The café was warm and inviting, a stark contrast to the cold, overcast day outside. Elias sat at a small table by the window, his hands wrapped around a mug of coffee that had gone lukewarm. He stared out at the street, watching pedestrians shuffle by with their umbrellas and heavy coats. His thoughts churned, the weight of the last seven weeks pressing down on him like an iron shroud.
"Hey, you," a familiar voice called, breaking him from his reverie.
He turned and saw her—Lila, her auburn hair tied into a messy bun, her coat dusted with droplets of rain. She smiled, but there was concern in her eyes as she slid into the seat across from him. "You look like you haven’t slept in days."
Elias forced a laugh, though it sounded hollow even to his ears. "Work’s been... a lot," he said, running a hand through his hair.
Lila cocked an eyebrow. "Work, huh? You’ve been pretty vague about that lately." She leaned forward, resting her chin on her hand. "What exactly are you doing, Elias? And why does it seem like it’s eating you alive?"
He hesitated, his gaze dropping to the table. He’d been avoiding this conversation for weeks, throwing out half-truths and evasive answers whenever Lila asked about his sudden influx of money. But now, with her sitting across from him, her eyes searching his face for answers, he felt the dam begin to crack.
"I got a job," he said finally, his voice low. "A freelance gig. It pays ridiculously well, but... it’s not exactly normal."
"Okay," Lila said slowly, her brow furrowing. "Not normal how? Like, illegal? Or just weird?"
Elias shook his head, a bitter smile tugging at his lips. "Not illegal. At least, I don’t think so. It’s just... the people I’m working for—they’re not like any company I’ve ever heard of. Everything about it feels... off."
"Off how?" she pressed, her tone gentle but insistent.
He hesitated again, glancing around the café as if the shadows might be listening. When he spoke, his voice was barely above a whisper. "It started with an email. They said they’d been watching my work, that I had potential. They invited me to this meeting in some fancy office building, and..." He trailed off, the memory of that night at Granholm Street flashing through his mind.
"And?" Lila prompted, her concern deepening.
"And they’ve sent me on these... tasks," he said, choosing his words carefully. "One of them had me deliver something—a device—to this creepy, abandoned warehouse. There were people there, Lila. People who shouldn’t have been there. And the way one of them..." He shook his head, his throat tightening. "I can’t explain it. It felt like I was in a nightmare, like the rules of reality didn’t apply."
Lila’s expression softened, and she reached across the table, placing her hand over his. "Elias, why didn’t you tell me about this sooner? You’re clearly terrified."
"Because I don’t know how to explain it," he admitted, his voice breaking. "I don’t even know if I’m allowed to. They keep talking about confidentiality, about trust. I’m scared, Lila. Scared of what they’ll do if I screw up, scared of what I’m getting myself into."
She squeezed his hand, her warmth grounding him. "You don’t have to do this, Elias. You can walk away. Whatever they’re paying you, it’s not worth your sanity—or your safety."
"I wish it were that simple," he muttered. "But it’s not just the money. It’s... the way they talk about me, about my work. Like I’m important. Like I matter. I’ve never felt that before, not like this."
Lila’s eyes softened, and she reached up to touch his face. "You’ve always mattered, Elias. You don’t need them to tell you that."
Her words struck a chord in him, and for a moment, he felt a flicker of something—hope, maybe. But it was fleeting, swallowed up by the shadows that had taken root in his mind.
Before he could respond, his phone buzzed on the table. The sound made him jump, and he snatched it up, his pulse quickening as he saw the notification. It was an email, the subject line stark and chilling:
"Confidentiality Is Absolute."
Elias’s breath caught in his throat. His hands trembled as he opened the message, the words blurring together for a moment before they snapped into focus:
----------------------------------------
From: AX43-Initiative | Observer
To: Elias Veran
Subject: Confidentiality Is Absolute
This is your first and final warning.
Your continued participation in the Axiom Initiative is contingent upon your ability to maintain discretion. Any breach of confidentiality, intentional or otherwise, will result in immediate consequences.
We trust this message will suffice.
----------------------------------------
The phone slipped from his hands, clattering onto the table. Lila picked it up, her brow furrowing as she read the message. "What the hell is this?"
Elias snatched the phone back, his heart pounding in his chest. "It’s them," he said hoarsely. "They know. They’re watching me."
Lila reached for his hand again, her grip firm. "Elias, this isn’t okay. You need to get out of this—now."
"I can’t," he whispered, his voice barely audible. "I don’t know how."
