Chapter 3
Seraphina
I didn’t sleep. That single message played on a loop in my mind. “You’re not the only one watching.” If D was a threat, I needed to know. If they were an ally... I needed to find them.
I ducked out of the penthouse with the flash drive tucked securely in the inside pocket of my coat, the cold air biting against my cheeks as I moved quickly down the side street.
The driver didn’t ask questions when I directed him to the Blackdawn main building—most didn’t, especially when it came to the Vex name.
Still, I kept my hood low and my eyes forward as we made the quiet trip through the city.
Once inside, the familiar sterile chill of the building greeted me like a memory I’d rather forget.
The deeper I went, the more hollow everything felt.
The executive floor was pristine as always, but it was the sublevels I was heading for—the archives, buried beneath the tower’s glossy surface like a secret no one wanted to revisit.
These floors are where the rot lives—the parts Dominic doesn’t show off.
I used to believe this machine could be reformed from within. That illusion shattered two years ago.
I scanned my credentials and descended the stairwell, my footsteps echoing with each level I passed. Finally, I reached the archive door and keyed in the second layer of access. The steel lock clicked open, and the stale air of years-old dust and silence hit me like a wave .
Inside, dim lights buzzed overhead, casting pale yellow glows on rows of filing cabinets and old data shelves. I moved down the aisles, the flash drive clenched in my palm, though I hadn’t yet plugged it in. Not yet. I needed context. I needed to know what I was even looking for.
My fingers brushed across file tabs, tracing years and project numbers. Weapons programs, foreign acquisitions, high-level contracts—all sanitized on paper, all blackened beneath the surface. Then one tab caught my eye. 2011 – Acquisitions.
The moment I slid the folder free, a chill crept down my spine.
I opened it slowly, the pages creaking with disuse.
Contracts, emails, surveillance logs… and then a photo.
Dominic, standing next to a man whose face was only vaguely familiar.
The caption had no names, but I didn’t need them.
A printed memo, clipped to the back of the photo, said enough:
"Rook’s loyalty is waning. His movements are being monitored. He’s become a liability. Recommend termination."
Rook.
The same name as the one from the decrypted file. Elias Rook.
The name stirred something—an echo I couldn’t place. He wasn’t just another name buried in a folder. I’d heard it once before, whispered in a memory Dominic didn’t think I’d remember. A shadow figure. A ghost in the machine.
I stared at the memo, the words blurring slightly.
“Recommend termination.” A clean line. Clinical.
Like erasing him was nothing. But if Rook had gotten close enough to warrant execution, then maybe he’d seen the truth.
Maybe he’d tried to leave… just like I was trying now. And Dominic had buried him for it.
I set the folder down slowly, mind racing.
Then I heard it.
A faint scrape. Like a footstep where there shouldn’t be one.
I straightened sharply, eyes narrowing toward the aisle behind me. A shadow moved at the end of the row—tall, broad, deliberate.
A man stepped into view, his presence calm but impossible to ignore.
“Ye’ve found what ye were lookin’ for?”
His voice was low, steady, and unmistakably laced with an Irish accent.
I tensed, but not out of fear—just surprise. No one else was supposed to be down here.
“I didn’t expect anyone else in the archives today,” I said, my eyes flicking toward the only exit. Not because of him. Because I didn’t know how long I had before someone realized I wasn’t where I was supposed to be.
“Most don’t,” he said, taking a step closer, hands tucked casually in the pockets of his coat. “It’s dangerous, diggin’ in the dark.”
His words weren’t a threat, but they weren’t harmless either. I straightened, defensive instinct kicking in.
“You don’t know anything about me.”
He smiled—just slightly—and that small gesture unsettled me more than anything he’d said so far. Like he knew something I didn’t. Like he was choosing not to say it.
“No… I s’pose I don’t,” he said, turnin’ slightly. “I’ll leave ye to yer research.”
And then, just like that, he turned his back and walked into the darkness of the archive corridor.
I didn’t move for several seconds. My breath held in my chest, my thoughts tangled in too many questions. Who was he? Why was he watching me? And how long had he been there before he spoke?
The moment the archive door clicked shut behind him, I left—fast, but not rushed. Calm enough not to draw attention. I needed to get back to my office before anyone started wondering where I’d gone.
Back in my office, the overhead lights flickered on automatically as I entered.
I shut the door behind me, locked it out of instinct.
My hand shook slightly as I set the folder down on my desk and moved toward the console.
Pulling up the Blackdawn employee database, I typed in Elias Rook again, this time scanning more closely.
Some entries were redacted. Others were flat-out missing.
I made a note to have someone check the security logs—discreetly. Whoever that man in the archives was, I doubted he’d used the front entrance.
My terminal buzzed. I glanced at the caller ID.
Alexander Lowe . One of Dominic’s senior advisors.
I sighed, rolling my eyes before pressing the button to answer .
“Seraphina,” came his clipped voice. “Your father needs you at headquarters. Immediately.”
Of course he does.
“On my way,” I said flatly, then ended the call without waiting for a reply.
I didn’t argue. I simply closed the file, logged off the system, and left the room. But as I stepped into the hallway, movement caught the corner of my eye. A flicker—a shape disappearing around the bend just ahead.
I paused, heart suddenly pounding harder than it should.
No one was supposed to be on this floor.
I waited a beat. Then another.
Nothing.
I told myself it was nothing. Just nerves. Just shadows.
But I didn’t stop watching my back all the way to the elevator.
I don’t knock.
The door to Dominic’s office looms like a monolith—cold steel trimmed in matte obsidian. Most people would wait to be summoned twice. I step through like I own the place. Because technically, one day, I’m supposed to.
Inside, the air is perfectly temperature-controlled—yet somehow still feels bitterly cold, as if the walls themselves absorb his cruelty.
Framed credentials and obscure artifacts line the room—silent trophies, carefully curated threats.
Reminders of what he’s built... and what he’s capable of destroying .
He doesn’t look up when I enter. Just signs something with a fountain pen I know costs more than most people’s rent—sleek, heavy, and utterly unnecessary.
Even his desk, polished to a mirror finish, is too pristine to be practical.
The leather chair he sinks into has stitching so fine it might have been handcrafted by some artisan miles away.
Every detail screams excess, wealth piled on wealth, all things he doesn’t need but flaunts anyway.
The silence stretches long enough to feel deliberate.
“You summoned,” I say, voice clipped.
He finally glances up. His gaze is as unreadable as ever—sharp, calculating, too calm. “You’ve been busy.”
I don’t answer. Let him clarify.
He sets the pen down with a soft click. “You were seen entering the archives this morning.”
Of course I was. “It’s not restricted.”
“No. But you typically reserve your visits for project reviews or internal audits. Not... legacy files.”
So he knows what section I pulled from.
I fold my arms. “Are we policing curiosity now?”
His jaw flexes. Just slightly. “Curiosity isn’t the problem. Directionless curiosity is.”
I meet his gaze and hold it. “You think I’m directionless?”
“I think you’re emotional. And that makes you careless.”
It’s not an answer—it’s a warning. One he doesn’t bother to disguise.
“I’m not a child.”
“No. You’re a liability when you don’t understand what you're playing with.”
The words land heavier than I expect. Not because they’re cruel—but because they’re familiar.
I've heard versions of them before. When I questioned his decisions. When I brought up the families who lost everything during a Blackdawn acquisition. When I found out about the company’s offshore facilities and the kinds of “enhancements” we tested there.
I shift my weight. “Who was Elias Rook?”
A flicker. Almost nothing. But it’s there—something behind his eyes. Not surprise, exactly. Something colder.
He leans back in his chair. “Old name. Dead man.”
“That’s not what the file says.”
His brow lifts, but his voice stays even. “You found a file?”
So this is a game now. He’s pretending it wasn’t supposed to exist.
“2011. Acquisitions,” I say. “There’s a photo of you with him.”
A pause.
Then: “You shouldn’t be digging in things that don’t concern you.”
“But they do concern me, don’t they? He worked for Blackdawn. You recommended him for termination. ”
“He was unstable. Brilliant, but unstable. Men like that are dangerous when they start thinking for themselves.”
“Is that what I’m doing?”
Another silence. Then he stands—slow, controlled, every movement measured. The air changes, subtly. He rounds the desk, stopping just in front of me. Close enough for me to smell the sandalwood cologne he’s worn since I was a child.
“You think you’re different from me,” he says softly. “You think you can fix something without getting your hands dirty. But eventually, you’ll learn the truth: everyone gets stained. Especially the ones who believe they won’t.”
My throat tightens, but I don’t flinch.
He watches me for a moment longer before turning away. “Get home, Seraphina. Let this go.”
I don’t move.
“That's an order,” he says, not even looking back.
And that’s when I realize—he’s afraid.
Not of me. But of what I might find.
And that means I’m getting close.