Part 1 – The Man in the Dark
Calder.
The name meant nothing to her—but the look in his eyes did. It wasn't curiosity. It was regret. And familiarity. The kind that made her stomach twist.
"You worked for my father?" Amelia asked, not lowering the ashtray. "Doing what exactly? Killing people?"
He didn't smile, but the corner of his mouth twitched like he almost wanted to.
"Not at first."
She took a step back, bumping the edge of the couch. Her skin prickled like someone had cracked open a freezer behind her. "You have five seconds to explain what you're doing in my apartment, or I swear to God—"
"I'm trying to keep you alive."
That shut her up, just long enough for him to reach into his coat. She tensed, ashtray up like a blade. But he didn't pull a weapon. He pulled a folder.
And dropped it on her table.
She stared at it. Manila. No label. Just like the one she found in her drawer.
"I didn't come here to scare you, Amelia. I came because you read something you weren't supposed to. Project Ebony wasn't just your father's experiment—it was his insurance policy. Against men like Dorian."
Her breath caught.
"You know Dorian?"
He nodded slowly. "Better than you do."
Her hands were shaking now, but she didn't want him to see. She set the ashtray down, carefully, and picked up the folder. The moment she touched it, her fingertips burned. It was cold. Too cold. Like it had been kept in a freezer. Or buried.
She opened it.
Inside: photographs. Faded. A lab. A hospital room. And Dorian—younger, but not young. Exactly the same face. Exactly the same eyes.
The earliest photo was dated 1994.
No.
No. That couldn't be right.
Her mind scrambled. "That's—no. That's thirty years ago."
Calder sat down across from her, uninvited. Comfortable. Like he'd been there before.
"He doesn't age, Amelia. He recycles. New name. New company. Same secrets."
She stared at him.
"You're insane."
Calder leaned forward, elbows on his knees. "And yet you already know I'm not. Because you've felt it. Haven't you? That first time he touched you? That heat. That... pull."
She flinched without meaning to.
He saw it.
"Whatever you think you know about Dorian Cross," he said, low and sharp, "you don't. And if you keep chasing him the way you are now, he won't kill you. He'll ruin you."
She looked down at the photos again. Dorian with her father. Her father with a syringe. A woman in a hospital bed, her face blurred by motion—screaming.
Amelia swallowed the bile rising in her throat.
"What do you want from me?"
Calder stood.
Nothing."
He turned for the door, like this was all some tragic courtesy.
Then paused.
"But if you want to survive, Amelia... don't sleep with him again."
And with that, he left.
But the scent of smoke remained.