Chapter 20 – Silas - Burn to Ash
The drive to Harlow Tower feels like driving toward my own execution.
I know that's dramatic. I know it doesn't help.
But the truth is simpler and worse: I'm driving toward her, and I can't do a damn thing to help. I don’t even know what I’m driving into, what Drazen has in store for me.
The east-side skyline cuts through the late afternoon haze—glass and steel towers rising like monuments to money and power. Harlow Tower sits among them, sleek and modern, the kind of place where security doesn't ask questions and residents don't answer them.
I park two blocks away. Sit in the car for a moment.
Naomi's team is watching. Two vehicles. Four agents. Monitoring from a distance.
Not close enough to help if things go sideways.
But close enough to know if I disappear. And that’s enough.
I get out of the car and walk toward the tower.
The lobby is pristine. Marble floors, floor-to-ceiling windows, ambient lighting that costs more than most people make in a month. A doorman in a pressed uniform nods as I enter but doesn't ask questions.
Dom is waiting near the elevators.
Hands in his pockets, leaning against the wall like he owns the place. Maybe he does.
He grins when he sees me.
"Right on time," he says. "Drazen's waiting."
I nod once. "Let's go."
The elevator ride up is silent except for the faint hum of machinery and Dom's low, tuneless whistling.
I keep my face neutral, and my breathing steady.
Professional, and detached. Showing nothing.
The elevator dings and the doors open.
Penthouse floor.
The hallway is too clean. White walls. Recessed lighting. Carpet so thick it swallows sound.
Dom leads me down the hall, stops at a door on the right. Not the main suite. A separate room.
He knocks once.
A voice from inside: "Come in."
Dom opens the door. Steps aside.
I walk in.
Drazen is seated behind a glass desk, fingers steepled, watching me with the kind of calm that comes from knowing you control everything in the room.
The office is sleek. Modern. Floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city. A bar in the corner. Expensive art on the walls.
He gestures to the chair across from him. "Sit."
I sit.
Dom leans against the wall behind me. I can feel his eyes on the back of my neck.
Drazen doesn't waste time.
"I have a situation," he says. "Remember I told you someone's been feeding information to outside parties. Surveillance on our docks. Intel on our shipments. Timing that's too precise to be coincidence."
I keep my face neutral. "Yes, you did. You think it's internal."
"I know it's internal." He leans forward slightly. "And I think I know who."
I wait.
"Lydia Carr."
My pulse kicks, but I don't let it show.
I don't blink. Don't react.
Just nod once, like this is useful information.
Drazen watches me. Studying and measuring.
"She's smart. Capable. I think she understands the value of discretion." I pause. "But if she thought you were a threat to her position, she might hedge her bets."
Drazen's mouth twitches. Not quite a smile. "Diplomatic answer."
"It's an honest one."
"Good." He stands. Walks to the window. "I'm moving her off-grid for a few days. Somewhere I can control the variables. See how she reacts when she's isolated."
"Makes sense."
He turns back to face me. "I want you to stand guard."
I go still.
This is wrong.
If Drazen really suspected Lydia, he'd put someone he trusts on her. Someone who's been with him for years. Not me. Not the guy who's been in his organization less than a year.
Unless—
Unless this isn't about Lydia at all.
It's about me.
I keep my expression blank. "You want me to guard her?"
"Yes."
"Why me?"
Drazen's eyes narrow slightly. "Because you're new enough not to have loyalty to her. Experienced enough to know what happens if you fuck up." He walks back to his desk. Sits. "And because I want to see how you handle it."
There it is.
The truth under the lie.
He doesn't trust Lydia.
But he doesn't trust me either.
This is a test for both of us.
And if I show even a flicker of concern for her—if I ask too many questions, try to help her, break protocol in any way—he'll know.
Naomi's voice echoes in my head: Stay professional. Don't react. Stay sharp.
I nod once. "Understood. When do I start?"
"Now." Drazen gestures to Dom. "Take him up."
Dom pushes off the wall. "Let's go."
I stand. Follow him out.
As the door closes behind us, I catch Drazen's voice, low and cold:
"And Silas? Don't disappoint me."
The elevator ride to the residential floor feels like it takes hours.
It doesn't. It's thirty seconds.
But I count every one.
Dom stands beside me, hands in his pockets, whistling that same tuneless melody.
I don't speak. Don't ask questions.
But my mind is racing.
They know.
They have to.
Drazen wouldn't put me on her unless he suspected something. He's testing to see if I'll slip. If I'll show my hand.
And if I do, we're both dead.
The elevator dings. Doors slide open.
Dom leads me down another pristine hallway. Stops at the third door on the left.
