5. CHAPTER 4
Orion
“What do you mean gone?”
But here I was sitting up in bed, my body aching from last night, listening to Severin go through details of how Léonie Fernández had escaped the Fernández mansion under Stratum surveillance.
I was too tired to process everything he was saying. The last thing I heard him say before I headed to the bathroom was “we have eyes on her now, and I’ll keep you posted.”
I showered, dressed, and moved to the small sitting room off my bedroom. The staff had left coffee and a light breakfast on the low centre table. I ignored the food and went straight for my laptop.
The screen flashed the low-level encrypted boot prompt, demanding a ten-digit pre-boot PIN before the OS was even allowed to load.
I tapped out the sequence based on a private algorithm only I knew.
The Stratum portal opened, and priority briefs flagged in red stared at me.
My phone vibrated beside the keyboard.
I didn’t bother looking. I knew who it was.
The laptop screen blinked and Severin’s name appeared in queues of messages, each stamped through the night and early morning.
Severin:
06:40– Subject L.F. and Yves D. spotted at Gare de Lyon. Boarding train to Marseille.
I read it a few times before it registered. I’d assumed she’d run alone. Maybe with help from her friends.
Bringing Yves was a tactical error. It made her easier to trace.
I tapped my finger against the table.
It didn’t matter. She could run wherever she wanted, with whomever. My only concern was the alliance, and currently, it was still intact.
06:52– Ticket purchase confirmed under false names. Sloppy forgery.
Sloppy.
My jaw clenched.
She’d walked out of a surveilled mansion in the middle of the night, evaded multiple security points, made it to a train station, and boarded a train with falsified documents. That wasn’t sloppy.
Obviously she had help. She wouldn’t have been able to pull this off alone.
07:34– Blaise and Laurent Fernández spotted leaving the Fernández mansion with some of their father’s men.
Good. Let them handle their problem.
My phone buzzed again… and again.
Adrien: Why are you being a menace this early?
I glanced at it, then back at the brief.
The grainy CCTV still attached to the message caught my eyes.
Léonie in a long brown coat, hair pulled back as usual, her hand pulling on the weekender on her shoulder. Yves half a step behind her, checking over his shoulder like a man who watched too many films and thought paranoia counted as intelligence.
She didn’t look enthusiastic like someone in love eloping with the man of her dreams. She just looked…determined.
The phone lit up again.
Zane: I haven’t slept a wink. Last night still has me on a rollercoaster high.
I waited for the next Stratum update. When nothing came, I looked through my emails to find the documents my assistants had forwarded that morning.
I used the time to approve logistics funding, and review project figures.
After another hour, I checked for new updates. The last update still reading at 7:34.
My jaw ticked twice.
I looked at my watch, almost 10AM. Took in a deep breath and continued working, reviewing the briefing notes from last week’s executive strategy meeting.
The minutes were sloppy. Poorly summarized, repetitive, lacking clarity where it mattered.
Sloppy. That word again.
I hated sloppy work.
My jaw clenched as I flagged the employee responsible for immediate review before opening the next file. They would be replaced by the end of the week.
Before I could get through the document, the next Stratum update finally came through.
10:05– Train approaching Marseille.
I continued working between updates.
10:30– Satellite ping suggests transfer to ferry bound for ?le de Sormiou.
10:45– Weather is clear. Visibility is high. No active tail from the Fernández team.
The attached photo showed the dock: a small coastal port under a gray sky, the water clear and calm beneath it.
I could see what she was wearing a little clearer now. A pair of blue jeans and a beige blouse. She’d put on a face cap somewhere between the train station and the sea, to shield her face, possibly to stay anonymous. Yves was saying something to her, but she seemed focused on something distant.
I wondered what.
My phone buzzed so hard it jittered against the table. I thumbed it open without thinking.
Marcus: You're welcome.??
Zane: The yacht was a genius idea, Marc. That ocean sway? Chef’s kiss for rhythm. I’ve got highlight reels playing in my head.
Marcus: Your “rhythm” nearly capsized us.
A low snort escaped me despite myself.
They didn’t know how close they’d been to having that boat tipped on purpose.
Another buzz.
Zane: A little turbulence never hurt anybody. ??
Zane: Speaking of turbulence, what was with you last night, Kade? You were going at it like you wanted to destroy something, or someone.
If only he knew.
Marcus: I bet he felt that in his quads all night.
A new notification came through. Documentation drafted by my lawyers for the meeting with the Fernándezes today.
I smiled.
