Page 25 of The Syndicater (Dark Verse 6)

And then, she had knotted his tie for him.

She had been doing it for almost two years.

Morana looked at the knot in the rich blue silk, her eyes misting because she didn't want to admit how much harder it had become for her to just tie the fabric. She did it perfectly in the moment, but her shoulder and arm felt it afterward, even the minimal action leaving behind an aftermath of pain.

She touched the silk with her right hand, her mouth trembling because she didn't want to lose that. It was stupid. It was just a tie. But it wastheirs.It was a part of their morning routine, something they both shared in the quiet moments before their world expanded to let all the shit in. But if she couldn't rinse a fucking plate, for how long could she knot his tie? Would she lose this too?

Summoning strength, she raised her left hand, feeling a sharp pain shoot through her shoulder at the movement. She ignored it, and placed her hand over his wrist, feeling his pulse under her fingers as he felt hers against his palm.

And then she looked back up at him, only to find him staring intently at her. He knew something wasn't right, but he was waiting for her to tell him about it. Over the years, the more she had opened up and let herself be, the more talkative she had become with him in their home. She knew this was sending alarms ringing inside him as he waited.

Taking a deep breath in, ignoring the matter of her arm for now and focusing on the more important thing, she spoke.

"I received a text from the Shadow Man last night."

He stilled, his fingers flexing around her neck, his eyes darkening. She knew he didn't like the Shadow Man; he hadn't since the beginning because the man had been contacting her, and she had been talking to him whenever he did. Tristan was territorial about her, and the idea of a strange man finding ways to talk to her and meet her secretly fired up all his synapses, turning him into the caveman she called him. Tristan didn't like him more because he had been the one to lead them down paths and disclose information they should have found themselves. That was why she knew he wasn't going to like what she had to tell him.

"He sent me a folder and asked me to track him."

Tristan stayed still, waiting, watching, like the predator they called him.

"I am tracking the message as we speak. But the folder, well, it was titledFountainhead, which is an odd name I know. But it means the original source of something. I couldn't open the folder on my phone since it was heavy, so I came down and opened it on my system. It—"

"What was in the folder?" His voice cut through her nervous rambling, getting straight to the meat of the matter, and Morana swallowed.

"Photos. Five photos. One was Zenith." She couldn't help but slightly flinch at the mention of the girl. "One was the photo Ishowed you before, the three of us girls after being taken. And the others. Well."

Morana didn't know what to say, so she stepped back. He let his hand drop from her neck but followed her as she moved to her laptop.

The numbers were ticking and the trace was almost complete. She was confident she could get it done in time. Or maybe, the Shadow Man had been confident that the time would be enough for her skills.

Shaking off that thought, she minimized the software and opened the folder she'd saved right at the front. She turned her neck to see him watching her, and with a deep breath, she clicked on the folder.

Tristan crossed his arms over his chest, his gaze now on the screen, waiting for her to show him whatever she had.

She opened the third photograph.

She heard him inhale sharply as the image filled the screen, the younger version of his sister in high definition, much older than his memory of her or the last time he had seen her. This was years after she had disappeared, years after he had become a tortured young boy, wanting to die but not dying because he thought of his sister, alive somewhere. His faith in that belief for over twenty years was the true definition of love. That was the kind of love this man possessed, the kind that believed across time and distance without evidence, with just sheer force of will. Morana didn't really believe in manifestations, but if she could, this would be all the proof she needed.

She watched his arms flex, his fingers gripping his biceps, as if holding himself together, his eyes moving across the screen feverishly to take in each and every detail, committing it to memory.

Morana let him take all the time he needed, just standing by his side in silence, her heart in her throat watching the manshe loved so much finally find the answer he had been looking for, the answer he had spent his whole life searching but never finding until now.

He didn't wait for her to scroll to the next picture, leaning forward and pressing the side key himself.

The next photo filled the screen. The teenage version of his sister. He did the same thing as with the first. Stared and committed every detail to memory, looking for long minutes at the image, before hitting the side key again.

Morana held her breath, keeping her eye on him. "That's the last photo."

She watched him closely, unsure how to react to how he would react to this one. It looked intimate to her, but maybe he wouldn't notice. Maybe, in his emotional state, he wouldn't suspect what she did. She hoped he didn't, not at this time. This moment was pure; it was just for him. He deserved this. As Dante had said, they could talk about suspicions and speculations later.

There was nothing on his face for a few seconds, no twitch, no microexpression, nothing she could read, which was saying something because she had become an expert at reading him.

He just stared at the screen, still like a statue, and Morana couldn't even imagine how his brain was processing things, how his emotions were storming inside his body. She just stayed by his side as he took his fill of the adult version of his sister, his eyes moving over the hair, the face, the being.

There was silence in the penthouse for long, long minutes, before a loud clap of thunder suddenly shook the sky.

Morana glanced out at the windows, seeing a splattering of raindrops assault the glass, the lights of the city twinkling in the distance against the backdrop of the night. It reminded her of the first time they had talked about his sister against those verywindows, on a night similar to this. It felt fitting somehow, as though the universe was coming full circle at that moment too.

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