Upon nearing a narrow unpaved road to its right, Horner slowed the car. However, the road was barely visible, overgrown with weeds and foliage. It was evident that few people ventured this way.

"This is it." Horner said. "We're almost there."

Sarah's heart pounded as they rounded a bend and the house which Jessie had talked about came into view. It was a small, weathered cabin, tucked away in the woods and almost invisible in the dark. The windows were shuttered, and there was no sign of life. It looked abandoned, but Sarah knew this was where they would make their stand.

Horner parked the car, and they both sat in silence for a moment, taking in the isolation that surrounded them. The hush was sinister, rarely broken only by the rustling of leaves in the wind.

"Let's go." Sarah said. She pushed open the car door and stepped on to the dry twigs that crunched under her boots.

Horner followed closely behind. The door of the cabin screeched as Sarah forced it open, revealing a dull and mouldy interior. She turned on the flashlight she had grabbed from the car, the beam cutting through the darkness.

The inside of the cabin was as sparse as its exterior. A small table, a couple of chairs, and an old wood-burning stove were the only pieces of furniture. The walls were lined with shelves stacked with old books and an assortment of rustic tools.

“We'll be safe here.…at least for a while."

Sarah’s gaze wandered around the cabin. The hollow feeling in her gut deepened as she took in their meagre surroundings. Horner was pacing now; his fingers quivered as they darted through his hair.

The weight of what they were up against settled in the space between them like a thick fog. They could feel it, that creeping unease, the invisible eyes already upon them.

Horner collapsed into one of the rickety chairs. "I don't know, Sarah. I don't know how we got in so deep. One moment, it was just a lead, and now..." His voice trailed off, leaving the implication hanging.

Sarah crossed over to the small window, lifting one of the dusty blinds. The darkness outside was all-encompassing, the kind that seemed to swallow sound, movement, everything.

"We didn’t come this far to quit now."

Her father’s face flashed in her mind—his tired eyes, the lines of stress etched deeply from chasing leads like this, until it cost him his life.

"We’re not the only ones who know the truth. There are others. We just need to get to them before they get to us."

As Horner was about to respond, a low rumble vibrated through the floor—a vehicle approaching, its engine barely audible over the wind, but unmistakably there. Sarah's pulse quickened as she turned towards him, who was already on his feet.

"Get down." she whispered, moving to the door and extinguishing the flashlight. The dimness enveloped them as they crouched beside the doorframe, their ears straining to pick up any sound that followed.

For a moment, nothing was heard. Then, the slow crunch of tires on gravel pierced through the quietude.

"They found us." Horner muttered under his breath, terror flashing in his eyes.

"Maybe. Or it could be Jessie." Sarah replied, though she didn’t believe it for a second. Jessie was careful—too careful to make a show of her arrival. Whoever was outside wasn’t here for a friendly visit.

She reached for the old hunting rifle that hung near the door, whose wooden stock had worn out from years of use. She hefted it, checking the chamber. Three rounds. Not much, but better than nothing.

The vehicle's engine cut off abruptly. The sound of its door opening was heard, which then closed with a deliberate click.

"They're coming."

Sarah’s grip tightened on the rifle as she moved towards the nearest window. The footsteps outside were methodically slow, as if whoever was out there knew they had all the time in the world.

A figure emerged from the shadows, approaching the cabin with a calm, almost menacing stride. Sarah's stomach knotted as she realized the person wasn't alone—two more were closing in on the cabin from different angles.

"Stay low."

Sarah’s eyes flicked towards Horner who had pressed himself flat against the floor.

Soon enough, there was a knock at the door followed by a voice that dripped with cold amusement.

"Sarah Lawson. James Horner. We know you're in there. Let’s not make this difficult."

She stood by the wall, the wooden grain cold and rough against her back. For a moment, she thought they could try to break through the back window, but the odds of escaping unseen were slim. No, they had to face what was coming—there was no choice.

The knock came again, this time louder, more impatient.

"Come on, Sarah." The tone felt evermore ominous. "You don’t want this to go bad, do you?"

She could hear Horner breathing heavily beside her. His nerves were shot, his eyes darting frantically around the room like a trapped animal. She didn’t have the time to reassure him.

