Morning came without relief.
Ethan sat at his desk long before anyone else arrived, fingers laced together, eyes fixed on a blank monitor. He hadn't turned it on. He hadn't checked his phone. He hadn't even taken a sip of the coffee growing cold beside him.
Because every time he blinked, he saw it again.
The wind.
The mask falling.
The face beneath it.
I protect you without hiding.
His jaw tightened.
The office lights flicked on one by one as people began filtering in—footsteps, laughter, the normal rhythm of a normal day. It all felt fake. Like a stage play he no longer belonged to.
"Ethan?"
Her voice cut through the noise.
Clara stood beside his desk, coffee in hand, brows slightly knit. She was smiling—but it didn't reach her eyes.
"You came in early," she said. "That's new."
He looked up slowly. "Couldn't sleep."
She studied him for a beat longer than necessary. "You look like you fought a storm and lost."
"That obvious?"
"To me? Always."
She pulled a chair and sat sideways on it, leaning her arms over the backrest. "Okay. Talk."
Ethan hesitated.
Every instinct told him to shut up. To bury it. To pretend nothing had changed.
But he was tired.
"I think someone's been watching me for a long time," he said carefully.
Clara didn't react. Not immediately.
"People watch people all the time," she replied lightly. "That's not illegal."
"That's not what I mean."
Her smile faded.
"I mean before the messages. Before the ledger. Before everything started going wrong." He swallowed. "I think they knew me before I knew them."
Clara leaned back slightly. "That's… a heavy thought for this early in the day."
"You knew something," Ethan said suddenly.
The words slipped out sharper than he intended.
Clara blinked. "Excuse me?"
"You've always known more than you say," he continued, voice low. "You joke, you dodge, you redirect. And every time I get close to something real, you pull me back with a smile."
"That's called being a good coworker," she said, but her tone wasn't playful now.
"No," Ethan said. "It's called keeping someone in the dark."
The air between them tightened.
Clara stood slowly. "You're upset."
"I'm confused," he shot back. "And scared. And you're the only person here who doesn't feel like a stranger."
That stopped her.
For a moment, the noise of the office faded. Printers hummed. Phones rang. Someone laughed down the hall.
Clara looked at him—not like a colleague this time, but like someone weighing a fragile truth.
"You don't want everything," she said quietly. "Trust me."
"I want enough," Ethan replied. "Enough to stop feeling like I'm one step behind my own life."
Her fingers tightened around her coffee cup.
"You're not alone," she said after a pause.
Ethan shook his head. "Then stop making me feel like I am."
Clara didn't answer right away.
Instead, she glanced around the office—at the people, the walls, the cameras no one ever paid attention to.
Then she leaned in and said softly, "Some doors don't open. They collapse."
Ethan met her gaze. "And some cages only look like protection."
Clara straightened.
Her smile returned—but it was thinner now.
"We'll talk later," she said. "Not here."
She turned and walked away, heels clicking against the floor, blending back into the hum of the office.
Ethan watched her go, heart pounding.
For the first time since the mask fell, he realized something worse than being watched.
He was being managed.
And whatever Clara knew…
She was deciding how much of him survived learning it.
The office was quieter now.
Too quiet.
Most people had stepped out for lunch, leaving behind half-empty desks and glowing monitors. Ethan stood by the window, watching cars crawl below like ants trapped in patterns they didn't understand.
Clara returned without a word and closed the glass partition behind her.
Click.
That sound felt final.
"You said later," Ethan murmured. "This is later."
Clara folded her arms. "Say it."
He turned to face her. His chest felt tight, like he'd been holding his breath since the night everything cracked open.
"I know who he is."
Her eyes sharpened instantly. "Who?"
"The man in the mask." He paused. "The gorilla mask."
Silence fell hard.
Clara didn't move. Didn't blink.
Ethan took that as confirmation.
"Dawson… Daniel Reeve," he continued slowly. "I saw his face. Not a picture. Not a file. Him. In front of me."
Clara exhaled through her nose. "That wasn't supposed to happen."
"So it's true."
"I didn't say that."
"You didn't deny it either."
Her jaw tightened. "You're not supposed to say that name out loud."
Ethan let out a bitter laugh. "Of course not. Why would anything in my life be allowed anymore?"
She stepped closer. "How did you recognize him?"
"The ledger," Ethan replied. "The images. The profiles. I didn't understand why his face stayed in my head. Then the wind—" He stopped himself, swallowing. "The mask came off."
Clara looked away.
"That's when I knew," he said quietly. "He's been protecting me. Watching me. Pulling me out of trouble before I even knew I was in it."
"You don't know that," she snapped.
"I do," Ethan said firmly. "He could've walked away. He didn't. He could've hurt me. He never did."
Clara paced once, then stopped. "You're not supposed to connect those dots."
"Well, I did."
She faced him again, eyes intense. "Do you understand what that means? If you know who he is, then you're closer to things you can't undo."
Ethan stepped forward. "Then why show me anything at all?"
Clara opened her mouth—
—and closed it again.
That answer lived somewhere she wasn't ready to reach.
"Listen to me," she said instead. "Daniel Reeve is not a hero. He's not a villain. He's something much worse."
"What?" Ethan asked.
"A survivor."
Ethan frowned. "That doesn't sound dangerous."
"It is," Clara replied softly. "Because survivors don't play fair. They play to end things."
Ethan's voice dropped. "Then why protect me?"
Clara met his eyes, and for the first time, there was no humor left in her expression.
"Because you matter more than you think."
The words landed heavy.
"To who?" Ethan asked.
She hesitated.
"Not just him," she said carefully. "And not just me."
Ethan felt a chill crawl up his spine. "You're saying I'm part of something bigger."
"I'm saying," Clara replied, "that people don't fake deaths, erase histories, and burn entire systems down… unless something precious is at stake."
"And that something is…?"
She shook her head. "Not yet."
Ethan clenched his fists. "You keep doing that."
"Because once you know everything," Clara said, voice firm, "you don't get to pretend anymore."
They stood there, the weight of unspoken truths pressing in from every angle.
Finally, Ethan spoke.
"If Daniel Reeve wanted me safe," he said, "then someone else wants me broken."
Clara didn't argue.
"That's the part you should be afraid of," she said quietly.
Outside the glass, the office buzzed back to life. Laughter. Footsteps. Normalcy.
Inside the room, Ethan realized something chilling.
The masks were coming off.
And soon, there would be no one left to hide behind them.