Chapter 2 - The Digital TrailRoman took the device from my hand with a touch that was almost clinical. His thumb brushed the screen, his eyes scanning my rapid-fire notes with terrifying speed.
"Partial plate: NY-744-X," he read aloud, his voice devoid of inflection. "Time stamp: 14:18. Description: Rolex with a cracked crystal, scar through the left eyebrow, light Brighton Beach accent. You missed one thing."
My breath hitched. "What?"
"He wasn't alone," Roman said, tapping the screen twice. "Miller is a desk hound. He doesn't drive his own sedans, and he doesn't walk into clinics alone to deliver messages. There was a spotter in the alley. A kid with a limp and a burner phone."
"How do you—"
"Because men like Miller are creatures of habit. They travel in pairs." Roman pocketed my phone. My heart did a violent double-take.
"Hey! That's mine—"
"You'll get it back when I've scrubbed the metadata so Miller's tech guys can't ping your location," he interrupted, turning toward the door. "Grab your coat. We're leaving."
"Leaving? Where? The clinic doesn't open for—"
"The clinic is closed permanently, effective as of thirty seconds ago." Roman whistled softly through his teeth. Luna stood up instantly, shaking off the residual tension, her black coat rippling like silk under the clinic lights. "Miller knows you're tied to the dog now. That means you're tied to me. In his world, that makes you a liability. And liabilities get erased."
The cold reality of his words hit me like a bucket of ice water. The clinic wasn't just my workplace; it was my sanctuary. It was where I hid from the noise of the city, from the debt collectors, from the ghost of my father's failures. Now, because a black German Shepherd had chosen to trust me, my entire life had been detonated.
"I have rent," I whispered, following him toward the back exit. "I have bills. I can't just—"
"You can't do anything if you're breathing through a tube in an unmarked grave," Roman said, shoving the heavy steel back door open.
The rain hit us instantly, a grey, hammering mist that smelled of asphalt and exhaust. A matte-black SUV—indistinguishable from a dozen others in the city except for the heavy reinforcement along the door panels and the tinted glass—was idling against the curb. The rear door clicked open automatically from the inside.
"Get in, Odessa."
"I'm not going anywhere with you until you explain what's happening!" I planted my feet on the wet concrete, folding my arms across my jacket. "You drop off a traumatized dog, you pay through an anonymous wire transfer, you never speak a word, and now you show up acting like my personal warden? Who are you, Roman? What is Pier 9?"
Roman stopped. He turned back slowly, towering over me in the narrow alleyway. The rain plastered his dark hair to his forehead, but his face remained a mask of severe, unyielding iron. He stepped into my space—close enough that I could feel the heat radiating off him, close enough to see the tiny, faint constellation of white scars along his jawline.
"Pier 9," Roman said, his voice dropping to a harsh whisper that cut through the sound of the rain, "is where my brother died three weeks ago. Miller thinks my brother left something behind. Something digital. Something worth millions in shipping manifests, offshore accounts, and blood money."
May you like
He gestured down at Luna, who stood faithfully at his heel, her eyes fixed on the shadows at the end of the alley.
"And Luna was the only witness who walked out alive."