“I don't care. We’re not going out that door.”

But for how long could they stay in there? The men outside weren’t amateurs—they wouldn’t knock unless they had some kind of backup. They were here either to kill or to scare them into submission.

Another shadow moved past the window, closer now. Sarah’s breath caught in her throat as she crouched lower.

“You have about ten seconds before we let ourselves in.”

Horner was barely audible. “What do we do?”

Sarah didn’t answer, focusing instead outside. Through the narrow sliver of the window, she saw a man shift, his hand resting on something at his side—likely a weapon.

“We hold them off. And if they get in, we take our shot.”

Another pause. Then, a different voice from outside—this one more authoritative. "Hold up." It was faint but clear enough for Sarah to recognize the tone of someone in command.

A prolonged hush followed, stretching thin across the cabin. Sarah exchanged a glance with Horner. Maybe it was a standoff, or maybe they were regrouping to break down the door. Her thoughts raced when the voice came again, a sharp whisper.

"Hold your fire. Let me go in first."

The front door rattled as a bump key scraped in the lock. It creaked open, inch by inch, casting a long shadow across the dimly lit cabin floor.

A man stepped inside, his silhouette tall and composed.

“Easy now.” he said, raising his hands slightly as if to calm the situation. “We don’t want any trouble.”

“Who are you?”

“Just someone sent to have a li'l chat. By the way, you’ve been poking your nose where it doesn’t belong.”

“If you’re here to kill us, you’d have done it already.”

“You’re smart. That’s why they’re giving you a choice—Walk away. Forget everything you’ve seen, everything you’ve heard. Go write stories about cats stuck in trees.”

“And what if we don’t?”

“Then we bury you. Just like your father. You want that?”

Sarah’s father’s death had haunted her for years, always suspecting it was more than a suicide. And now, here stood the confirmation she had dreaded.

“You have no idea how deep this goes. Back down. This is your last chance.”

Her eyes locked with the man’s cold gaze. If they turned back now, the truth would never come to light. But if they fought, there was no guarantee they’d survive.

“No, I won’t walk away.”

The man took a step back, gesturing to those outside to do the needful.

The two men burst into the cabin. In the split second before chaos erupted, Sarah fired her shot. Its deafening sound echoed in the small space as one of the men fell, clutching his shoulder. Horner scrambled to his feet, grabbing a chair and hurling it at the second attacker, who stumbled backward just enough for Sarah to line up another shot.

As she fired again, the rifle bucked against her shoulder. The second man staggered, a spray of blood misting the air as the bullet found its mark in his chest. He fell to the ground, gasping for air.

Horner crawled over to Sarah’s side.

"What now?”

"We need to reach out to Jessie.” She muttered, scanning the room for any sign of the third man—the one in charge. But he was gone. The door stood ajar, swaying slightly on its hinges, and the sound of retreating footsteps echoed faintly in the distance.

"He's getting away!"

Sarah bolted for the door, but Horner grabbed her arm, pulling her back.

"Are you crazy? He’ll lead us straight into an ambush!"

"We have to go after him. If he escapes, they’ll send more!”

“We’re outnumbered and outgunned. We’ll be dead before we know it if we go now."

He was right. They needed to think strategically. Rushing into an open confrontation now would mean suicide.

Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

“Okay, but we can’t stay here. These men—” she gestured to the bodies— “they were just the first wave.”

“Jessie’s place is blown. And we can’t trust anyone in law enforcement, not after that guy confirmed they got your father.”

“But we can’t let fear dictate our actions. What they did to him....it can’t happen to us.”

Horner rubbed his temples, his brow furrowed in a blend of frustration and uncertainty.

“I get that, but charging headfirst into a trap is a good way to end up like him.”

“We have to go back to the beginning. We find out everything we can about Mason – his connections, his past. We need to understand the network he was a part of.”

“Where do we even start?” Horner’s voice was tinged with scepticism.

“Jessie mentioned Mason’s dodgy history. We need to dig into his life before he defected, see if there’s a trail leading back to the agency. He may have been involved in something bigger than we think. And let’s not forget that he was in Mexico City shortly before the assassination. It’s a key detail that connects him to a web of intrigue which is likely still alive.”