The café felt colder now, the warmth and light dimmed by the weight of the message. Elias stared at the phone, his mind racing. The warning was clear: one more slip-up, and whatever tenuous thread he was clinging to would snap.
"I’m sorry," he said, his voice breaking as he looked up at Lila. "I shouldn’t have told you. I just... I didn’t know what else to do."
Her eyes glistened with unshed tears, but she nodded, her voice steady. "We’ll figure this out. Together. You’re not doing this alone, Elias."
But as he looked back at the message on his phone, the words seared into his mind, he couldn’t shake the feeling that he already was.
Elias left the café with his thoughts spinning like a whirlpool. The conversation with Lila had helped, if only for a moment, but the email had shattered whatever fragile resolve he’d managed to piece together. The words "first and final warning" echoed in his mind, filling the quiet night with an oppressive weight.
The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.
He pulled his jacket tighter as he walked, the damp chill of the evening creeping into his bones. The streetlights flickered faintly, their orange glow casting distorted shadows on the wet pavement. As he neared the alley—the shortcut he always took—he hesitated. The memory of the unnerving quiet from his last trip through it lingered, but his apartment wasn’t far, and he was too tired to care.
With a deep breath, he stepped into the narrow passage, the sound of his footsteps swallowed by the muffled hum of the city around him. The alley was darker than before, the lone bulb above a backdoor flickering weakly. His skin prickled, and for a moment, he thought about turning back, but he shook the thought away.
You’re being paranoid, he told himself, quickening his pace. They’re not going to do anything. It was just a warning.
Halfway down the alley, he heard it—a faint shuffle of footsteps behind him. He froze, his breath catching in his throat. Slowly, he turned his head, his pulse quickening as he saw them.
Two figures stood at the mouth of the alley, their silhouettes tall and motionless in the dim light. They were dressed in tailored suits, their faces wrapped in gauze-like bandages. Where their eyes should have been, there was only a strange, almost symbolic "A," drawn with sharp, angular lines in black ink. The shape seemed to pulse faintly in the low light, though Elias told himself it had to be a trick of his imagination.
"Mr. Veran," one of them said, his voice smooth and calm. The kind of voice you might expect from a salesman, polite yet unnervingly detached. "A moment of your time."
Elias’s instincts screamed at him to run, but his feet wouldn’t move. He swallowed hard, his voice barely audible. "Who... who are you?"
The second man stepped forward, his movements deliberate and unhurried. "We represent the Initiative," he said, his head tilting slightly. "We’re here to discuss a matter of confidentiality."
Elias’s stomach twisted, his grip tightening on the strap of his bag. "I got the message," he said quickly. "I understand. I won’t say anything else."
The first man chuckled, a low, humorless sound that made Elias’s skin crawl. "It’s not about understanding, Mr. Veran. It’s about compliance. You’ve already taken liberties with your discretion, haven’t you?"
Elias felt his mouth go dry. "I didn’t—"
"You told her," the second man interrupted, his tone light but edged with something sharp. "The girlfriend. Lila, isn’t it?"
Elias’s heart sank. "I didn’t tell her anything important," he stammered. "I didn’t say who you are or what you’re doing. I just... I needed to talk to someone."
"Needed?" The first man stepped closer now, his head tilting in mock curiosity. "How quaint. But need doesn’t negate consequence, Mr. Veran. You agreed to our terms. Confidentiality is absolute."
Elias’s breath came in shallow gasps, his mind racing. "Please," he said, his voice trembling. "I won’t say anything else. I promise."
The second man’s head tilted further, his angular "A" catching the faint light. "Promises are fragile things," he said softly. "And so are people. Your family, for instance. Your mother has such a lovely home—cozy, well-kept. And your sister, Emma. A promising career in medicine, isn’t she?"
Elias’s blood ran cold. "Leave them out of this," he said, his voice rising. "They have nothing to do with—"
"Shh," the first man said, raising a gloved finger to where his lips would be. "It’s not a threat, Mr. Veran. Merely an observation. A reminder of what’s at stake."
Elias’s legs felt like jelly, his entire body trembling as he struggled to find his voice. "I’ll do whatever you want," he said finally. "Just don’t hurt them."
The second man nodded, his voice as smooth as silk. "That’s all we ask. Your compliance. Your silence. Nothing more, nothing less."
For a moment, the alley was silent except for the faint buzz of the flickering bulb. Then, as abruptly as they had appeared, the two men stepped back into the shadows, their silhouettes dissolving into the darkness like smoke.
Elias stood frozen, his mind reeling. He glanced back at the alley’s mouth, but there was no sign of them. Only the distant hum of traffic and the faint rustle of the wind.
