16. Quell
Chapter sixteen
Quell
F inally, the woman stops at a pair of double doors at the end of the hall. She knocks once, then pushes them open right away. “Sir,” she says, stepping aside. “Mr. Talon is here.”
Talon’s hand presses harder at my back, nudging me forward. I step into the room and the temperature drops instantly, like someone has opened a freezer door. It is weird, because outside was so warm, but here, the air feels sharp and cold against my skin.
The room is enormous. A long, shiny table runs down the center, the wood so polished it looks almost wet.
Heavy leather chairs line both sides, most of them empty.
At the far end, a man sits alone. I don’t need anyone to tell me it is Vincenzo.
He leans back in his chair, one hand around a glass of something gold, the other just resting on the table.
His suit is dark, perfectly fitted, and his silver hair is slicked back from a face that maybe used to be handsome, before life made it hard.
His eyes lock onto mine the second I walk in. I feel pinned in place, like a bug under glass. The way he looks at me isn’t just sizing me up; it’s like he sees right through me, every crack and flaw.
“Talon,” he says. His voice surprises me. Warm. Like he is greeting an old friend. “Right on time, as usual.”
Talon keeps his hand on my back as we walk closer. We stop a few feet from the table. There are chairs, but we don’t sit. I try to look calm, to stand up straight and not shrink in on myself, but my body wants to curl up and disappear.
“Vincenzo,” Talon replies. His voice is steady, not cold, not friendly. Just matter-of-fact.
Vincenzo’s eyes flick over to Talon. The relief I feel is almost dizzying, like stepping out of a spotlight. “I am beginning to think you’ve gone quiet on me,” Vincenzo says. “Two weeks is a long time for radio silence.”
“I am handling things,” Talon says.
Vincenzo looks back at me, taking in the way I stand too close to Talon, the borrowed clothes. “So I see.” He takes a sip from his glass. “And Mickey? Did he find things… handled when he dropped by?”
Talon tenses, barely, but I feel it. “Mickey’s in the trunk,” he says.
The bluntness of it makes me flinch. Just like that, a man’s whole story flattened to a spot on a map. Mickey’s in the trunk. Like saying the milk’s in the fridge.
Vincenzo’s face doesn’t change. But something in the air shifts, a tightening, like the moment before thunder. “Is he,” he says. Not a question. “And why is that?”
“He came to my house with a gun,” Talon says. “Pointed it at what’s mine. Made a choice I didn’t agree with.”
What’s mine. The words echo, drowning out everything else. What’s mine. Not who . What. Like I am a thing, something you can carry or lose. But the way he says it makes something warm uncurl in my chest, slicing through the fear.
“I see,” Vincenzo says, leaning forward a bit. “And this is why you’ve brought me… what does Mickey call him? The annoying artist.”
His eyes cut back to me, and the warmth in my chest vanishes. I’ve seen that look before, in my own sketches, the way a predator looks at something small and edible.
“You know what he can do,” Talon says.
“I know what he’s done,” Vincenzo shoots back. “Posting pictures of our work online. Spreading evidence.” His mouth twists. “Drawing attention.”
My heart thuds against my ribs. Every part of me wants to run, but there is nowhere to go. Guards at every door, Vincenzo’s cold eyes on me, and Talon, the only safety I have left, not moving at all beside me.
Vincenzo leans back, swirling his drink. “Well?” he says, looking right at me. “Nothing to say for yourself? No explanation for why you’ve been documenting our business all over the internet?”
The room feels smaller; the air thinner. Sweat prickles along my hairline, under my arms. Talon has told me to let him do the talking, but Vincenzo is asking me, and the silence just keeps growing heavier.
"I didn’t mean anything by it," I blurt out, my voice embarrassingly high and fast. "I just wanted to understand.
The dreams, they just happen; I can't stop them.
I have to draw them or… or they'll burn me up from the inside.
" The words tumble out, desperate and shaky. "I won’t draw again, I swear. I’ll stop. I can stop."
Vincenzo looks at me with a kind of mild curiosity, like I am some weird animal in a zoo. "The dreams," he repeats, rolling the word around. "You mean when you see through my people's eyes? When you watch them at work?"
I nod, not trusting myself to speak. My throat is tight, almost closed.
"Through Talon's eyes specifically, but a few were Mickey’s. That's why he was prepared to pull a gun on you.” Vincenzo goes on, glancing at Talon. "Every kill, every job, all on your little website. Like a diary of death." His smile is slow and awful. "Did you think nobody would notice?"
"I didn’t know what I was seeing," I protest, the words rushing out. "I didn't know they were real, not at first. By the time I figured it out, it was too late, the site is up, people are already following it, but I can take it down, make it go away. I can burn all…”
"People," Vincenzo cuts in, the word sharp and final. "That’s the problem. People seeing things they shouldn’t."
I feel myself spiraling now, panic making my thoughts scatter. "I never use names. I never know names. Just faces, just moments before, before…" I can’t finish. My hands are shaking so badly I have to ball them into fists.
"Before Talon kills them," Vincenzo finishes for me. He sets his glass down; the sound is like a crack splitting the silence. "And now here you are. Alive. When you should be another drawing on someone else’s website."