”But the deeper we go, the dirtier it gets. Every time we think we’ve found something solid, it slips through our fingers. I mean, damn it, Sarah, the people we thought we could trust—look where that got us!”

She couldn’t blame him. The conspiracy they were unravelling was like a hydra—every time they cut off one head, two more grew in its place. But she couldn’t afford his panic. Not now.

“There are cracks always. People who know something, who are too small for the big players to notice. We don’t need to take down the whole system at once, Horner. We just need one piece to break loose.”

Horner ran a hand through his disheveled hair.

“And what if that piece never comes out?”

“Then we dig it out ourselves.”

She pulled out her notepad. “We know Mason isn’t the mastermind. We know the CIA’s been involved at some level, and we know that the President had made enemies on multiple fronts—those that would benefit from his death.”

“And?”

“And we need to narrow down to who would benefit the most from his assassination. The CIA is involved, for sure, but what if they’re not pulling the strings? What if they’re covering for someone else?”

“You think it’s bigger than the CIA?”

“I know it is. Governments don’t move this fast unless they’re scared. If Mason was part of something bigger, something that could destabilize more than just the U.S., then it’s not just the CIA involved. Someone, somewhere, pulled the trigger on this.”

“So, what do we do?”

“We start with Mason. He’s in custody, but he’s the closest thing we have to the truth. We need to get to him. If we can get him to talk, maybe we’ll find out who’s really behind this.”

“And how do you plan to do that? Mason’s locked up and the Feds aren’t going to allow us to go anywhere near him.”

“We don’t go through the Feds.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means we get creative. I have a contact who might be able to help; someone who’s not afraid to bend a few rules if it means getting the truth out there.”

“Who?”

“Grace. She used to work in counterintelligence before she got blacklisted. Now, she runs her own gig—off the radar, under the table. She can get us to see Mason. If he knows anything, we’ll get it out of him. And if we’re lucky, we’ll uncover the actual plan before the real players succeed in killing us.”

“What if we’re too late?”

“We can’t afford to be. We've to get moving now.”

Horner kept glancing over his shoulder, nerves still frayed, while Sarah’s eyes were locked on the road ahead, her mind already strategizing their next move.

“We should take the back road. Last thing we need is to run into any more surprises.”

Sarah didn’t argue. Every instinct of hers told her they were being watched, that their every move was being tracked. It wouldn’t be long before the men from the cabin reported back.

As they sped down the winding country road, Sarah’s phone buzzed in her pocket. She pulled it out to see a message from Grace:

We need to talk. Now.

“She knows we’re coming.”

Horner sat silently beside her, still rattled from their near-death encounter. His leg bounced nervously as his eyes scanned the rearview mirror, checking for any sign of pursuit.

“You trust her?”

"She’s the best chance we’ve got.”

"But what if it's a trap?"

"We don’t have time to second-guess. If Grace wanted us dead, she’d have done it already.”

“I just.…I don’t want to die for this.”

As they approached the agreed meeting point—a dilapidated warehouse at the edge of the French Quarter in New Orleans—Sarah felt a knot tighten in her stomach. The air was thick with the scent of rain and gasoline, adding a layer of tension to the already perilous situation.

They parked the Mustang a block away, careful to avoid drawing any attention. The warehouse loomed before them, its rusted metal frame casting eldritch shadows on the flickering streetlights.

"Stay sharp." She mumbled to Horner, who gave a shaky nod, his hand hovering near his pocket where he kept a small pistol.

They saw a tall woman with short, cropped hair and a steely gaze that betrayed little emotion upon approaching the entrance. It was Grace, of course. She moved with the ease of someone who had spent years navigating the underbelly of the society, her posture relaxed yet poised for action.

“You're late.”

"Where’s Mason?"

“Being transferred. He’ll disappear soon. Permanently."

"Where is he now?"

"There's a convoy leaving the federal building in less than an hour. They’re taking him to an abandoned site—off the grid, no records, no access. Once he's there, he's gone for good."

"How do we stop it?"

"We intercept the convoy. But it’s not just a matter of stopping the truck. There will be agents, heavily armed, and they won't hesitate to kill if they think Mason's life is in danger. We need a diversion; something to throw them off for long enough for us to get Mason out."