Shaking, he forced himself to move, his legs carrying him out of the alley and onto the main road. The lights of the city felt harsh and glaring after the oppressive darkness, but he didn’t care. He just needed to get home, to lock his door and pretend, if only for a moment, that he was safe.
----------------------------------------
Elias barely remembered how he got home. The city’s lights blurred together, the hum of passing cars merging into a droning buzz in his ears. His legs moved on autopilot, carrying him up the stairs to his apartment, but his mind was stuck in the alley. The masked men. Their calm voices. Their veiled threats. The way they’d said his family’s names so casually, like they were nothing more than pieces on a chessboard.
He fumbled with his keys at the door, his hands trembling so violently he dropped them twice before finally managing to shove them into the lock. The door creaked open, and he slipped inside, bolting it shut behind him with a force that rattled the frame. For a moment, he just stood there, his back pressed against the door, his chest heaving as he struggled to breathe.
The apartment was dark, silent except for the faint hum of the refrigerator in the kitchen. But the quiet wasn’t comforting. It felt oppressive, heavy, like the walls were closing in on him. He flipped the light switch, but the bulb in the entryway flickered and died, plunging the space back into shadow.
“Of course,” he muttered, his voice cracking. He couldn’t even muster the energy to be frustrated. His hands went to his head, fingers clutching at his hair as he stumbled into the living room.
The world felt wrong—off-kilter, like it was tilting beneath his feet. His vision blurred at the edges, the room around him pulsing with each rapid beat of his heart. He dropped his bag onto the floor and sank onto the couch, his legs folding awkwardly beneath him.
Breathe. Just breathe.
But the air felt thick, unyielding, like trying to inhale through a straw. His chest tightened, each breath shallow and unsatisfying. He clutched at his shirt, his nails digging into the fabric as his pulse thundered in his ears.
The thoughts came fast and relentless, spiraling out of control.
They know where my family lives. They know about Lila. They’ll hurt them. They’ll hurt me. I should’ve kept my mouth shut. I should’ve... I should’ve—
His hands flew to his throat, clawing at nothing, his mind convinced for one horrifying moment that he couldn’t breathe. He doubled over, his forehead pressing into his knees as the world around him blurred and swayed. His heartbeat was deafening now, each pulse a drumbeat of panic that drowned out rational thought.
The walls seemed to warp, the shadows stretching and twisting in the corners of his vision. He could feel them creeping closer, pressing against him, whispering things he couldn’t quite hear but knew were terrible. His skin prickled, cold sweat soaking through his clothes as a wave of nausea churned in his stomach.
He gasped, desperate for air, his trembling hands gripping the edge of the couch like a lifeline. Somewhere in the back of his mind, a small voice whispered that he was losing control, that this was all in his head, but it felt real. Too real.
You’re weak, the voice in his head sneered. They can see it. They know. That’s why they picked you. Because they knew you’d break.
Tears blurred his vision as he squeezed his eyes shut, trying to push the thoughts away, but they kept coming. What if they’re watching right now? What if they’re here, in the apartment, waiting for me to slip up again?
He shot upright, his head snapping toward the door. The bolt was still in place, the chain lock secure. But that didn’t stop his mind from conjuring images of it bursting open, of those men stepping inside with their calm voices and sharp, angular "A"s, ready to finish what they started.
His breaths came faster, shallower, until the world narrowed to a pinpoint of suffocating darkness. The edges of the room blurred, twisting like heatwaves. He clawed at his chest, his nails leaving red streaks on his skin as he gasped for air that wouldn’t come.
And then, as suddenly as it had started, the wave began to break. The darkness receded, the room around him solidifying once more. His lungs filled with a shuddering gasp, his body shaking with the effort of breathing again. He slumped back against the couch, his limbs heavy and trembling.
The silence returned, but it wasn’t peaceful. It was the silence of exhaustion, of a mind too tired to keep spiraling but too afraid to rest.
He stared at the ceiling, his vision still blurry with unshed tears. His chest ached with the effort of breathing, his hands limp at his sides. He felt hollow, like a puppet with its strings cut, his body nothing more than an empty shell.
For a long time, he didn’t move. He couldn’t. The weight of the night pressed down on him, a crushing reminder of how far he’d fallen—and how much further there was to go.
In the corner of the room, his phone buzzed, its glow cutting through the shadows. But Elias didn’t reach for it. He couldn’t bring himself to. Instead, he closed his eyes, his mind replaying the men’s calm, measured voices as a single thought echoed in his head:
You can’t escape this.