"This is it," he says, pulling out a keycard.
I scan the hallway. Two cameras in the corners. One above the elevator door.
We're being watched.
"What's the protocol?" I ask.
"Simple. She stays in. No one gets in unless Drazen clears it. You stand here. All night." He unlocks the door. "Don't talk to her. Don't open that door unless I tell you to. Just make sure she doesn't go anywhere."
"Got it."
He pushes the door open just enough for me to see inside.
Cream walls. Amber light. A bed. A window.
And her.
Lydia.
Standing near the window, wearing a black dress that looks designed to unravel men.
Our eyes meet.
For one second—less than a second—I see everything.
Fear. Anger. Relief. Warning.
Then her expression goes cold. Blank. Like I'm just another one of Drazen's men.
Like I'm nothing.
Dom watches us both.
I don't move. Don't react. Don't let anything show on my face.
"She give you any trouble?" Dom asks.
"Not yet," I say, voice flat.
He grins. "Good. Keep it that way."
He pulls the door shut. Locks it.
Then he does something I don't expect.
He pulls the key from the lock.
And hands it to me.
I stare at it.
"What's this?"
"The key," Dom says, like it's obvious. "In case of emergency. Fire. Medical issue. Whatever." He shrugs. "Drazen wants you to have access. Just don't use it unless you absolutely have to."
My fingers close around the key.
It's warm. Heavy.
And it's bait.
I know it immediately.
This is the trap.
They're giving me the key. Giving me access. Giving me the opportunity to break protocol.
To open that door.
To talk to her.
To help her.
And the second I do, they'll know.
Dom leans in, voice dropping. "Drazen's watching, Silas. Cameras everywhere. So if you're thinking about being a hero..." He smiles. "Don't."
I pocket the key. "I'm not here to be a hero. I'm here to do my job."
"Good." He claps me on the shoulder—too hard, too familiar. "Then we won't have any problems."
He walks back toward the elevator.
I listen to his footsteps fade.
The elevator dings. Doors close.
Silence.
I'm alone in the hallway.
With the key to her room in my pocket.
And cameras recording every move I make.
I take my position. Back against the wall opposite her door. Arms crossed. Face forward.
Professional. Detached.
Like I'm guarding any other prisoner.
Like the key in my pocket isn't burning a hole through my jacket.
Like every instinct in my body isn't screaming to use it.
I force myself to breathe.
In. Out. Steady.
This is a test.
Don't react.
Don't break.
I touch the key through my pocket once.
Just to remind myself it's there.
And then I let my hand drop.
Because I know what this is.
They're watching to see if I'll open that door.
If I'll talk to her.
If I'll show that I care.
And I can't.
Not if I want to get her out of here alive.
So I stand here.
And I wait.
An hour passes.
I don't move.
My legs ache. My back stiffens. The key feels like a lead weight in my pocket.
I don't touch it.
I listen.
I can hear her through the door. Faint sounds. Footsteps. The rustle of fabric. At one point, I think I hear her sit down. Then stand again. Pacing.
She's restless.
So am I.
The key is right there.
I could open the door. Just for a second. Just to check on her. Make sure she's okay.
No.
That's what they want.
I grit my teeth and stay where I am.
Around the two-hour mark, I hear her move closer to the door.
I go still.
There's a pause. A long one.
Then I hear it—the softest sound. Like she's leaning against the door.
Or maybe she's testing the lock.
Seeing if it's still engaged.
Seeing if someone—if I—will open it.
My hand moves toward my pocket.
Stops.
Don't.
I pull my hand back. Clench it into a fist.
The cameras are still recording.
Drazen is still watching.
And if I break—if I show even a flicker of weakness—it's over.
So I stay where I am.
And I let her think I'm just another guard.
Even though it's killing me.
At 9:13 PM, the elevator dings.
Dom steps out, carrying a tray. Food, by the smell of it.
He walks toward me, grinning. "Dinner service."
I step aside.
He stops. Looks at me. "You still have the key?"
I pull it from my pocket. Hold it up.
"Good. Open it."
I freeze.
"What?"
"Open the door, Silas. I've got my hands full." He lifts the tray slightly, like that explains everything.
This is another test.
I know it is.
They want to see if I'll hesitate. If I'll look nervous. If opening the door to her room makes me react differently than opening any other door.
I take the key.
Slide it into the lock.
Turn it.
The door clicks open.
"Here," Dom says, shoving the tray into my hands. "Take it in to her. I'm not a fucking waiter." He grins. "Besides, Drazen wants to see how you handle being in the same room with her. Think you can manage?"
I take the tray. "Not a problem."
He steps aside, gesturing me in.
I enter.