Chapter 14 – Silas - Wreckage Has Eyes
I've spent the last three hours doing everything except what I'm supposed to be doing.
Ran traces on the third-party access—dead ends and proxy loops that go nowhere useful. Pulled surveillance footage from the hallway cameras near Lydia's building—nothing. Whoever dropped that note knew exactly how to move through blind spots.
Naomi called twice. I let both go to voicemail.
And Lydia's message sits on the burner screen, two words I haven't answered: Why me?
Because I don't have an answer that won't make everything worse.
Or maybe I do, I just don’t want to admit it just yet.
I’m supposed to go to the Bureau post. Return Naomi’s call, check in. At least, pretend I'm still in control of this operation.
Instead, I'm standing outside Lydia's building, staring up at her window like a man who's already made his choice and just hasn't admitted it yet.
I head inside.
Two floors up. The stairs feel shorter this time.
When I reach her door, I knock twice.
A pause. Then the locks slide back.
She opens the door in an oversized shirt that’s slipping off one shoulder, hair tied up loosely. No performance. Just her.
She steps aside, letting me in.
The door closes behind me. The lock clicks.
She doesn't ask about the third party or the note or any of the tactical reasons I could be here.
She just looks at me, waiting.
"I traced the access logs," I say. "Whoever's in the system is good. Better than good. Every lead loops back on itself."
"So we're no closer to knowing who sent the note."
"No."
She nods slowly, processing. Then: "And my message?"
I meet her eyes. "Why you? Because I can't hold myself back from you, no matter how hard I try."
Her breath catches—just slightly.
"That's not tactical," she says quietly.
"No. It's not."
She takes a step closer. Then another.
Until she's right in front of me, close enough that I can feel the warmth radiating off her skin.
Her hands come up to my chest, resting there, feeling my heartbeat hammer against her palms.
And then we’re kissing.
Hard. Messy. Uncoordinated at first.
Like we both forgot how to ask.
She pulls me down, and I let her, hands already under her shirt, mouth dragging along her throat like I’m marking territory I shouldn’t be near.
Her breath stutters.
Mine breaks.
Clothes shift. A button snaps. My hands shake when I push the fabric aside and press her bare spine to the hardwood floor.
She arches. I hold.
Her thighs tighten around my hips.
My hand slides up her ribcage, thumb brushing the bottom swell of her breast.
“Say stop,” I murmur against her mouth.
“No.”
That’s all she gives me.
No hesitation. No stutter.
Just truth.
But before it can go further… before I pull her shorts down or she rips my shirt off… my phone vibrates.
Once.
Twice.
Urgent.
I freeze.
She feels it.
I don’t move.
Because I know what name is lighting up that screen without looking.
Naomi.
She’s never called me this many times in a row unless it’s critical.
Lydia blinks up at me, breath shallow, lips swollen, pupils blown wide.
And I know I’ve already crossed the line.
Even if I stop now, I’m already on the wrong side of it.
I reach into my coat and pull out the phone.
Naomi's name pulses on the screen.
I answer.
"You missed check-in." Her voice is tight. "What's going on?"
I sit back, keeping my voice low. "Something came up."
"Where are you?"
I don't answer immediately, and that tells her everything.
She exhales—not quite a sigh, more like controlled frustration. "Silas, we have a problem. Someone's been watching you."
That gets my full attention. "Who?"
"We don't know yet. Could be Drazen's people running their own surveillance, testing you. Could be someone else entirely. But you've been tailed at least twice in the last forty-eight hours."
My jaw tightens. "How long have you known?"
"Since this morning. We've had a discrete team on you as backup protocol. They flagged the tail." She pauses. "You need to be more careful. Vary your patterns. Don't be predictable."
"Understood."
"If this escalates—if we think you're compromised—we'll pull you out. You know that."
"I know."
"And if we pull you, your cover's burned. Everyone you've had contact with in Drazen's orbit becomes suspect. He'll start asking questions, and people will get hurt."
I close my eyes briefly. She doesn't say Lydia's name. She doesn't have to.
"I need you to come in," Naomi continues. "Asap. Debrief, assess the threat, figure out who's tailing you and why."
"How long do I have?"
"You don't. Get here."
The line goes dead.
I stare at the screen for a moment, then pocket the phone.
Lydia sits up beside me, eyes searching my face. "What is it?"
I'm already getting up. "Work. Something urgent came up at the office."
"At this hour?"
"Shipment issue. Client emergency." I stand, buttoning my shirt. "I have to go deal with it."
She watches me, and I can see her mind working—reading the tension in my shoulders. She knows I'm not telling her everything.
