Page 97 of Eternal
I already read this a few weeks ago. But this time, I’m not reading it for answers. I’m reading it because I don’t have any more time to waste.
Donovan. Still alive.
I should’ve moved on him sooner. But I was waiting for the right moment. A cleaner opportunity. And now, with Starline falling apart, he’s more exposed than ever. The family that once controlled half the politicians in the country is crumbling. His death will be the final blow.
I let my eyes flick over the next lines, the ones I already know but read again anyway.
I found a recent photo of him with the wife of a prominent politician, who was found dead the night after they attended a gala together two months ago. His connection to her is suspicious, and the surveillance footage of him near the crime scene only raises more questions in my mind. A red stain on his shirt… could it be blood?
Why is this footage unknown to the police? Alexei found it while threatening the man at the gas station near the crime scene.
My fingers tighten around the journal.
Donovan wasn’t just part of what she was chasing. He was close to it. Too close. Close enough that he started hiding, close enough that whatever power protected him couldn’t keep him completely out of sight.
That means I still have a chance.
I exhale slowly, forcing my grip to loosen before I crumple the page. I need a location. A window.
I shut the journal and push the blanket off, stretching carefully. The ache in my stomach is duller now. The pain is still there, but I can move without wincing.
My fingers brush the fabric as I shift, and something heavy settles in my chest.
The cover is old, a worn-out thing. But my brother used to curl up in it when he was tired, when he was cold. When the nights felt too long.
And now it’s mine.
I pull it back over me, pressing my face into it for a second.
I let myself breathe, for a moment.
Then I sit back up.
The journal is still open on my lap when Kat walks in, stretches like she’s shaking off the entire day, then turns toward me with a grin.
“Oh, so you are still alive. I was starting to think you fell asleep after whining so much about the fact that you’re imprisoned in your own house.”
I don’t look up. “Still breathing.”
She snorts, and heads back straight for the kitchen. A minute later, I hear the quiet clink of her spoon stirring tea.
“You look serious,” she calls out.
“I am serious.”
She walks over, tea in hand, offers me a cup, before sinking into the couch next to me, her body angled toward mine. “Who’s the target?”
“Donovan.”
Her brows lift slightly, but she doesn’t say anything right away. Kat isn’t the type to react with shock or doubt, not with me. She sips her tea, watching me carefully. “You finally decided to off him soon?”
I tap my fingers against the journal. “He’s resurfacing. Not enough to be reckless, but enough to be found. His business is gone, and people like him don’t disappear when they’re losing. They cling to whatever scraps they have left.”
“And you found his scraps?”
“I found it.”
I shift forward, pulling a folded document from beneath the journal. It’s a collection of surveillance stills, transaction logs, and reports I’ve gathered over the past two weeks, places he’s been seen, people he’s been with, and most importantly, when he moves.