The meaning is obvious. I am supposed to be dead. A loose end, waiting to be tied off.
"I told you he was taken care of," Talon says, slicing through my panic. "I never said he was dead."
Vincenzo’s eyebrows go up a little. "No, you didn’t." His eyes flick between us, calculating. "And now Mickey’s in your trunk because he thought otherwise."
"Mickey made a mistake," Talon says, flat and certain. "Quell is under my protection now."
The word protection settles between us, heavy and awkward. I watch Vincenzo process it, his eyes flicking, weighing what it means.
"Is that what we’re calling it?" Vincenzo asks. His voice has an edge, like he’s almost amused but not quite.
Talon doesn’t even blink. "Call it whatever you want. But he stays alive."
"And if I disagree?" Vincenzo’s tone is soft, almost like he is just curious.
"Then you’ll need to kill us both," Talon says, so flat and even it doesn’t feel like a threat, just a fact. "And find someone to replace me."
Everything freezes. I swear, even the air stops moving. My heart is thumping so loud I think it will give me away, this frantic, terrified beat.
Vincenzo’s eyes narrow, locked on Talon. I can’t see Talon’s face, but whatever he is showing makes Vincenzo’s mouth go tight.
"Are you giving me an ultimatum, Talon?" His voice is quieter now, dangerous.
"I’m giving you information," Talon says. "What you do with it is your choice."
The silence after that stretches out, thin and sharp. Sweat trickles down my back. My legs shake, but I force myself to stay still.
Then Vincenzo laughs. Out of nowhere. It is so weird and out of place that I actually flinch. He shakes his head, still laughing, and picks up his glass.
"All these years," he says, "and you’ve never asked for anything. Not a bonus. Not a day off. Not even a thank you." He takes a sip, his eyes crinkling a little. "And now you’re willing to die for this?"
He jerks his chin at me, and I feel it all at once, the weight of being dismissed. Not him . This . This .
Talon doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t need to. His silence is clear enough.
Vincenzo puts his glass down, leaning forward with both hands splayed on the table.
“I never wanted him dead, you know.” His tone is easy now, almost like we are just chatting.
“Just quiet. The drawings were becoming a problem, yes, but problems have many solutions.” He smiles, and for a second, his face is almost good-looking.
“This is the artist? Huh. You can keep him, Talon. Silence him however you want.”
The words land hard, like heavy pebbles dropped into a silent pond, sending out ripples that keep spreading. Keep him. The permission, or maybe the blessing, to do what Talon is already planning to do. The silent agreement about whatever exists between us, even if I can’t put a name to it.
Relief hits me so fast my knees nearly buckle. I lock them, forcing myself to stay upright, even as the room spins and swims. Alive. I am actually going to stay alive.
Vincenzo is still talking, something about arrangements for Mickey and cleaning up the website, but none of it sticks. All I can feel is Talon’s steady hand on my back, the only thing keeping me from just collapsing right there.
“…understand each other?” Vincenzo asks, looking at me like he expects an answer.
I nod. I don’t trust my voice. I’m not even sure what I’m agreeing to.
“Good.” He turns to Talon. “I’ll have someone take care of the car. You can go. We’ll discuss the rest later.”
And that is it. We're dismissed. Talon’s hand steers me away from the table, back through the door we came in.
My legs work on autopilot, stiff and strange.
I feel weirdly far from my body, like I’m watching myself float through Vincenzo’s perfect hallways, past the guards with their blank faces, down the nineteen marble steps to where another black-suited guy waits by the car.
Keys change hands. A few words are spoken. Then the car rolls away with Mickey inside, driven by some guy I’ll never see again, heading somewhere I’ll never know about.
It doesn’t hit me until we are in another car, black and glossy and identical to all the others parked on the estate. Talon starts the engine but doesn’t move. We just sit there, the low purr of the car filling up the silence.
“That’s it?” I finally manage, my voice cracking in a way that makes me wince. “We just… leave?”
Talon looks at me. Really looks, for the first time since we got here. His face is still tight all business, but his eyes are different now. Softer. Almost gentle.
“We leave,” he says. “You’re safe.”
Safe . I’ve never been safe. Not since the dreams started. Not since I saw what I saw through a killer’s eyes.
But now the killer is right here, next to me, keys in his hand. And his boss, who orders deaths like takeout, has given his blessing.
“He said you could keep me,” I say. I don’t mean to, but it slips out.
“Yes.” Talon’s eyes hold mine, steady and close. “I can.”
This isn’t just an escape. It is something else, something that starts with a drawing of a kiss and ends with a claim. What’s mine, he told Vincenzo. Not who . What.
But then Talon puts the car in drive and we roll away from the mansion, from Vincenzo, from the body in the trunk that isn’t our problem anymore, and I realize it doesn’t matter.
What , who , whatever. The difference is gone now.
I am Talon’s. By choice, or by accident; by that weird twist of fate that let me see through his eyes for years, long before I ever met him.
As the gates of Vincenzo’s estate clang shut behind us, I understand, sharp and sudden and a little scary, that I don’t want it any other way.