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The Langford Art Building, once a place of potential and promise, now looks like a scene from a crime drama—broken columns, walls defaced with spray paint, and shards of glass scattered like icy confetti from smashed windows. The destruction is visceral, and a pang of sorrow hits me as I survey the damage. Emotions I've been holding at bay threaten to spill over.
It looks so sad, so unlike the hopeful beginning it had promised. The sight of it, so ruined and deserted, brings a lump to my throat. I want to cry, to mourn not just for the building and the project, but everything else that seems to be crumbling around me—my relationship with Julian, the safety of my brother, and the normalcy of our lives.
I survey the barrier of police tape, contemplating the best way to get through. A police officer, still on scene, notices me taking in the damage. He approaches with a look of concern. “Can I help you, ma’am?” he asks, his tone professional yet sympathetic.
“I’m Natalie Williams. I’m overseeing the renovation here, and—Jack Williams is my brother,” I manage to say, my voice steady despite the tumult of emotions I'm feeling.
“I’m sorry to hear about your brother, ma'am. We’re all hoping for his quick recovery,” the officer replies, his eyes kind. “We’re doing everything we can to catch whoever did this.”
“Thank you, I appreciate that,” I respond, forcing a small smile as I look around at the damage once more. “Did you manage to catch any of it on camera?”
“Yes, we got some footage. It’s not as clear as we’d like, but it’s been sent off for analysis,” he explains, watching me carefully, likely gauging how much to share. “The person seemed... overconfident. Made some mistakes. We’re hopeful it’ll lead to something actionable.”
I nod, absorbing his words. “Have you investigated Mason Phillips?” I ask, the name coming out sharper than intended, my own suspicions about the former colleague of Julian’s looming large in my mind.
The officer's expression shifts slightly, a flicker of recognition—or perhaps caution—crossing his features. “Yes, we’re looking into several individuals with potential motives, including Mr. Phillips. We’re taking every lead seriously.”
“Good,” I say, more to myself than to him. The confirmation that Mason is a person of interest does little to ease my anxiety, but it’s a start. I’m glad Julian brought his name to the investigators’ attention.
The officer gives me a nod, his demeanor reassuring. “We’ll keep you updated, Ms. Williams. In the meantime, please stay safe. This person is still out there, and we don’t want anyone taking unnecessary risks.”
His words are meant to comfort, but they serve as a reminder of the danger still at large, the shadow that has been cast over everything I care about. I thank him and move away, looking for another not-so-obvious place to cross the police tape. Each step takes me through more destruction, more evidence of hate or anger directed at what we were building here.
As much as Julian wants to shield me from it, I’m already in the thick of it—by choice and by circumstance. But maybe that's enough, maybe I shouldn't go looking for more. I'm torn between my need to know and my growing fear for my own safety.
Just as I’m about to step over a line of tape, a voice cuts through the quiet.
“Natalie!” The tone is sharp, urgent.
I freeze, my foot hovering just above the ground, then slowly turn around. Julian is striding towards me, his expression thunderous. He looks different—his usually composed demeanor is replaced by one of raw irritation, and his eyes burn with an intensity that stops me in my tracks.
“What are you doing here?” he demands as he approaches. His chest heaves as though he’s been running, and there’s a wildness about him that I’ve never seen before. His concern is palpable, almost tangible enough to touch.
I open my mouth to explain, but the words catch in my throat. The look in his eyes, the set of his jaw—it’s not the overprotectiveness and paranoia I’ve become accustomed to from him.
It’s fear.
CHAPTER 32
JULIAN
Seeing Natalie here, standing vulnerably in front of the Langford, ignites a raw panic within me.
“Natalie!” I call out, my voice tight with barely controlled emotion as I close the distance between us. She turns, and the sight of her, so determined yet so dangerously exposed, fuels my urgency.
I reach her in quick strides, my hand finding her shoulder with an intent to steer her away from the building. “What are you doing here?” I demand, unable to mask the frustration and worry lacing my tone.
She resists, her body tensing under my touch. “I was just looking, Julian,” she retorts, though her voice is unsteady. “I needed to see for myself.”
My hand falls from her shoulder as I struggle to compose myself. I take a deep breath, trying to channel my turbulent emotions into something more constructive than blind panic.
“They’ve arrested Mason,” I blurt out, hoping that sharing the information will make Natalie feel included, and help her understand just how real this danger has been.
Natalie's eyes widen, a spark of interest cutting through the tension. “Really? He’s been caught?”
“Yes, the detective called me just a few minutes ago. They're taking him in for questioning. I’m glad something is finally being done,” I explain, watching her expression carefully.
She processes this, then her brow furrows. “Then if the culprit has been caught, what’s the matter? Why can’t I be here?” Her question is valid, but also demonstrates her limited perspective. Natalie hasn't been through the same training that I have; she doesn't know how to look at a situation from every angle, see the possibility of hidden threats lurking around every corner.
