flash
The neon lights of Washington D.C. blurred past the window of the rideshare as the heavy silence of the night pressed against my chest. My phone vibrated relentlessly in my palm, a digital heartbeat of panic. Thane’s name flashed across the screen for the twelfth time. I silenced it, tossing the device onto the seat beside me, my mind racing through the fragments of the evening. / Chapter 16 / 17

Chapter 19 - Whispers in the Dark

Late one evening, long after the center's staff and visitors had gone home for the night, I walked down into the subterranean chambers where the estate’s security monitors and archive servers were housed. The room was cool, lit only by the steady, rhythmic blinking of server racks processing financial data for ongoing victim-support cases.

My phone buzzed on the steel console. An automated notification from the federal correctional facility informed me that inmate Thane Sterling had been transferred to the prison medical wing following a severe psychological breakdown. I looked at the notification for a long, silent moment, feeling neither pity nor anger, only the profound weight of finality. He had chosen his mother, his status, and his cowardice over truth and humanity, reaping the exact harvest he had sown. I swiped the notification away into the digital trash bin, never to look back.

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I stepped past the door frame, my leather shoes clicking softly against the linoleum floor.

I stepped past the door frame, my leather shoes clicking softly against...

The screech of the chopper’s rotor blades vibrated directly through the freezing slate beneath my spine. The blinding white vortex of snow kicked up by the downdraft burned my eyes, but I forced my lids open, locking my gaze onto the amber visor of the rescue specialist dropping out of the sky.

The screech of the chopper’s rotor blades vibrated directly through the...

Daniel stepped toward the bed, his polished leather shoes squeaking against the pristine hospital linoleum. He reached for the tray table, his fingers brushing the edge of the papers. His voice was low, coated in a practiced, corporate calm that made my stomach churn worse than the spiked blood pressure.

Daniel stepped toward the bed, his polished leather shoes squeaking agai...

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