46. BREADCRUMBS
alistair
Asher Keinston.
The man I’d rather avoid in hell if I have to.
The man who’d likely put a bullet between my eyes if he knew even half of what his sister has been dragged into because of being involved with me.
The same man whose resources rival those of governments.
The same man who would burn entire cities if it meant protecting his family.
For several long moments, I remain motionless, staring at the iPad bearing the copy of Garden. Once I contact Asher, there’s no going back.
Everything changes.
Yet as I look at the future the Dominion has planned for Ariella, one certainty settles heavier than all the rest.
They don’t intend to kill her.
They intend to keep her.
To convert her.
And then hide the transformation by returning her to her family looking the same while turning her entirely different.
A breeding candidate.
A Dominion asset.
My vision blurs red. No. Abso-fucking-lutely not.
The Dominion has already stolen enough from me.
They don’t get to have Ariella.
I’d rather hand my secrets to the Keinston than watch the Dominion turn her into another cyborg program.
Somewhere across the world, it’s a little after three in the morning in Sydney. A very inconvenient hour of unwelcomed vulnerability.
People like to imagine that power makes them immune to fear. In reality, fear simply becomes more selective.
At four in the morning, a man is not a COO, a strategist, or a public figure anymore. He’s a son. A brother. A mere human being dragged from sleep by the possibility of disaster.
The burner phone feels cheap in my hand.
The number came from Ariella’s phone. One of the many things she never realized I had access to after the accident.
I activate the voice modulator and dial the number.
The line goes straight to voicemail twice.
Third time is the charm.
“What?” sleep-deprivation roughens the single word.
A smile naturally curves up my lips. “Well, hello to you too, Asher Keinston,” the modulator strips my voice of anything recognizable.
“Who the fuck is this?” he’s dangerously alert now.
There’s a subtle squeaking of the chair, indicating he’s sitting upright.
I chuckle. “That’s how you greet someone who’s been providing you data about Triarch Dominion for the last couple of weeks? How ungrateful of you.”
A scoffs answers me first. “What am I gonna do with those? Piss in my pants?”
Before I can say something, he adds. “Whatever, you can fuck yourself in the ass,” and hangs up.
I roll my eyes and try calling him again. Can’t lose him now.
On the fifth ring, he picks up. He could’ve blocked me—which means he’s still interested, just playing hard to get.
Though blocking this one burner number wouldn’t stop me from bugging him through a ton more.
“What now, you sick fuck?”
“Don’t put names on me yet, especially when I still haven’t disclosed what I truly intended to share with you, friend,” I lean back. “Your beloved sister, I mean.”
“What about her?” with that, every trace of annoyance vanishes.
Rain trails down the glass beyond the window of the presidential suite I booked at Velmourne Club. I couldn’t risk being at my place and having this conversation with Asher.
Although I’m using a burner phone, who knows what type of devices Triarch Dominion might have planted in unthinkable corners there through Delilah.
I even left my usual phone back at home and bought a secondary one, one that the Triarch Dominion is hopefully unaware of. It never hurts to be extra cautious, especially during times like this.
“Ariella’s accident wasn’t really an accident. It was orchestrated,” I provide.
Deafening silence falls on the other side of the line.
I’m almost tempted to check if he’s cut the line, calling it nonsense, but then he says in a much calmer voice.
“Who are you again?”
“Is my name more important than the information?”
“It is when you’re involving my family.”
A faint smile tugs at the corner of my mouth.
“If a name makes you more comfortable, you may call me Aleron,” I say, and cross my legs.
I can practically hear him rearranging possibilities inside his head.
“What do you want, Aleron?”
The way he mocked my name says he didn’t buy it as my real name. Not that I expected him to.
“Nothing, really.”
“No one contacts me at three in the morning using a burner phone for nothing.”
“Perhaps,” I sigh, feigning empathy. “But if I wanted something from you, I wouldn’t have called to warn you.”
A scoff crackles through the speaker. “If you’re telling the truth, you know exactly which member of the Triarch Dominion was responsible.”
“I do.”
“Then tell me.”
“Not over the phone.”
My gaze drops instinctively to my left wrist before I remember the watch isn’t there.
For the first time since the day the Dominion clasped that damned device around my arm, I left it behind.
It’s currently secured to a decoy in one of my private laboratories to generate body heat, pulse patterns, and biometric fluctuations, now coded to mimic mine.
Anyone monitoring the feed would see nothing unusual. Just the quiet physiological signatures of a man working late at night.
The deception won’t survive a thorough inspection, though. I only need it to buy me some time. Consequences will be handled later—no matter how fucked it is.
If the Dominion discovers I’ve breached twice in a row, my execution won’t be a matter of if. Only when.
Under normal circumstances, that knowledge would be enough to make me stop.
Tonight, however, every warning instinct I’ve spent years cultivating is being drowned out by something exceptional—Ariella.
His patience finally begins to fray. “Are you…”
“Yes,” he doesn’t need to finish asking the question.
I am a member of the Triarch Dominion.
“And I need you to meet me at Stratford-upon-Avon, England. I suggest you come alone. Exactly forty-eight hours after we disconnect, you’ll get the coordinates for the meet-up. But I won’t contact you again.”
The silence that follows lasts considerably longer.
When he finally speaks, the decision has already been made. He’s simply looking for reasons not to admit it.
“How do I know this isn’t a trap?”
“If I intended to harm you, Mr. Keinston, I wouldn’t have initiated contact,” I rephrase what I said earlier. “Feel free to bring any weapons if you insist.”
A humorless laugh leaves him. “Of course, duh,” he taunts.
Fucking Keinstons and their arrogance.
“There’s no catch, in case you’re curious.”
“Says who? You?” he mocks again.
I briefly close my eyes. Bear with him, Alistair.
“Yes, the only person interested in keeping your sister alive.”
“Alright then, Aleron, see you on the other side of the Ocean,” he says and ends the call.