Page 39 of Eternal

DAMIR

“Fallen Star” by The Neighbourhood

Present

T he magic of technology is that I can watch my partner’s screen from this distance. When she got injured, I slipped a piece of software onto her phone, just in case.

And what a surprise when I see, in the live surveillance footage of her street, that Viktor has joined her for dinner tonight.

I sent a text to make sure it’s still working. Plus, I forgot to ask her this morning. Not forgotten, more like I did send her one, but she sent a no afterwards.

Me

Send me a picture.

Her screen appears instantly on my computer. She didn’t bother changing my name on her phone. It’s funny, almost endearing to see “My partner” on her screen.

A small smile twitches at the corner of my lips, but I catch myself. Stupid.

No reply, but then I watch her open the app and read a message from Vik she already read. A location.

Interesting.

And a date.

In three days, she’ll be there.

But why the hell am I not going with her?

Is she going as Voron, or as my partner ?

That’s what she’s doing on her own. That cold trail of bodies she leaves in her wake.

But why there? I need to get in, check the place, make sure I can slip in unnoticed, wait until she shows up, and then, watch who she really is.

The excitement that pulses through me is almost unbearable. Then I receive a selfie. Her in pajamas, flipping me off at what looks like a dinner table with a text attached to the pic: “You need to fucking stop harassing me, you creepy old man.”

I laugh, but it dies in my throat as I zoom in. My eyes trace the curve of her lips, the scar on her cheek. I’m studying every inch of her face, and it pisses me off how beautiful she is.

“She’s beautiful,” I mutter under my breath. “ Fucking annoying .”

I pull my other phone out and text my client.

Me

Preparing to report in three days. I’ll stay close, don’t worry.

I send it and lean back in my chair and glance over the giant board in front of me, photos of her from every angle, every moment I’ve managed to capture, pinned neatly along with theories, details, and information.

Each string, each note, connects her to a bigger picture I’m building to finally know why she does all that and who she truly is.

I run my fingers over the edges of the pins. She’s not just a job.

I take a long, slow breath, stopping the thought of her face everywhere in my mind because I’m going insane. And then I sit in silence, watching the walls of my obsession close in around me.