All morning, I’d replayed scenes of all the twisted ways they could spin this into the perfect lie.
Patience had always been my strongest suit. I was in no hurry at all.
There was no point in looking through the document now. I already knew what I wanted from this.
My eyes drifted back to the still images of her. The woman I’d watched for weeks and had labeled boring.
Léonie Fernández, I underestimated you. But you've underestimated me.
“You didn’t touch your breakfast Monsieur.”
Mrs Lewis, the head housekeeper, broke through my thoughts, and I smiled. I hadn't heard her walk in.
“I’m not hungry,” I replied. “But I could do well with a cup of coffee.”
She returned my smile and nodded.
“It’s the third time this week you’ve skipped breakfast. You shouldn’t make it a habit,” she said to me. More like an admonition.
Mrs Lewis practically brought Severin and me up in this house. She always punished us when we failed to finish our food. As a staunch catholic, she’d always preach about how waste was a sin.
“You’ll go to hell if you waste your salad.” She’d say.
I already lived in hell—had been since I was old enough to understand what this house required of me—so it didn't make much of a difference.
Severin would say it was her way of making sure we ate everything she made. I believed him. Still do.
“Will you be having lunch in this room?” she asked next, and I nodded.
My eyes went back to the screen once she left the room.
11:30– Subject L.F. and Yves checked into small rental property near Sormiou beach. One bedroom. Cash payment.
One bedroom.
I stared at those two words until they blurred.
It didn’t mean anything. Small coastal rentals rarely had options. Yves would sleep on the couch. Or on the floor if he had any sense of self-preservation.
I scoffed, catching myself.
None of this should concern me.
11:35– Interior access limited. Visual through windows when curtains open. Audio unavailable. Drones maintaining safe distance.
I drew a slow breath.
A series of stills followed.
Her stepping out on a narrow balcony, no face cap and her hair was loose now. Sunlight on her face.
I swiped to find another one from the same balcony. She was sitting at a small outdoor table now, with her elbows on the surface, while she stared at the sea like she was trying to memorize its colours.
In the midday sun she looked fragile, less composed than usual, with her top slipping low enough to reveal her bare shoulder.
I looked at it longer than I should have. At how relaxed she looked, like she could finally breathe. I exhaled slowly as my eyes stayed on the screen, tracking the way she closed her eyes and took in the air around her.
It wasn’t useful or relevant information. I just couldn’t stop looking.
My phone buzzed again. The boys were still at it.
Zane: And Julian stealing two girls immediately like it was a competitive sport. He must still be recovering. He hasn’t said a word.
Elias: You’ve been at this since 7AM. Did any of you degenerates sleep?
Zane: Nope. Still high on serotonin and saltwater.
Marcus: Zane’s the only one treating this like a wellness retreat. The rest of you are boring as fuck!
Marcus: Anyway. I’ve already locked down the next location.
Zane: We need to inspect it to make sure it passes the vibe check. It has to top this.
Marcus: ?? That’s exactly why you’re not allowed to pick locations.
I read it, but my mind was elsewhere. Before I could click on the next report, one of my assistants emailed me, saying Demola Fernández called the office. He would like to have a word.
An hour before our set meeting. What could he possibly say to salvage the situation?
My phone buzzed.
Adrien: Elias, check on Julian and Orion. We may need to declare them dead.
Elias: Julian is alive. Unfortunately.
Julian: …
Zane: LMAO. He’s regenerating. Those girls didn’t do enough damage, I see.
My thumb hovered over the keyboard and then dropped. They didn’t need me for banter, and I wasn’t in the mood to pretend at normalcy.
Instead, I asked my assistant to put Fernández through.
The phone on my desk lit up with Demola Fernández's cell number.
I let it ring twice before answering.
“Orion Kade.”
“Orion.” Demola Fernández’s voice had the brittle calm of a man pretending he hadn’t lost control of his own house. “Thank you for taking my call. I won’t keep you.”
He was lying already.
I leaned back in my chair, my eyes still on the paused image of his daughter on the screen. The wind had her hair across her face. She was laughing at something Yves said, but it didn’t fully reach her eyes—like she was holding back.
“How can I help you, Mr. Fernández?” I asked. “Our meeting is in the next hour. Is there something you need?”
The briefest hesitation.
“There has been…a development,” he said. “Léonie is…unwell, and tired. The pressure of the past few weeks have been overwhelming for her. We were hoping to postpone this afternoon’s meeting. Just by a few days.”
Unwell.