But she doesn't push.
"Okay," she says quietly.
I pause, looking down at her. Everything I want to say gets stuck somewhere between my chest and my throat.
"I'll—" I start.
"I know," she interrupts softly. "Just go."
I nod once, then head for the door.
Behind me, I hear her move, but I don’t look back.
If I do, I won't leave.
And right now, leaving might be the only thing keeping both of us alive.
I didn’t finish what I started. Didn’t fuck her. Didn’t kiss her again. Didn’t promise her safety. Because all of it would’ve been a lie.
The message from Naomi was the truth.
And the truth, now, is dangerous.
The hallway is empty. Cold. The fluorescent light above the stairwell flickers like it's deciding whether to die tonight or wait until morning.
I take the stairs two at a time, already calculating routes to the Bureau post. Five blocks north. Fifteen minutes on foot if I cut through the industrial district. Ten if I run.
I push through the building's front door into the night air. It's colder than I expected, sharp enough to clear my head.
My car is parked half a block down, tucked between a delivery van and a sedan that's been there so long it's collecting tickets.
The walk gives me time to think. Too much time.
Naomi's warning loops in my head. Someone's been watching you.
Which means either Drazen's testing me even more, or there's another player I haven't identified yet. Either option is bad. Or it could be the person watching Lydia. It’s still bad.
I reach the car—a nondescript sedan Naomi provided but I rarely drive—and unlock it. Slide into the driver's seat.
Before I can start the engine, my phone buzzes.
Text. Unknown number.
Club. Now. Don't make me wait.
Drazen.
I stare at the screen.
Of course. Two summons in ten minutes. Naomi pulling one direction, Drazen pulling the other.
I could ignore it. Pretend I didn't see the message until later.
But Drazen doesn't summon people casually. And showing up late—or not at all—would raise exactly the kind of questions I can't afford.
Especially if someone's been tailing me and reporting back to him.
I pull up Naomi's contact and type fast.
Change of plans. Drazen summoned me. Have to go to the club first. Will check in after.
Her response comes almost immediately.
Don't do anything stupid.
I delete the messages and pocket the phone, then start the engine.
The drive takes fifteen minutes. Fifteen minutes of empty streets and traffic lights that seem to last too long.
I don't think about Lydia.
Or I try not to.
But her face keeps surfacing anyway—the way she looked at me when I said I had to leave. Like she knew I was lying but wasn't going to call me on it.
Not yet.
When I pull up near the club, I park two blocks away out of habit. Kill the engine.
Sit there for a moment, hands still on the wheel.
Then I get out.
The club is colder than usual tonight. Not physically, but atmospherically. Something’s off. Tighter. Like the walls are listening harder.
There’s a girl at the door who doesn’t smile when she takes my coat.
Inside, Dom leans against the bar like a man who owns everything he sees and likes to remind the furniture of it. His arms are crossed. He doesn’t move when I enter, doesn’t speak; he just nods toward the back hallway like I already know where I’m expected.
I do.
I walk past the main floor, smoothly bypassing the dancers, the dealers, the eyes pretending not to follow me. I pivot at the end of the corridor and open the door to Drazen’s private room.
He’s seated.
As always.
Black-on-black suit. Tie loose, collar open. Drink in hand like it was poured before I walked in. He looks like a painting that someone smudged at the edges. Perfect until you stare too long.
“Silas,” he says, lifting the glass. “Take a seat.”
There’s no chair.
I don’t comment.
I stay standing.
His mouth twitches like that amuses him.
“There’s a problem,” he says.
“Always is.”
“Not like this.”
He gestures behind him at the stack of files on the table, manila folders with no names. Just numbers. Case IDs. Surveillance tags.
“You know what these are?” he asks.
I don’t answer.
Because I do know.
They’re files that shouldn’t be here. Bureau files. Some of them mine.
“Someone’s leaking,” Drazen says. “Not the cops. Not the feds. Something in-between.”
I fold my arms. “That’s vague.”
“That’s the point. I need someone who understands shadows. Someone who knows how to disappear while making others reappear in cuffs.”
He leans forward.
“And you… my friend… are very good at pretending to be no one.”
I meet his eyes.
Say nothing.
“Find out who’s watching me,” he says. “Find out who thinks they can breach my loop.”
My spine stiffens.
Because he doesn’t know.
Not yet.
But he’s close.
Too close.
“And Lydia?” I ask, testing him.
His eyes darken. Not visibly. Not to anyone who doesn’t know the shift.
“She’s fine,” he says. “For now.”
“What does that mean?”