CHAPTER 022: CONTROL IS AN ILLUSION
"It's not malware."
Dominic looks up from the screen, his brow tightening. "Then what is it?" he asks, his voice low, controlled.
"A message," I say, rotating the laptop toward him. "Someone wants me to know they've been watching us for a while—and they're not worried about being caught."
He leans in slightly, his gaze sharpening as the clip plays. Luca's school. Exterior shot. The angle is from across the street—which means a parked car or a building window. The timestamp reads six weeks ago.
Six weeks before any of this escalated into what it is now.
"They were already in position," he says flatly, his eyes not leaving the screen.
"Before the parcel. Before the sniper. Before any of it," I reply, closing the laptop with a soft click. "This wasn't reactive. They planned ahead."
