Chapter Nineteen Amethyst
The following evening I’m sitting on the edge of the bed.
Staring at the wall. Running scenarios. Enzo doesn’t leave the facility alone.
Doesn’t have routines. Doesn’t isolate himself.
He’s surrounded by security. Always. The only time he’s vulnerable is in his office.
But even then. Guards outside. Cameras. No blind spots.
I need to get him alone. Somewhere without witnesses. Without cameras. But how? I count.
One.
Two.
Three.
Thirty minutes until check-in. Thirty minutes until contact. Thirty minutes until I confirm I’m still here. Still safe. Still— A knock at the door. Sharp. Authoritative.
I stand. Walk to the door. Open it. Two guards. Both armed.
“Enzo wants to see you."
My pulse doesn’t change. My expression doesn’t shift.
“Now?"
“Now."
I glance at the clock, its seven thirty-two. Twenty-eight minutes until check-in.
“Let me grab my jacket."
“No need. Let’s go."
The tone is wrong. Not a request. An order.
I step into the hallway. The door closes behind me.
One guard in front. One behind. We walk.
Not toward Enzo’s office. Different direction.
Toward the back of the facility. The isolated wing.
Storage. Maintenance. Rooms that aren’t used.
My pulse increases a fraction. Enough to notice.
Not enough to matter. This isn’t a meeting. This is something else.
We stop at a door. Plain. Unmarked. The guard in front unlocks it. Pushes it open.
“Inside."
I step through. The room is small. Concrete walls.
One chair. No windows. One door. The door I just came through.
The guards don’t follow. The door closes.
I hear the lock click. I’m alone. Fuck. I’m not armed.
I circle the room once. Assess. Search for weaknesses.
No cameras. At least none visible. No vents large enough to crawl through.
One door. Locked from the outside. I’m trapped.
I sit in the chair facing the door. And I wait.
I glance at my watch. Seven forty-seven.
Thirteen minutes until check-in. Thirteen minutes until Kade expects to hear my voice.
The lock clicks. The door opens. Enzo steps inside.
Alone. He closes the door behind him. Doesn’t lock it.
Doesn’t need to. The guards are outside. Stands in front from me.
“Amethyst." His voice is calm. Cold. Certain.
“Enzo."
“A little birdie told me something interesting today."
I say nothing.
“About you. About who you’re really working for."
My expression doesn’t change. But inside. The calculation shifts. Fast.
“I don’t know what you mean."
“Don’t you?" He leans forward. Hands on the table. “The Raven. You work for the Raven."
Silence. Heavy. Suffocating. How? How does he know?
“Giltrude kept you a secret," he continues. “We always wondered why. Why she never brought you into the fold completely. Why she kept you separate." He straightens. Walks around the table. Slow. Deliberate.
“Turns out it wasn’t to protect you. It was because Giltrude erased you. Scrubbed you from every record. Every file. Every database."
He stops behind me. I don’t turn.
“She erased you so she could use you. For her own personal gain. Her own private weapon."
The calculation accelerates. Someone talked. Someone inside the Raven’s operation. Someone with access. Someone close enough to know my name. I start eliminating possibilities. I don’t know anyone who was working with this organization. Not anyone still alive.
“You killed Rafe. Lucia. Mateo." Not a question. A statement.
I don’t answer. Denials are for people trying to convince someone. Enzo already believes he knows the truth.
He walks back around. Faces me.
“I have a source. Someone inside the Raven’s operation. Someone who’s been very helpful."
A source. Inside. Impossible. The Raven is careful. Meticulous. She wouldn’t— But someone did. Someone talked. Someone gave them my name. My connection. Everything. Enzo moves to the door. Opens it.
“Bring them in."
Two guards enter. The same ones from before.
They move toward me. Fast. I stand. Assess.
Two guards. Both armed. Enzo behind them.
No weapons on me. No advantage. I could fight.
Take one down. Maybe both. But Enzo would call for backup.
And I’d be dead before I reached the door.
So I don’t fight. I let them grab my arms. Pull them behind my back.
Force me back into the chair. One guard holds me.
The other produces rope. Thick. Industrial.
He wraps it around my wrists. Tight. Pulls.
Secures it to the chair. Then my ankles.
Same process. Tight. Immobilizing. When they’re done.
I can’t move. Can’t stand. Can’t reach anything. The guards step back. Enzo nods.
“Leave us."
They exit. The door closes. Enzo sits in the chair across from me. Relaxed. Confident. “Now," he says. “Let’s talk about the Raven’s operation."
I say nothing.
“Where is she based?"
Silence.
