Sleepwalker

He found Mara in the solarium, reading a magazine.

"Who is he?" Julian asked.

Mara looked up. "Who is who?"

"Your partner. The one hacking my system. Is it Silas? Or maybe that kid from the dev team?"

"Julian, stop it. You're losing your mind."

"Am I?" Julian threw the handheld monitor for the analog cameras onto the table. "I checked the footage from the hallway. Last night. 2:00 AM."

He hadn't checked it yet, but he needed to bluff her.

Mara stood up. Her face was pale, but determined. She pulled out her phone.

"You want to see footage? Here."

She tapped the screen and shoved the phone in his face.

It was a video taken from the doorway of the bedroom.

In the video, Julian was walking down the hallway. He was soaking wet, dripping water onto the carpet. He was walking with a strange, loping gait.

He stopped in front of the mirror. He raised a hand and traced words on the glass. Then he turned to the empty air and spoke.

But the voice wasn't his. It was high, soft.

*"It’s cold, Julian. The water is so cold."*

Julian stared at the screen. "That’s... that’s a deepfake."

"I filmed it last night," Mara cried. "I was too scared to wake you up. You're doing this, Julian! You're sleepwalking. You're having a psychotic break because you killed her!"

Julian slapped the phone out of her hand. It shattered against the wall.

"I am not crazy!"

"Then explain the wetsuit!" Mara screamed.

"What wetsuit?"

"In the trunk of my car! I found it this morning when I went to get groceries. A black wetsuit, soaking wet, covered in sand. You put it there!"

Julian froze.

A wetsuit.

His mind raced. If he was sleepwalking, if he was doing this out of guilt, he wouldn't use a wetsuit. A sleepwalker doesn't plan. A sleepwalker doesn't tactical gear up to simulate a haunting.

A wetsuit meant premeditation.

It meant someone was entering the house from the sea caves below. Someone was climbing up the cliff, entering through the maintenance hatches, dripping water, playing tricks.

And they stashed the suit in Mara’s car.

Why? To frame him? No. To make him think *he* put it there. To make him doubt his own mind.

Or... Mara put it there and forgot to hide it better.

He looked at Mara. She was crying, shaking. It was a perfect performance.

"You're right," Julian said softly. The rage settled into a cold, diamond-hard resolve. "I am unwell. The stress."

He walked over to her. He placed his hands on her shoulders. "I need help, Mara. You're right."

Mara slumped, relieved. "We can go to the city. We can see a doctor."

"Yes," Julian said. "But first, I need to sleep. A real sleep. Can you get me a glass of water? And my sedative?"

"Of course."

Mara ran to the kitchen.

Julian watched her go. He didn't need a doctor. He needed to liquidate another liability.

If Mara was the anchor for this con, cutting her loose would stop it. He would kill her tonight. He would stage it as a suicide, just like Cassandra. A tragic pattern. The police might be suspicious, but Julian Vane was rich enough to survive suspicion. He just couldn't survive insanity.