Daniel Monroe.
A name that didn't exist in any of the usual databases.
Leon didn't like ghosts, especially not ones haunting her.
He'd spent the morning with Nico, combing through contacts, putting out silent word. A face. A last known address. Any connection Ayla might've had to someone dangerous enough to track her down.
⸻
"He's smart," Nico muttered, sifting through his laptop. "He's wiped clean. No socials. No criminal record. Only hint is an old university enrollment in Ayla's hometown."
Leon's jaw tightened. "That's enough. Start there."
He didn't like being blindsided.
Didn't like that this man had Ayla looking over her shoulder again.
She had already learned to fight fire. She shouldn't have to fight old ghosts too.
⸻
Later that night, Ayla sat beside him in the car as they drove through the city—neither of them speaking.
The silence was thick but not cold.
Comfortable in a way that said: I trust you to protect me, even from what I won't say out loud.
Leon finally broke it. "He'll try to get close. That's what people like him do. They watch you feel safe. Then they strike."
Ayla stared out the window. "I won't let him."
Leon glanced over. "I won't either."
⸻
Meanwhile, across the city, a man stood outside a bookstore Ayla once loved.
He watched a young clerk close up for the night. His hands were in his coat pockets, but his smile was pleasant.
Too pleasant.
Daniel Monroe looked up at the streetlight, then down at his phone.
He didn't send another message.
Not yet.
Some games were better played slow.