Chapter 4: The Game of Pretending
Vincent stood in the doorway, framed by the corridor light, holding a flashlight in one hand and a glass of water in the other. He scanned the dark room, his eyes lingering on the empty desk and the drawn curtains.
"Julian?" Vincent called out, his tone sharp, predatory.
Julian didn't flinch. He stayed motionless behind the fabric, controlling his breathing, letting his pulse slow down to an imperceptible rhythm.
Vincent took two steps inside, the beam of his flashlight cutting across the Persian rug. He muttered a curse, convinced the sound was merely the settling of the old timber, and backed out, closing the door firmly behind him.
Julian waited ten full minutes before slipping back to his room. When dawn broke over the horizon, painting the sky in violent shades of crimson and violet, he emerged wearing his sunglasses, tapping his cane with practiced frailty.
At the breakfast table, Vincent was already dressed in a tailored charcoal suit. "Morning, Jules. Dr. Keller will be here by noon to evaluate your progress. Just a routine check-up for the trust paperwork."
"Of course," Julian said, reaching blindly toward the coffee pot. He deliberately let his hand knock over the creamer, watching the white liquid spill across the mahogany surface.
"Careful," Vincent snapped, irritated, before catching himself. "I'll get it. Sit still."
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Julian lowered his head in apparent humiliation, but behind the dark lenses, he was memorizing every detail of Vincent’s demeanor: the nervous twitch in his left jaw, the grease smudges on his cufflinks, the tension coiled in his shoulders. The monster wasn't invincible; he was unraveling.
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