Standing exactly where he was right now.
His fingers tightened around his phone. His pulse hammered in his ears as he scanned his surroundings, but the alley behind him was empty. The den was silent. There was no movement. No shadow shifting in the darkness.
Someone was watching him.
The weight of the silence pressed down on him, suffocating. He turned sharply, his eyes darting to the rooftops, the cracked windows of the nearby buildings. Nothing.
Then, his phone vibrated again.
The Same Number from before: "You're too slow,Amadeo".
He thought to himself, "The person who has Elle's phone must've taken her somewhere.But where?or is it Elle herself?"
A chill ran down his spine. His fingers hesitated over the screen, but before he could type a response, another message arrived.
Same Number again:Check the hospital.
The hospital.
Elle.
His heart lurched into his throat, and without a second thought, he bolted.As he was leaving the warehouse there was no even a trace of Cecil as if he wasn't there to begin with.
The hallway outside Elle's room was eerily quiet when Amadeo arrived. He had expected to find nurses bustling around or at least some sign of security—after all, Elle had disappeared from here just hours ago. But now, it was as if nothing had happened. The fluorescent lights buzzed faintly above him as he pushed open the door.
And there she was.
Sitting on the hospital bed, eyes fixed on the wall. Her long, dark hair cascaded over her shoulders in disheveled waves. The hospital gown looked too big on her frame, like she had shrunk into herself. But it wasn't just her appearance that made Amadeo hesitate—it was her expression.
Empty. Cold.
Not a single trace of the fire, the fear, or even the desperation she had shown before. It was as if the Elle he had known had been stripped away and replaced with something else entirely.
"You're awake."
Elle didn't react. Didn't even blink.
Amadeo stepped closer. "Elle," he said cautiously. "Where were you?"
Silence.
He exhaled sharply. "Who took you?"
Finally, her gaze shifted to him, slow and deliberate. And then, she spoke.
"I remember now."
His stomach twisted. "Remember what?"
She didn't answer.
His hands clenched into fists. "Elle—"
"It doesn't matter."
His jaw tightened. "Of course, it matters. Someone kidnapped you. You were missing for hours. And now you're just—" He gestured at her, his frustration spilling over. "You're just sitting here like nothing happened?"
Elle tilted her head slightly, as if she were studying him. Then, she smiled—a small, eerie curve of her lips. "Do you not trust me, Amadeo?"
That stopped him cold.
He wasn't sure how to answer.
Elle had been through hell—he knew that much. But something was off. This wasn't just trauma. This was something else.
Something darker.
Before he could respond, a knock sounded at the door.
Amadeo turned, expecting a nurse or a doctor. But instead, he found himself staring at Juana.
She stood in the doorway, her perfectly curled hair draped over her shoulders, her dark eyes scanning the room with calculated precision. She looked… concerned. But knew better than to take that at face value.
"Elle." Juana's voice was smooth, careful. "I'm glad you're safe."
Elle didn't even acknowledge her.
Juana's gaze flickered to Amadeo. "Can I talk to you outside?"
He hesitated, glancing back at Elle. She had already turned away again, retreating into silence.
With a reluctant nod, he followed Juana into the hallway.
She crossed her arms, lowering her voice. "You don't trust her, do you?"
Amadeo exhaled sharply. "Something's wrong with her."
"She remembers something," Juana said. "But she won't say what."
Amadeo frowned. "How do you know?"
Juana smirked. "Because I asked her before you got here."
He narrowed his eyes. "Why are you here, Juana?"
Her smirk softened, almost turning into something sympathetic. "Because you need help, Amadeo. You want to know what's going on, don't you?"
His gut told him not to trust her. But his gut had been wrong before.
Juana leaned in slightly, her voice dropping to a whisper. "Cecil is missing."
That caught his attention.
"What?"
"No one has seen him. Not since earlier tonight."
His mind reeled. If Cecil had vanished… what did that mean? Had he been taken? Or was he the one pulling the strings?
Juana pulled something from her pocket and slipped it into his hand—a folded note. "If you want to find out the truth, you need to stop thinking like a hero," she murmured.
Then she turned and walked away, leaving him standing in the hallway.
Slowly, he unfolded the note.
One sentence stared back at him, written in neat, deliberate handwriting:
You should've let her die.
A shiver ran down his spine.
Elle? Or someone else?
He looked back at her hospital room, the image of her empty eyes burned into his mind. If she really remembered something… then why wouldn't she say it?
And why did it feel like, whoever had been watching him in the den, was still watching now?