WATCHING EYES
Nearly a week passed.
Runa learned that time inside the Vale estate did not move normally. It was a stagnant, heavy thing. Days blurred together, measured not by clocks but by the rhythmic click of heels on marble, the shifting of guards at the doors, and the constant, prickly sensation of being watched.
Somehow—against every survival instinct she possessed—she had found something close to friendship in the eye of the storm.
Toni clung to her with a desperate, easy warmth, as if Runa were a lifeline. They shared meals in the sun-drenched breakfast nook, whispered jokes about Althea's permanent scowl, and spent afternoons sneaking pastries from the kitchen when the head chef wasn't looking.
"I'm going to be famous," Toni declared one afternoon, sprawled across a velvet chaise lounge, a stolen macaron in hand. "Like, real famous. Red carpets. Standing ovations. Interviews where they don't ask about my father."
Runa smiled, though it felt fragile. "An actress?"
"Yes!" Toni sat up, her red curls bouncing. Her cornflower blue eyes sparked with a genuine hunger. "I want to be on screen. I want to be anyone but a Vale. No business. No guns. None of... this." She gestured vaguely at the high stone walls and the security cameras that swiveled to follow their movement.
Runa understood more than she said. They were both trapped; one by debt, the other by blood.
Eli was… quieter. But she was always there, a silent sentinel in the periphery.
Runa began to seek her out. She would sit at the edge of the private shooting range, her legs tucked beneath her on the concrete, watching Eli train. Eli was a machine of grace and lethality. She didn't spray bullets; she placed them with terrifying, microscopic precision.
During a lull in the gunfire, Eli pulled her ear protection down around her neck and looked at Runa. "Why are you here?" she asked, her voice level. "Aren't you bored watching me punch holes in paper?"
Runa didn't know how to explain the truth—that the sound of Eli's shots felt like a shield, that she felt safer near her than anywhere else in the house. "I have nowhere else to go" Runa answered simply.
Eli sighed, a small, weary sound that suggested she understood the weight of that statement. She didn't tell Runa to leave. She just turned back to the range, accepting the audience. After that, no words were exchanged. No questions asked. Just the steady crack-crack-crack of the suppressed pistol and the companionable silence of the range.
It became the only time Runa's mind felt still.
Jason, however, made sure to be unavoidable.
He was a predator who enjoyed the scent of fear. He brushed past her too closely in the narrow hallways, his shoulder lingering against hers. He let his fingers graze her hand when passing a glass of water, his touch cold and lingering. He smiled like he knew the exact date and time she would finally break.
"Relax, Winters," he'd murmur, his breath hot against her ear as she stiffened. "You look much better when you're not trembling. It ruins the lines of your face."
Runa learned to disappear. She stayed in the shadow of Toni's chatter or Eli's silence. Anywhere Jason wasn't. Althea noticed none of it—to the acting head of the family, Runa was just furniture. A complication that had been filed away.
The illusion of safety shattered after dusk on the fourth day.
The family was summoned to the lower hall—a cavernous chamber of white marble and soaring ceilings. It was lit too brightly, the clinical glare reflecting off the floors like ice. Runa was ushered in, standing between Toni and Eli. Her stomach churned as she saw the center of the room.
Five men were forced to their knees. They were bruised, their expensive suits torn and stained with sweat and blood. Their hands were zip-tied behind their backs. One was sobbing—a jagged, pathetic sound that echoed off the high walls.
Roman stood at the front, adjusting his cufflinks with terrifying calm. Althea stood beside him, her arms crossed, her face a mask of stone. Aurora sat in a high-backed chair, watching like a queen observing a play. Jason leaned casually against a marble pillar, spinning a pocketknife between his fingers.
"What is this?" Runa whispered, her voice shaking. She can sense danger. She didnt understand why she have to be here.
Toni didn't answer. She looked at the floor, her bubbly persona replaced by a hollow, haunted stare. Eli's jaw tightened so hard Runa heard the bone click.
"You stole from us," Roman said mildly, his voice echoing. "You skimmed profits from the ports. You lied. You made my family look foolish in front of our associates."
"We—we were desperate, Mr. Vale! Please!" one of the men cried out.
Roman raised a hand. The silence that followed was absolute. "You don't steal from the Vales. You don't create inconveniences."
Althea stepped forward, her eyes flashing with a cold, blue fire. "You created problems," she said flatly. "And in this house, problems require solutions."
A guard moved.
Everything exploded at once.
Gunfire shattered the silence of the hall. Runa screamed as the first spray of bullets tore through the marble, sending white sparks and stone chips flying into the air. One of the men tried to scramble away on his knees—he didn't make it three steps before his chest erupted in red.
Blood splattered across the pristine white floor, steaming in the cool air.
Another man fought back, somehow snapping his restraints and lunging at a guard. A knife flashed in the bright light. A gun went off at point-blank range, a deafening boom that felt like a physical blow to Runa's chest.
Chaos. Shouting. The copper tang of blood and the acrid stench of gunpowder filled the air.
Runa froze. Her ears rang, a high-pitched whine that drowned out the world. Her legs turned to lead. This wasn't a "legal distinction." This wasn't "collateral." This was a massacre.
Eli reacted instantly. She didn't reach for a gun; she stepped in front of Runa and Toni, her back to the carnage, her arms spread wide to shield them.
"Don't look," Eli commanded. Her voice was firm, absolute, and oddly gentle.
Toni buried her face into Eli's shoulder, her hands over her ears. But Runa… Runa couldn't move. Her eyes were locked on the scene. She watched as one man crawled toward the door, leaving a thick, dark trail of red behind him. She watched as Jason stepped away from his pillar, calmly lifted his pistol, and fired.
He didn't blink. He didn't hesitate. He looked like a man swatting a fly.
When it was over, the silence was a thousand times worse than the noise.
Five bodies lay scattered across the marble like discarded trash. The bright lights made the blood look almost neon, pools of deep crimson spreading toward Runa's shoes.
Roman adjusted his sleeves and turned to the guards. "Clean this up," he said, his tone the same as if he were asking someone to clear a dinner table. "And replace the floor tiles. The chipping is unsightly."
Runa's hands trembled so violently she had to clench them into fisted white knuckles. She tasted bile in the back of her throat. This wasn't power. This was terror disguised as order.
As they were escorted out, Jason's gaze found her. He didn't look away; he smiled, a slow, dark tilt of his lips that said: Now you know who we really are.
Runa turned her face into Eli's shoulder, clutching the fabric of Eli's jacket as if she were drowning. Eli didn't push her away. She simply led her out of the blood-stained hall.
Runa understood now. The Vale family didn't just own the city. They owned the life in her lungs. And she was standing in the middle of their kingdom—watched, weighed, and very, very breakable.