"The line separating good and evil passes not through states, nor between classes, nor between political parties either, but right through every human heart—and through all human hearts." - Aleksandr Solzhenitsyn

Saint

The limousine pulled away from Veronica's building, leaving its elegant facade bathed in the soft glow of the streetlights. I watched it recede in the rearview mirror, a flicker of unease settling in my gut. Something about that conversation with Veronica and Marcus felt…off. Veronica's nervousness was palpable, a current humming beneath the surface of her usual composure. And Marcus… Marcus's forced casualness, the way his eyes flickered when he spoke, the slight tremor in his voice – it all pointed to something being hidden.

I trusted Veronica. I had no reason not to. Yet, my instincts, honed over years of navigating dangerous worlds, were screaming at me that she wasn't telling me the whole truth. And Marcus… I’d known him for years, trusted him implicitly. But tonight, there was a shift, a subtle change in his demeanor that I couldn't quite decipher. He knew something. I was sure of it. Something about the man Veronica had spoken to at the auction.

Now, as the limousine carried Marcus and me towards his home, the silence in the car was thick with unspoken words. I glanced at him. His gaze was fixed on the passing cityscape, but I could see the tension in his jaw, the tightness around his mouth. He was preoccupied, lost in his own thoughts.

Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

"Marcus," I began, my voice low, "about that man at the auction…"

He stiffened slightly, his eyes flicking towards me before returning to the window. "Yes, Saint?"

"Veronica seemed…uncomfortable when I mentioned him. You said he was an old acquaintance. Is there something you're not telling me?"

Marcus hesitated for a moment, a beat too long. "No, Saint. Just as I said. An old acquaintance. We haven't spoken in years. It was nothing."

His voice was too smooth, too practiced. It only heightened my suspicions. I knew he was lying. But why? What was he trying to protect? Veronica? Himself? And from what?

I decided to try a different approach. "Veronica is important to me, Marcus. Her safety is my responsibility. If there's anything, anything at all, that could put her at risk, I need to know."

Marcus remained silent for a long moment, his gaze still fixed on the window. Then, he sighed, a sound that seemed to carry the weight of the world. "It's…complicated, Saint."

"Complicated how?" I pressed, my voice hardening.

He finally turned to face me, his eyes filled with a weariness that went beyond the late hour. "It's not my story to tell, Saint. It's Veronica's. If she wants you to know, she'll tell you."

He knew. I was certain of it now. He knew who the man was, and he knew what had happened. But he was choosing to keep it from me, respecting Veronica's privacy, protecting her secret. I understood his loyalty, but it didn't lessen my unease. Whatever it was, it was serious. And it was clearly causing Marcus a great deal of distress.

The limousine pulled up to Marcus's elegant townhouse. "We're here," the driver announced.

Marcus turned to me, his expression unreadable. "Good night, Saint."

"Good night, Marcus," I replied, my gaze searching his face, trying to decipher the secrets hidden behind his carefully constructed facade.

As he stepped out of the car and walked towards his home, I knew one thing for certain: I wouldn't let this go. I would find out what Marcus was hiding, even if it meant going against his wishes. Veronica's safety was at stake. And that was all that mattered.