “Yeah,” he says. “I think so too.”
As the evening continues, conversation swells around us—teammates swapping stories, gentle teasing, the occasional clink of a glass. I laugh at something Corinne says, genuinely, not just because I’m supposed to, but because she’s pretty damn funny in this setting.
Daniel stays beside me. He doesn’t dominate the conversation, but he’s always listening, tuned in and thoughtful. His shoulder brushes mine every so often—casual, but intentional. I glance over once, just to read his expression, and find that he’s already looking at me.
“You seem lighter tonight,” Daniel says quietly, meant only for me.
I glance at him, surprised. “Lighter?”
He gives a small shrug. “Less weight behind your eyes. Like something changed. Anything you want to share?”
For a second, I search for the usual answer—something neat and harmless. Just a good day, I want to say. Less caffeine. But the words knot in my throat.
Instead, before I can stop myself, I say, “Truth? Maybe I’m just tired of carrying it all.”
The reality hangs there, heavier than I expect. I blink, stunned. I let it slip.
Daniel doesn’t look away.
“Then don’t.”
It’s such a simple reply. And for one terrifying, electric moment, I want to tell him everything.
Not the safe version. Not the curated stress and surface-level burnout.
The real story. The warping. The veil. Things slipping through when no one’s looking.
Even the strange, relentless pulse of power inside me, burning like a second heartbeat.
But I can’t. I won’t.
So I do the only thing I can.
I smile, holding everything back. “I’ll try.”
His eyes stay on mine, fixed, like he’s reading between the lines—like he knows there’s more I’m not saying and wants to ask me to reveal it all. But then the intensity breaks, and he doesn’t. He just nods.
His hand finds the back of my chair for a moment. Barely there. But I feel it—and I’m not entirely sure how I feel about that.
Even as the conversation picks back up around us—laughter, clinking glasses, half-finished stories—I can still feel him watching me.
And I can’t help but wonder if he sees more than I think . . . or if he’s waiting for me to let him in.
Later, the night winds down in the comfortable, familiar way good nights tend to.
Corinne cracks a joke about organizing team dinners quarterly, as if any of us can keep a calendar straight that long, and I laugh, nodding along.
Because honestly? I enjoyed myself. It felt good just to be for a while.
No monsters, no supernatural powers, no calculating what might come next. Just food, conversation, and warmth.
I slip out before anyone can offer to walk with me. I need quiet. The air is cool, crisp against my skin as I take a breath and let the door swing shut behind me. I pull my phone from my purse and notice a missed message. It must have gone off while I was still in the restaurant.
Luc: Veil fluctuation. Two blocks south. Movement confirmed.
Damnit. That’s not good.
“Cece!”
The voice hits me like a tug on a thread I didn’t know was connected. I turn, and there’s Daniel, jogging lightly to catch up.
“You parked around here?” he asks, falling into step beside me. “I can walk with you. Make sure you stay safe.”
His tone is calm, almost casual, but there’s a gravity to it I can’t quite place. When our eyes meet, his gaze holds a moment too long—intense and weighted. There’s something in the way he says it. Not pushy exactly, just . . . willing.
“It’s fine. No need. I’m just over in the parking deck. Thank you anyway, though.”
For a moment, he looks like he might push back—or maybe he just wants to stay a little longer. I’m not sure. But he nods instead.
“Okay, no problem,” he says.
I’m about to answer when he goes on, his voice softer now.
“I’m really glad you came tonight.” A breathy laugh escapes him. “I’m sounding like a broken record here, but tonight was a lot of fun. It was nice to see you again outside the office walls.”
His smile is wide and genuine.
“Hopefully, you and I can do this again,” he says, letting the words hang for a moment before adding, “Goodnight, Cece.”
He gives a last smile—smaller now—then turns and walks off into the night.
I watch him go, lingering a moment longer than I mean to. Then I exhale and make myself head toward the parking deck.
Well . . . that was interesting.
I shake my head, trying to clear it before my brain does what it always does—spins it into something too big and complicated. I walk fast enough to outrun the urge to overthink.
The restaurant’s patio glows behind me, but out here on the sidewalk, everything feels dimmer. Still.
My heels click softly against the pavement as I make my way down the block toward the parking structure. I keep my pace measured and calm. Just a normal woman heading home after dinner with coworkers.
And then—I feel it.
It’s a vibration. A hum that feels like it’s just below the surface. It’s hard to describe, but it sends a shiver up my spine, raising the hairs on my arms. It stops me dead in my tracks.
A shadow emerges across the street. Half-concealed in the alley between two closed storefronts.
At first, it looks like someone simply standing there—until the uneasiness I’m feeling sharpens.
It’s still. Completely still.
Too still.
As if it’s trying to mimic a person but hasn’t quite figured out how.
My heart slams once against my ribs. Hard enough to jolt me. I force myself to look down at my phone, pretending to scroll, even as my pulse skitters out of rhythm. In the faint reflection on the screen, the shadow moves.
Not much. Just enough.
It knows I’ve noticed it.
Above me, the streetlamp flickers—one sharp, stuttering blink before steadying again, casting the sidewalk in a sickly yellow glow. The air feels too thin. Suffocating.
Whatever that thing is . . . it’s watching me.
And the way it holds itself. The way it studies me . . . there’s nothing human in it.
I lift my head and start walking again, quickening my pace by a fraction. Not too fast. Not enough to show fear. My instincts scream at me not to look back, not to let it see the panic clawing up my throat.
But I can feel it.
Behind me.
Following.
Measuring each step I take. Matching me. Learning me.
And worst of all, there’s a sharp tug of recognition in my chest. Like I’ve seen it before. Not when awake . . . but somewhere buried in a dream I wasn’t meant to remember.
I reach the parking garage. Slide into my car and immediately lock the door.
Only then do I let out a shaky breath. My fingers clamp around the steering wheel, knuckles whitening as I anchor myself, willing the shaking in my body to settle. I stare straight through the windshield, forcing myself to stay still. To focus.
This isn’t over.
Something changed tonight.
Whatever it is . . . it feels stronger now.
With Daniel. With the power inside me. And with whatever’s watching.