I call Damian immediately.
My thumb barely hesitates before I hit his name, the screen bright and unforgiving in my hand. The phone rings once. Twice. He answers on the third ring, breath already tight like he felt it before I said a word, like something inside him shifted the moment I picked up the phone.
“Elena.”
“There’s a camera,” I say. My voice sounds steady, which surprises me. It doesn’t shake. It doesn’t crack. It lands clean and flat, like the words belong to someone else. “In the study. Hidden. I found it.”
Silence stretches on the line, thick and charged. I can hear him breathing. Slow. Controlled. Too controlled. The kind of control that sits on top of something volatile, barely holding it down.
“Don’t touch it,” he says.
“I haven’t.”
“I’m coming home.”
The call ends,
