(Joseph POV)
The first sign that I had been noticed was silence.
Gregory didn't message me immediately that morning.
That alone was enough to put me on edge.
He was precise to a fault—updates timed, phrased, and prioritized. When something disrupted that rhythm, it meant one of two things: either the situation had stabilized enough to require no commentary, or it had escalated beyond casual reporting.
By the time my phone finally buzzed, I was already dressed, standing near the window of my hotel room, watching Paris slide into morning. The city looked deceptively calm—sunlight catching on stone façades, cafés opening their doors, students hurrying with backpacks slung low.
Normal life.
The message was short.
Gregory:
They noticed the review.
I didn't respond right away.
Instead, I sat on the edge of the bed and stared at the floor, elbows braced against my knees.
Me:
Define "they."
The pause stretched longer than I liked.
Gregory:
