Chapter Thirteen Amethyst
I’ve been watching Rafe for three days.
Every night.
Same pattern.
Ten PM to midnight.
Server room.
Alone.
And the security blind spot. No cameras in that specific corridor. Oversight. Or budget cuts. Doesn’t matter. It’s there. And tonight, I’m using it.
I go about my day. Normal. Nothing to raise suspicion. Mateo finds me at nine.
“Berlin shipment needs coordination."
“Timeline?"
“End of day."
“I’ll handle it."
I work through the logistics. Cross-reference routes. Confirm checkpoints. Everything smooth. Professional. By noon, it’s done.
Lucia passes me in the hallway.
“Enzo wants the intelligence brief by tomorrow."
“You’ll have it."
She nods. Keeps walking. Everything normal. Just another day.
I’m calm.
Methodical.
This is what I do. I’ve done it dozens of times. This is what I do. I’ve done it dozens of times. Enough that I stopped counting.
This is no different. Except it is. Because this time, there’s someone waiting. Someone counting the hours. Someone barely holding together. I push that thought down.
The blade is small. Easily concealed. Strapped to my inner thigh. Under my pants. No one would see it. No one would think to look.
Quick.
Quiet.
No struggle if I do it right.
Across the throat.
Deep.
Precise.
Thirty seconds.
Maybe less.
That evening I stay late. Operations floor. Working. Most people leave by eight PM. Skeleton crew remains. Five people. None of them paying attention to me.
Rafe is in his office. I can see the light under his door.
Nine-thirty PM. I’m still working. Reviewing files. Waiting.
Nine forty-seven PM. Rafe’s door opens. He walks past. Doesn’t look at me. Heads upstairs. Management level. Server room. I give him time. Ten minutes. Let him settle in. Get absorbed in whatever he’s doing. Then I move.
KADE
The communicator sits on the table.
Silent.
Useless.
Seven forty-five PM. Fifteen minutes. I’ve been sitting here for an hour. Waiting. Watching the clock. My hands are steady. For now. But I can feel it. The tension. The predator. Restless. Pacing. Waiting for her voice. The only thing keeping me tethered.
8:00 PM
The communicator stays silent. I stare at it. Wait. She’s never late. Not once in seven days. Eight PM. Every night. Her voice. Brief. Professional. But there. Always there. I wait.
8:00:15 PM
Nothing. The predator stirs. Something’s wrong. I know it. Feel it. She said she’d check in. Every day. She promised.
8:00:30 PM
Still nothing. My hands grip the edge of the table.
Knuckles white. Breathing controlled. Barely.
Operational silence. That’s what this is.
She’s doing something. Can’t risk contact.
That makes sense. Tactical sense. But the predator doesn’t care about tactics.
It demands. It claws. It needs to hear her voice. Needs to know she’s alive.
8:01:00 PM
One minute late. I stand. Pace. Three steps to the window. Three steps back. The communicator sits on the table. Silent. Mocking.
8:05 PM
Five minutes. My control is fraying. I can feel it.
The leash. Stretching. Thinning. She’s fine.
She has to be fine. She’s the best at what she does.
Giltrude trained her. She’s survived worse.
But the predator doesn’t reason. It doesn’t logic.
It just knows she’s not here. Not safe. Not within reach.
8:10 PM
Ten minutes. I grab the communicator. Stare at it. My thumb hovers over the button. I could call her. Check. But if she’s in the middle of something—
If she’s hiding—
If she’s—
I set it down. Force myself to sit. To wait. To trust.
8:15 PM
Fifteen minutes. My hands are shaking. I press them flat against the table. Try to steady them. Can’t.
The predator is right there. At the surface. Clawing.
Snarling.
Demanding.
Find her.
Protect her.
Kill anyone who’s touched her.
I close my eyes. Breathe.
In.
Out.
In.
Out.
She’s fine. She’s fine. She’s—
8:20 PM
Twenty minutes. I’m pacing again. Can’t sit. Can’t be still. The cabin is too small. Too quiet. Too empty. I should have gone with her. Should have been there. Backup. Support. Instead I’m here. Useless. Waiting. While she’s— I don’t let myself finish that thought.