Detectives Ramirez and Callahan stood side by side in the precinct hallway, their expressions grim. Ramirez clicked off his phone, slipping it into his pocket with a frustrated sigh. Callahan looked at him, eyebrows furrowed.
“So?” Callahan asked, the impatience crackling in his voice.
Ramirez shook his head. “Commissioner says we’re to back off. Orders straight from the top. No questions, no pushback.”
Callahan’s jaw clenched, a muscle ticking as he processed the news. “This doesn’t sit right, you know? We’re supposed to be investigating a man who took out an armed group by himself, and now we’re being told to step away. Feels like there’s a storm coming, and we’re being told to close our eyes.”
Ramirez glanced at the closed door to the interrogation room where Marcus lay recovering. The memory of the man’s cold, detached silence still made the hair on the back of his neck prickle. “Yeah,” he muttered. “And we’re blind in the middle of it.”
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Commissioner Graves sat heavily in his chair, the creak of the old leather barely registering over the sound of his own heartbeat thudding in his ears. He put the phone down, pinching the bridge of his nose as he stared at the report on his desk. The conversation he’d just had with the governor echoed in his head.
Reluctantly, he glanced at his reflection in the window, seeing the lines of a man worn by too many compromises. He hated being pushed like this, orders handed down with no explanations.
“It’s done,” he muttered, as if the empty room needed the confirmation. The thought gnawed at him—whatever game was being played here was beyond his understanding, and it was the unknown that unsettled him most.
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Governor Ellis stood at the far end of his office, fingers tapping nervously against the polished wood of the table. He looked at the man across the room, a shadowed figure with an aura of quiet menace that made Ellis feel like prey. The man’s eyes were unreadable, glinting with the barest trace of something darker.
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“It’s done,” Ellis said, his voice taut. “I told Graves to pull his people back. Now, can you tell me what’s going on here? Who is Marcus Thompson, and why are we protecting him?”
The shadowed man shifted slightly, leaning forward just enough that the faint light caught the hard edge of his face. “The less you know, Governor, the better you sleep at night.”
Ellis’s mouth tightened into a line, but he didn’t press further. He wasn’t sure he wanted to hear the answer.
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The man who had pretended to be Marcus’s lawyer stepped into the dimly lit office, his eyes cold, assessing. The room was spartan, lit only by a single lamp that threw sharp, unforgiving shadows across the bare walls. Kessler sat behind a metal desk, eyes sharp as flint, hands steepled in front of him. His presence was imposing, every movement deliberate and stripped of excess, like a blade honed to its purest, lethal form.
“It’s done,” the messenger said, his voice low and even. He moved with lethal grace, each step a testament to years spent in the dark places where only killers thrived. “I delivered the message. Marcus knows we’re watching. He understands he’s not alone.”
Kessler’s expression remained carved in stone, but there was a slight shift in his eyes—acknowledgment. His mouth curved into a thin, dangerous smile. “Those men have no idea what they’ve done. They’re probably sitting in their safe houses, feeling victorious, thinking they killed some Americans.” He paused, eyes narrowing. “Not knowing that among them was the family of the most lethal animal to ever walk this earth. Even I would be wary of what’s coming next.”
A third figure stood in the shadows, his tailored suit immaculate and out of place. A liaison from the president’s office, he shifted uncomfortably, clearing his throat. “Should we try to contain him? To prevent collateral damage?”
Kessler’s gaze flicked to the civilian, his voice cutting through the room like ice. “Contain him?” He let out a humorless chuckle, sharp and brief. “There’s a reason this country hasn’t faced a major attack since 9/11. We are that reason. We’re the reminder that if you kill too many Americans, we come, and we don’t stop until we’ve reduced everything you’ve ever loved to ash.”
He leaned forward, eyes locking with the liaison’s. “I don’t yet know who financed this or who they are, but Marcus will be coming for them. It doesn’t matter who they are or how powerful they think their protection is. When Marcus comes after you, it doesn’t matter if you’re shielded by an organization, a nation, or even a god—he will burn everything down. And even I wouldn’t dare stand in his path.”
The room fell silent, the civilian’s face pale as he absorbed Kessler’s words. The messenger stood unmoving, eyes flickering with the cold thrill of what was to come. In the office, where decisions were etched in ice and steel, a storm was gathering, and those who had sparked it would soon face the fire.