Chapter 3 - The Eye of the Storm
We stayed in the warehouse until the sun began to bleed over the horizon,
turning the river into a ribbon of liquid gold.
Cassian didn't sleep,
and neither did I,
the adrenaline keeping me wired and sharp.
He had his men bring in food and coffee,
treating me with a strange sort of professional courtesy.
"We need to find your camera,"
he said,
pacing the length of the office.
"The original raw files are the only things that can prove the Commissioner was at that meeting."
"It’s at the bottom of the river,"
I said,
thinking of my expensive gear lost in the silt and mud.
"The car is being recovered by my team as we speak,"
he replied,
checking his watch.
"The police think they have it,
but my divers got there first."
I looked at him,
truly realizing the extent of his power.
He operated in the gaps of the law,
moving faster and more efficiently than any government agency.
"Why are you doing this,
Cassian?"
I asked,
watching him.
"You could have just taken the drive and left me at the hospital."
He stopped pacing and looked out the window at the rising sun.
"I don't like it when people touch what belongs to me,"
he said,
his voice quiet.
"And the Willamette River is mine."
It was a cold answer,
but I sensed there was more to it.
He saw himself in the struggle,
perhaps,
a man who had been targeted and survived.
A phone rang,
and he answered it with a curt "Speak."
He listened for a moment,
his jaw tightening until the bone stood out.
"They found it,"
he said,
turning back to me.
"But we aren't the only ones looking."
"The Commissioner has a private security firm on his payroll."
"They’re heading to your apartment now,
Elara."
Fear,
sharp and cold,
ripped through me.
"My apartment? My cat is there,
my whole life is there."
"We're going,"
he said,
already grabbing a holster from a drawer.
"Stay behind me,
and don't speak unless I tell you to."
We took a black SUV that seemed to blend into the shadows of the morning.
The city was waking up,
unaware of the war being fought in its streets.
As we pulled up to my building,
I saw the black sedans parked out front.
Men in tactical gear were moving toward the entrance,
their movements synchronized and deadly.
"They’re not here for your cat,"
Cassian said,
his hand going to the weapon at his hip.
"They’re here to make sure you never testify."
He didn't wait for me to respond.
He stepped out of the car,
his entire demeanor changing from a businessman to a soldier.
"Stay here,"
he commanded.
I watched through the tinted glass as he approached the men.
He didn't use his gun at first,
instead,
he used the environment,
moving like a blur of shadow and precision.
He took down the first man with a strike to the throat,
disarming him before the others could even react.
It was a brutal,
efficient display of violence that left me breathless.
He was a monster,
certainly,
but he was my monster.
The sound of a muffled gunshot echoed in the alleyway,
and my heart stopped.
But a moment later,
Cassian emerged from the lobby,
dragging one of the men by his collar.
He threw the man into the back of another SUV that had appeared out of nowhere,
manned by his own guards.
Then he walked back to our car,
wiping a smear of blood from his cheek.
"It’s clear,"
he said,
opening my door.
"Grab what you need."
"We won't be coming back here."
I ran up the stairs,
my legs shaking,
and burst into my apartment.
Everything was tossed,
my photos ripped from the walls,
my equipment smashed.
But my cat,
Mochi,
was hiding under the bed,
hissing at the intrusion.
I scooped him up,
stuffing him into his carrier along with my hard drives and a few changes of clothes.
I looked at the ruins of my life,
the small studio I had worked so hard to afford.
It was gone,
all of it,
sacrificed for a secret I never wanted.
When I got back to the car,
Cassian was waiting,
his expression unreadable.
"Where are we going?"
I asked,
clutching the carrier.
"To the only place in this city where they can't touch you,"
May you like
he replied.
"My home."
