Noah swallowed hard, his throat bobbing as he glanced toward the door, as if half-expecting it to swing open again.

He had come here to do a job, clean, clinical, uncomplicated. Not to get tangled in whatever storm was raging inside the Whitehall estate.

But Estelle was looking at him now, and the desperation in her eyes made it impossible to stay detached.

He exhaled slowly. "What do you need me to do?" he asked, his voice lower this time, edged with reluctant resolve.

Estelle drew in a breath, steadying herself as something sharper settled behind her gaze. "I need to see him," she said. "Not hear about him. Not read messages."

Her gaze hardened. "I need to look him in the eye and decide if he’s lying to me."

She paused, her fingers tightening slightly against the sheets. "And then, I need to walk again."

The room fell quiet for a beat, the faint hum of the air conditioning filling the space between them.

Noah studied her. He didn’t need to ask if she was sure, her eyes had already answered that, unwavering.

"If you want to walk again, you don’t get to fall apart," he said quietly. "Your body listens to what your mind does. Right now, it thinks you’ve already lost."

His gaze held hers. "So decide. Are you trying to survive this, or not?"

Estelle nodded, though her expression didn’t soften. She understood, but letting go was another matter entirely.

"And for your second request," Noah hesitated, glancing once more at the closed door, lowering his voice instinctively. "I can’t promise anything. Not here." He looked back at her. "But I’ll find a way. I’ll get you that conversation."

A flicker of relief passed through her eyes before she masked it. "Thank you," she whispered.

Noah gave a small nod, straightening as he pushed the moment aside. "Alright," he said, a hint of professional focus returning to his tone. "Let’s continue."

Estelle swallowed and nodded, but her thoughts drifted despite herself, back to the message, to the words that didn’t feel like Roman, no matter how many times she replayed them.

—

Elsewhere, Roman sat at his desk, his gaze locked on his screen as the reply from the decoy email loaded fully.

He read it once. Then again.

Slowly, a smile spread across his face, not warm, but sharp, edged with realization.

"I don’t want you. Stay away," he read aloud, almost tasting the words. A quiet chuckle slipped from him.

He leaned back slightly, shaking his head. "Oh, Father. Sloppy," he murmured. "Thank you for confirming it." His eyes darkened, the pieces falling into place. "Estelle didn’t send the first email."

He grabbed his phone, his fingers moving quickly as he checked his cloud storage. Everything was still there, every image, every video. Untouched. Safe. Good.

His smile widened just a fraction. If Magnus was going this far to distract him, then it meant one thing, and one thing only. He was getting close. And Magnus knew it.

Roman shoved the chair back, the legs scraping softly against the floor as he stood. He rolled his shoulders once, steadying himself, then moved toward the door.

By the time he stepped into the hallway, his expression had smoothed into something unreadable. Calm. Controlled.

But beneath it, something had shifted.

He didn’t walk, he moved with purpose now, quickening as he reached the stairs and took them down without hesitation, his grip tightening slightly around his phone.

This wasn’t just about clearing his name anymore.

This was war.

Before the door opened, Roman caught the low murmur of voices on the other side. Vance and Magnus.

His eyes narrowed slightly, and his steps slowed, each one measured now. He let a breath slip out through his nose, steadying himself.

Good. Let them think he’d swallowed everything they fed him.

His fingers moved over his phone, dialing quickly. He raised it to his ear just as the foyer doors swung open with a soft creak. 𝘧𝑟𝑒𝑒𝘸𝘦𝘣𝑛𝑜𝘷𝑒𝓁.𝘤𝘰𝓂

Roman paused, stepping aside to let them pass, his posture loose, almost indifferent. "Thank you for the email, Vance," he said casually, turning away as if the words meant nothing.

Behind him, Vance snapped around, something tightening in his chest before he could stop it. His gaze flicked to Magnus, who was watching Roman with sharp, assessing eyes.

Roman felt their attention like heat against his back, but he didn’t turn. He waited just a second for the call to connect, his fingers resting lightly against the cool brass handle of the door.

Then the line clicked.

"Hey, Lena," he said, his voice smooth, almost easy. "I need your help. Meet me at the usual spot."

He stepped outside as he spoke, letting the door swing shut behind him, cutting off any chance for questions, sealing the moment before it could stretch.

Inside, Vance lifted a hand instinctively, as if he could stop him, but the door closed with a dull thud, trapping them in the still, heavy air of the foyer.

"I want to know exactly what he wants with Lena," Magnus said, his tone tightening. "And where he’s going." His gaze hardened. "He doesn’t look like a man who’s heartbroken. That’s what I need him to look like."

A pause. "Call her. Now."

Without waiting for a response, Magnus turned and walked away, his steps echoing faintly against the marble floor.

Vance remained where he was for a beat, his jaw tight, his thoughts colliding. Then he pulled out his phone and pressed it to his ear, already moving.

—

Outside, the morning air hit Roman’s face, cool and faintly crisp. He let it settle in his lungs as a slow smile tugged at the corner of his lips.

He had lingered just long enough. Just enough to hear what mattered.

He stepped away from the towering doors, gravel crunching softly beneath his shoes. His mind moved fast now, sharper than before.

If he was going to find the Saunders, he couldn’t chase blindly. He had to follow the trail, the one Magnus was trying so hard to bury.

And if he followed it far enough, it would lead him to them. To Leo. To Estelle.

His jaw tightened slightly. "I’ll find you," he murmured under his breath, more promise than hope.

Then he moved, his pace quickening as purpose settled deep in his chest. There was no hesitation left now, only direction.

He would get to the truth.

Or burn everything down trying.

—

A few hours later, the quiet inside Magnus’s study was broken by the sharp buzz of his phone against the polished wood of his desk.

Magnus glanced at it, irritation flickering across his face, until he saw the name on the screen. His brows drew together.

The panel’s secretary.

A slow, controlled breath filled his lungs as he reached for the phone, already bracing himself. If they were calling him directly, then something had surely happened.

Roman.

He answered, his tone smoothing out instantly. "Hello, Ruth. How are—"

"Sir," Ruth cut in, her voice tight with urgency. "I’m calling to inform you that there is an emergency panel sitting. You need to be here immediately."

Magnus stilled, his grip tightening slightly around the phone. An emergency meeting?