“How many operatives does she have?"
Silence.
“What are her current contracts?"
Silence.
He leans back. Studies me.
“You’re not going to make this easy."
I meet his eyes. Hold his gaze. Say nothing. He stands. Walks to the door. Pauses.
“I’ll give you some time to think. When I come back, you’ll talk. One way or another."
He opens the door. Steps through. The lock clicks.
I’m alone. Tied to the chair. In a locked room.
No way out. It’s got to be after eight now.
By now Kade is waiting for check-in. Watching the clock.
Tracking the deadline. And I can’t make it.
Can’t reach the device. Can’t tell him I’m alive. I close my eyes and count.
One.
Two.
Three.
The five-hour rule. If I’m silent for five hours after eight. He’ll be coming. And he’s burning it all down. I have until one in the morning. I have five hours to get out. Five hours to make contact. Five hours to stop Kade from coming here.
I test the ropes. Pull. Twist. They don’t give. Professional knots. Tight. Secure. I’m not getting out of these. Not without help. Not without tools.
I open my eyes. Stare at the door. And I wait. Because there’s nothing else I can do. Enzo will come back. He’ll ask questions. I won’t answer.
And eventually.
One way or another.
This ends.
Either I get out.
Or Kade comes.
And if Kade comes.
Everyone dies.
Chapter Twenty: Kade
The communicator sits on the table and it’s eight. But the communicator is silent. I’m in the chair. Staring at it. Waiting. Any second now. Her voice. Brief. Professional. Telling me she’s safe. Still there. Still alive. I count.
One.
Two.
Three.
My breathing is controlled. Deliberate. My hands aren’t.
They’re gripping the edge of the table. Too tight.
Knuckles white. The communicator doesn’t move.
Doesn’t light up. Doesn’t make a sound. I check the time.
Fifteen seconds late. That’s fine. She’s been late before.
A minute. Maybe two. Operational delays. Timing. She’ll call.
Thirty seconds after eight and still nothing. My jaw clenches. Teeth grinding. I force myself to breathe.
In.
Out.
She’s fine. She’s just delayed. Something came up. Someone walked by. She couldn’t get to the communicator in time. She’ll call. Any second.
One minute. The silence is too loud. Too heavy. My pulse is climbing. Slow. Steady. But climbing. The predator stirs. Lifts its head. Something’s wrong. I push it down. Not yet. Not yet. She’s fine. She has to be fine.
Two minutes. I’m still sitting. Still staring. But my leg is bouncing. Fast. Uncontrolled. My hands are shaking. I press them flat against the table. Try to stop it. Can’t. The communicator sits there. Silent. Mocking.
Call.
Fucking call.
Five minutes. I stand. Can’t sit anymore.
Can’t stay still. I pace. Three steps to the window.
Turn. Three steps back. My breathing is shallow.
Fast. The predator is pacing with me. Restless.
Hungry. Something’s wrong. Something’s wrong.
Something’s— I stop. Force myself to breathe.
She’s fine. Operational delay. She’ll call. She will.
Ten minutes. I’m at the window. Staring out at nothing. My hands are fists. Nails digging into palms. The pain doesn’t register. Doesn’t matter. Only the silence matters. Only the absence of her voice. The predator is awake now. Watching. Listening. Waiting for her voice.
Fifteen minutes. I’m pacing again. Faster now.
Can’t stop. Can’t slow down. My chest is tight.
Breathing is hard. Shallow. Not enough air.
The communicator is in my hand now. Don’t remember picking it up.
But I’m holding it. Staring at it. Willing it to light up.
To make a sound. To give me her voice. Nothing.
Twenty minutes. My hands are shaking so hard I almost drop the communicator. I set it on the table. Step back. Stare at it. The predator is snarling now. Clawing. Demanding. Go.
Find her. Tear the place apart. Kill anyone standing between me and her. Bring her home.
I pause and take deep breaths in and out and count to three.
The five-hour rule. I gave her five hours. I have to wait. Have to give her time. She could still call.
Could still—
But twenty minutes. Twenty minutes of silence. That’s not operational delay. That’s something else.
Thirty minutes. I’m at the door. Hand on the handle. Ready to leave. Ready to go. But I stop. Force myself to stop. The rule is five hours. I promised five hours. I have to wait. Have to— My other hand slams into the door frame. Hard. Pain shoots up my arm. I don’t care. Do it again.
And again.
Until my knuckles split. Until blood smears the wood. It doesn’t help. Doesn’t quiet the predator. Doesn’t bring her voice. I turn. Walk back to the table. Sit. Stare at the communicator. And I wait.