Chapter 313: The Man In the Shadows

Dinner that evening was unusually warm and lively.

The long dining table, usually filled with quiet conversations and the occasional clink of silverware, had been taken over by Logan’s animated storytelling.

He leaned back in his chair, one hand wrapped around his glass while the other moved dramatically through the air, making his story even more ridiculous with every gesture.

"I swear, I’ve never seen a man look so confident and so stupid at the same time," Logan said, barely holding back his laughter.

A few people around the table chuckled.

Layla narrowed her eyes at him. "What did you do this time?"

"Me? Nothing." Logan placed a hand over his chest, feigning innocence.

"I was investigating in the southern outskirts. You know how remote those villages can get. No proper roads, barely any signal, and sometimes you can drive for hours without seeing another person."

He paused deliberately.

"Anyway, while I was there, I heard this story about a foreign tourist who got separated from his group."

The table grew quieter, everyone listening.

"The poor guy had wandered off while exploring and eventually realized he had absolutely no idea where he was. By nightfall, he was completely lost."

Logan shook his head.

"Fortunately, he stumbled upon a small village. One family took pity on him and invited him into their home."

"That’s kind," someone remarked.

"Very kind," Logan agreed. "They couldn’t speak a word of his language, and he couldn’t understand theirs. But somehow, they managed to communicate well enough to give him a place to sleep and, more importantly, feed him."

He leaned forward.

"Now here’s where things got interesting."

Layla sighed. "I already know I’m going to regret listening to this."

"They served him dinner," Logan continued. "There were five members of the family sitting around the table. Everything was going perfectly well."

He paused.

"Until the foreigner noticed something beside his plate."

Logan held up his hand, mimicking the object.

"It was white, neatly rolled up, and looked almost like some kind of delicacy wrapped in rice paper."

A few people at the table began smiling.

"He stared at it for a while. The family stared at him. He apparently assumed it was some traditional appetizer."

Logan’s shoulders began shaking with suppressed laughter.

"So, without asking, he picked it up..."

He mimed taking a bite.

"...and bit into it."

"The entire family froze. Five pairs of eyes stared at him."

Logan widened his eyes dramatically.

"Nobody said a word."

"Why?" Layla asked, already suspicious.

"Because they didn’t speak his language!"

Laughter erupted around the table.

"The poor man chewed thoughtfully, probably wondering why this mysterious local delicacy tasted absolutely nothing like food."

Logan was laughing now.

"Then the youngest boy suddenly burst out laughing. He pointed at the man’s mouth, then at his hands, and started making frantic gestures."

Logan imitated the boy wiping his hands.

"That’s when the foreigner finally understood."

He slapped the table.

"It wasn’t food."

Everyone burst into laughter.

"It was a warm wet towel!"

Layla covered her mouth, trying not to laugh.

"The poor man had just taken a bite out of the family’s hand towel!"

This time, even the people who had been trying to remain composed lost it.

Logan wiped the corner of his eye.

"And the worst part? He couldn’t even apologize properly because he couldn’t speak their language. So he just sat there..."

He straightened his back and adopted an embarrassed expression.

"...holding the half-chewed towel in his hand while five villagers stared at him in complete silence."

The table erupted again.

Layla shook her head. "That’s not funny at all. That’s disgusting."

Logan looked at her with exaggerated offense.

"Disgusting? That’s culture, Layla."

"Culture?"

"Yes." He nodded solemnly. "The man was simply experiencing an authentic local tasting menu."

Layla groaned.

"You’re impossible."

Logan grinned and raised his glass.

"You just don’t understand comedy."

From across the table, someone muttered, "No, Logan. We understand comedy. We’re just questioning yours."

The laughter started all over again.

For a few precious minutes, the weight of the day seemed to disappear.

There were no investigations, no family problems, no secrets waiting to surface—only good food, ridiculous stories, and the sound of people laughing together around the same table.

...

Meanwhile, Lara felt it.

That unmistakable sensation of being watched.

She slowly lifted her gaze from the dinner table and looked toward the house beside theirs.

Her eyes settled on the third floor.

The windows were dark, the curtains drawn, and not a single light escaped from behind them. To anyone else, there was nothing unusual about the house.

But Lara knew better.

She could feel a pair of eyes fixed on her from somewhere inside that darkness.

Someone was watching her.

Her instincts prickled.

For a brief moment, she considered asking General Norse who lived in the house next door. But the thought died almost as quickly as it came.

Why draw attention to something she wasn’t even certain about?

If the person watching her was harmless, asking questions would make her look suspicious.

And if they weren’t...

Then revealing that she had noticed them would be even more dangerous.

Lara lowered her gaze and calmly picked up her fork.

Nothing happened.

At least, that was what she wanted everyone to believe.

She continued eating as though she hadn’t noticed anything unusual. Every now and then, she leaned toward Amelia and murmured something into her ear, allowing herself a small smile as if they were simply sharing a private conversation.

A few moments later, she turned her attention toward Logan, listening intently to whatever ridiculous story he was telling.

To anyone watching, Lara appeared completely relaxed.

But beneath the table, her fingers tightened slightly around her fork.

She hadn’t forgotten the dark window.

And she hadn’t forgotten the feeling of those unseen eyes.

...

On the third floor of the neighboring house, Artemio stood motionless beside the window.

The room behind him was completely dark.

He had been watching Lara for several minutes when, without warning, she suddenly lifted her head.

Their eyes could not possibly have met. There was too much darkness between them.

Yet Artemio instinctively stepped backward from the window.

For one chilling second, he wondered if she had actually seen him.

His expression hardened.

Impossible.

His room was completely dark, and from where Lara was sitting, there was no way she could have seen him.

And yet...

The way she looked directly toward his window had unsettled him.

Artemio stared at her through the darkness.

She had returned to her dinner, laughing softly with the others as though nothing had happened.

But he knew Lara.

She never moved without reason.

A faint, humorless smile touched his lips.

"She’s still as sharp as ever," he murmured.

That instinct. That awareness. That almost frightening ability to sense danger before it revealed itself.

It had once been one of the qualities he admired most about her.

Now, he wasn’t so sure.

Artemio’s gaze darkened as he watched her.

He didn’t know if that ability of hers was a blessing or a curse.