Grace narrowed her eyes. “Ryker—a man with questionable morals but an uncommon ability to create noise when it’s needed. He owes me a favour anyway. He can create a scene big enough to delay the convoy.”

"How do we reach him?"

“Leave that to me.”

Grace was already dialing a number on her burner phone. As the call connected, she spoke in a clipped, precise tone.

"Ryker, it’s me. I need you to create some havoc. Think explosive. Federal building. You have to come in five minutes. Can you do it?"

The response on the other end was inaudible, but Sarah could tell from Grace’s expression that this Ryker guy would come to good use.

“He’ll hit the building in five."

"Is it going to be…?"

"Nothing lethal. Just enough to send the entire building into a frenzy. The security will be tied up for a few precious minutes. Long enough for us to slip in and grab Mason."

"And what if it goes wrong?"

“Then we don’t make it out alive.”

That was the gamble they were all playing—life or death hanging by the thinnest thread.

Sarah forced herself to focus. There was no time for hesitation, no room for fear. They were in too deep to turn back now.

They drove to the federal building in Grace’s van. The streets were unusually quiet. She parked two blocks away from the target, out of sight, and they all crouched low in the back.

"Two minutes until the diversion. We need to be in position."

They slipped out of the van, moving quickly, keeping to the shadows. Sarah felt jittery as they neared the alleyway behind the building, where Ryker’s work would begin shortly. She could already feel the tension in the air, the crackling sense of something about to snap.

Grace led them to a secret doorway, the kind rarely used and barely guarded.

"When the chaos starts, this door will be left unattended. We move fast, grab Mason, and get out before anyone stops us."

Sarah’s palms were slick with sweat. The reality of what they were doing—breaking into a federal building, stealing a man who was at the centre of the nation’s most guarded conspiracy—suddenly hit her with full force.

Then it happened.

A thunderous boom reverberated through the air, shaking the ground beneath them. The explosion wasn’t massive, but it was enough. The fire alarm blared, and the sound of panicked voices echoed from inside the building.

“Go!”

They slipped inside hastily. The hallways were empty, save for a few security personnel who were still rushing towards the source of the explosion. Grace led the way, her movements fluid and assured, as if she had memorized the layout of the building.

The prison transfer wing was ahead, guarded by a single agent who was too busy shouting orders into his radio to notice their approach. Grace moved like a predator, knocking the man unconscious with a swift blow to the head. He thudded to the ground, and they moved past him without a second glance.

"Where' s Mason?" Horner whispered as he scanned the rows of cells.

“There!" Sarah said as she spotted a figure slumped against the wall of a solitary cell.

It was Elliot Mason. He looked far worse than she had imagined—bruised, battered, and shackled. He barely lifted his head as they approached. The cold fluorescent lights cast deep shadows over his gaunt face, making him appear almost ghost-like.

“Who are you?"

“We’re here to get you out.”

“You’re making a mistake. They’re watching everything. You’ll never make it out alive."

"We’ll worry about that later. Right now, you’re coming with us."

As they unshackled Mason, the tension ratcheted up another notch—just as they were about to escape, the building’s emergency system cracked to life.

"All personnel, lockdown protocol initiated. Secure all exits immediately."

Horner’s eyes widened with horror. “They’re sealing us in!"

They had minutes—seconds, maybe—before every door in the building was locked down.

“Run!”

They sprinted down the corridor. The walls felt like they were closing in, every turn tighter, every hallway longer.

"You’re not going anywhere."

A man stepped in, dressed in the dark suit of a federal agent. His eyes were cold, his hand poised near his sidearm.

Sarah’s blood froze. This was perhaps their final obstacle, and one wrong move would mean the end.

The agent reached for his gun. Sarah’s breath caught in her throat. Her intuition screamed at her to move, but her body felt rooted to the spot.

A single shot echoed through the corridor.

Sarah blinked. She wasn’t hit. The agent staggered backwards, his hands reaching for his stomach as blood poured from the gaping wound. His face contorted in pain, his legs giving way as he crumpled to the floor, blood seeping through his shirt in thick rivulets.

