Before he could stop himself, Reynold asked, "How’s your mother doing?"
Kendrick blinked. He hadn’t expected that.
He studied Reynold’s face, trying to read into the question. It ca out of nowhere, but it wasn’t casual. Not with Reynold. He didn’t ask unless he had a reason.
Was he trying to check his background?
Didn’t he already investigate it?
Still, Kendrick answered calmly.
"She’s doing fine. She’s a nurse. Been working at the sa hospital for decades."
"And your father?"
"He passed away twelve years ago."
Reynold’s gaze shifted slightly.
Twelve years ago. The tiline matched.
That was the year of the incident.
So his father might’ve been involved. No wonder Cassius brought Kendrick into this ss. But did Kendrick know anything?
Reynold didn’t ask. He didn’t want to show his hand too early.
Instead, he returned to silence, eyes watching Kendrick like a hawk.
Kendrick, for his part, sat still. But the way Reynold was looking at him made him feel like every part of him was being examined and judged. He didn’t break eye contact. Just waited.
And Reynold kept staring, his mind racing with questions, connections, theories.
He didn’t trust easily. Not with strangers. Not when his sister’s heart was on the line. And especially not when the past was still unresolved.
But he also couldn’t deny what he saw.
This man sitting in front of him didn’t seem like the type to play gas. If anything, he looked like soone who had played too many roles in his life and was now trying to live simply.
Still, Reynold wasn’t going to lower his guard.
He reached for the glass of water in front of him and took a slow sip, never breaking eye contact.
Then he said, his voice quieter this ti but just as firm, "If you hurt her, even once, I’ll know."
Kendrick gave a single nod. "You won’t have to."
The air between them remained heavy, but a strange understanding lingered there now. Not trust. Not yet. But sothing like acknowledgnt.
Reynold didn’t smile. He never did.
He just looked away and said, "Eat. I didn’t order all this for myself."
Kendrick exhaled quietly and picked up his spoon. The tension hadn’t disappeared, but maybe, just maybe, it had lessened a little.
---
The door clicked shut as Kendrick stepped into the apartnt, shoulders heavy with thoughts he wasn’t ready to untangle. He just wanted to breathe. But before he could even take his shoes off, the front door behind him opened again.
Zephany entered, her shoulders slumped, a file tucked under her arm, and her steps slower than usual. She blinked when she saw Kendrick standing there in the hallway.
They stared at each other for a second before, in perfect unison, they both let out a long, tired sigh.
Then silence.
Then they both spoke at the sa ti.
"Bad day?"
"Not okay?"
Another sigh. Sa ti again.
Kendrick rubbed the back of his neck. Zephany looked like she’d been dragged across a newsroom floor. Her blouse was slightly wrinkled. He noticed the faint smudge of ink on her fingers and the tight grip she had on the folder.
She caught him looking and gave a weak smile. "Just... sothing at work," she said as she kicked off her shoes and padded toward the living room. "What about you?"
Kendrick hesitated. Should he tell her about his eting with Reynold? About the silent tension, the probing eyes, the subtle threats?
No. She already looked tired. There was no need to add to it.
He followed her to the couch and sat beside her, keeping a respectful distance. "Nothing serious," he said. "Just need to finish so paintings that have been long overdue. Clients are waiting."
Zephany looked at him, eyebrows gently furrowed. Her lips pressed into a line. "You’re still getting commissions? That’s good."
He gave her a small smile, the kind that didn’t quite reach the eyes. "Yeah."
Zephany sighed again and slumped against the backrest. "I was dragged into sothing at work again. Instead of being the interviewer, I’ll be the one getting interviewed." She looked like she could lt into the couch and disappear.
Kendrick chuckled softly. "That doesn’t sound so bad."
She turned her head toward him, her voice a little whiny. "I hate being in the spotlight. I’m no longer the sa person who was used to the crowd. Now I stutter when I’m nervous. My brain just freezes. And Pia thinks it’s adorable." Her lips puckered in a slight pout.
He gave her a warm look, admiring how expressive she was, even when complaining. "You’ll do fine. You always co through."
She narrowed her eyes slightly. "Do I, though?"
"You do," Kendrick said gently. "You’ll probably charm everyone without even trying. Rember your performance last ti? That was epic."
Zephany didn’t respond right away, but then her lips curved upward.
"You’re good at this. Saying nice things."
He shrugged. "Only when it’s true."
The room went quiet for a mont. A quiet that didn’t feel heavy this ti. Just soft. Comfortable.
Then Zephany noticed the faraway look in his eyes. The faint crease between his brows. "You okay? You look worried."
Kendrick blinked and looked away. "Just thinking about work," he said quickly. Then after a pause, he added, "I’m behind. But I’ll catch up. It’ll be fine."
She sat up slightly and leaned toward him, resting her arm on the back of the couch. "You can do it. I believe in you. Just explain to them. I’m sure they’ll understand."
Kendrick looked at her and smiled. A real one this ti. "Thanks. I hope your work stops stressing you out too."
They held each other’s gaze for a beat. Then, as if silently agreeing to stop talking about work and worries, they both leaned back again, facing forward.
For a while, they just sat like that. Quiet. Side by side. Breathing in the sa silence.
Kendrick glanced at her again. She had closed her eyes, head slightly tilted to the side, lips parted just enough to look peaceful. He wondered how soone like her got involved in a contract marriage like this. Was it really just for her job?
He didn’t know. And she probably wondered the sa about him.
He leaned his head back and closed his eyes too. It wasn’t the worst mont in his day. In fact, it might have been the only good one.
---
anwhile, across town, Reynold sat behind his desk, flipping through the latest files laid out in front of him.
Photos. Reports. A tiline.
Another case.
Another puzzle.
He didn’t sigh. He rarely did. But his fingers paused over the edges of the report. A man had gone missing two weeks ago. No known enemies. No criminal record. Last seen near the old industrial district.
The sa district tied to the incident twelve years ago.
Coincidence?
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