Grace stood behind her, standing firm with her gun drawn.

"Move!"

Sarah's legs responded before her mind caught up. She darted forward, the agent’s pained groans fading behind. Horner was dragging Mason towards the stairwell alongside.

We can’t keep this up!"

“There’s no other way!”

The sound of footsteps was audible from every corner, growing louder, closer. Agents were closing in. They were trapped. Every turn was a dead end now; every breath was a countdown to disaster. There were too many unknowns, too many enemies.

"We need to split up.” Grace said in a hushed tone.

“What?!" Horner’s eyes seemed to bulge out. "No way. We’ll be picked off one by one!"

"They’re herding us towards the exits. We’ll be sitting ducks if we stay together. You take Mason. West stairwell. Sarah and I will head for the service corridor. Now go!”

Horner swallowed hard and nodded, pulling Mason with him. Within seconds, they were gone, disappearing down the dark stairwell.

“Come on." Grace said, moving towards the side corridor. "This way."

They ducked into a dimly lit storage room that was close by. Grace pressed a finger to her lips, motioning for Sarah to stay low. The two hunched behind a row of old filing cabinets, the silence almost asphyxiating.

"What now?"

"We wait. They’ll think we ran for the exits. When they go past us, we make our move.”

The room was too quiet, too still. It felt like the calm before the storm. Every second stretched into an eternity. The weight of what was coming pressed down on Sarah's chest like a stone.

Then, from the far corner of the room, a man, impeccably dressed in a brown suit, emerged. His face, sharp and composed, bore a look of quiet amusement.

"Sarah Lawson, I’ve been expecting you."

Her heart stopped. She knew that voice. Everyone in her line of work knew that voice. Vincent Hale—the man who made things disappear. A ghost, a fixer. He was the kind of man who erased problems with surgical precision. And now, she seemed to be his problem.

Grace’s hand inched towards her gun, but Hale raised a finger, waving it slowly.

"I wouldn’t." He said softly, almost playfully. "You see, Miss Foster, I’m not here to kill you. Not yet, anyway. And you, Sarah, causing quite a stir, huh? Pulling at threads you don’t understand. Do you know what happens when you tug too hard on those threads? The whole thing unravels, and trust me—when this does, you won’t like what’s left."

He continued, his voice smooth but laced with menace. "I know you’ve been hunting for the truth about your father. You think his death was the key to all of this, don’t you? That if you could just solve his case, everything would fall into place. But what if I told you that your father wasn’t the man you thought he was?"

"What do you mean?"

"Your father wasn’t just a journalist, Sarah. He was an asset. He wasn’t killed because he was close to the truth—he was killed because he was the truth."

The words hit Sarah like a punch to the gut. What was he saying? It didn’t make sense—her father had been relentless in his pursuit of justice. He had died because he stood against the evil, not because he was one of them.

“You…You’re lying,"

“Am I? Ask yourself—why do you think you were assigned to cover the President's assassination in the first place? You think it was coincidence? No. Someone wanted you here. Someone wanted you to follow in your father’s footsteps."

Sarah’s chest tightened. If what Hale was saying was true, then her entire career—her entire life—had been orchestrated, manipulated by unseen hands.

“Why are you telling me this?"

"Because, you’re at a crossroads. You can either walk away now and live a quiet life, or you can continue down this path, and I promise you, it will destroy you. Think about what I said. It’s your life on the line now.”

And with that, he was gone, leaving Sarah and Grace in the suffocating environment.

After a long, uncomfortable moment of pin-drop silence, Grace spoke up.

"We can’t trust anything he said. He’s playing mind games."

But Sarah wasn’t so sure. Hale’s words had cut deep, and doubt now swirled in her mind. What if her father had been involved in something darker? What if everything she thought she knew about his death was a lie?

"Sarah, we need to move. We still have a mission to fulfil and we can’t lose focus now."

She nodded. They had to keep moving—had to stay ahead of whatever storm was brewing. But Hale’s words had left a creeping uncertainty that kept gnawing at her. As they made their way out, Sarah couldn’t shake the feeling that she was standing on the edge of an abyss, about to fall into a pit from which there was no escape.