"Yes, sir."
"Based on?"
"Their eyes, sir. Red. Glowing. And the fact that they seem to be hunting something specific." I keep my expression professional, detached, though my heart pounds with the knowledge that I'm walking a dangerous line. "I believe there may be more happening at that complex."
"Such as?"
"I suspect magickal criminal activity. Something that should be investigated further." The electrical hum beneath my skin persists, a constant reminder of Fen's presence earlier, of his warning about evil lurking in that place.
Hayes's fingers drum against his desk, the only sign of his contemplation. "And you want to lead this investigation."
It's not a question, but I answer anyway. "Yes, sir. I'd like to conduct surveillance over the next seventy-two hours. See if I can determine what's really happening there."
"Without the rookies?"
"Yes," I answer, keeping to myself that they'd only be a liability. And witnesses to whatever I might need to do.
"Three days," he says. "Surveillance only. No engagement without explicit authorization." He leans forward, his expression hardening. "And Mathieson? If this turns out to be nothing but rabid dogs after all, you can forget about returning to the chimera case when your time with the rookies is up. You'll be stuck on training duty indefinitely. Clear?"
"Crystal, sir." I keep my face carefully neutral despite the spike of anxiety his threat causes. A week into my punishment detail, and he's already dangling the possibility of extending it. This surveillance assignment is both a test and a temporary reprieve from babysitting duty—one I can't afford to waste.
"Dismissed."
I'm halfway to the door when a sharp knock interrupts. Hayes motions for me to wait as his assistant, Pearson, steps in, face grim.
"Sir, urgent transmission from Paris headquarters." Pearson's voice is clinically detached, but his pallor speaks volumes. "We've lost another team. All agents down. Chimera were tracked to the Catacombs."
The room temperature seems to drop ten degrees. My hand instinctively moves toward my weapon.
"Confirmed?" Hayes asks, his face hardening into granite.
"Yes, sir. A recovery team just retrieved the bodies. Surveillance footage shows two distinct creatures on screen before the feeds went dark."
"I should help," I interject, stepping forward. The hellhounds can wait. "I can be on a plane within the hour?—"
"Your assignment stands, Mathieson." Hayes doesn't even look up as he types rapid commands into his console.
"Sir, we just lost?—"
He cuts me off again, "You have your orders, Agent. Or have you forgotten how to follow those as well?"
The barb lands precisely where intended. Once, I would have been the first call for a situation like this. Now I'm barely an afterthought.
"No, sir," I reply, voice professionally neutral despite the heat crawling up my neck.
"Dismissed."
I leave as Hayes orders Pearson to secure a direct line to Paris. The door clicks shut behind me with the soft finality of another opportunity lost.
As I walk down the sterile hallway, relief has curdled into a bitter mix of resentment and grudging acceptance. Three days watching a warehouse while more of my colleagues hunt Chimera in the Paris Catacombs. Three days to discover what's really happening at the complex. Three days to find out if Fen's warnings about "evil" are justified.
Three days where I might see him again, whether I should want to or not.
The electrical sensation hums beneath my skin at the thought, persistent and undeniable as the pull of gravity. Like a compass needle finding north, something in me seems to orient toward him, a recognition beyond rational thought.
The hunter in me says it's dangerous. The woman in me wonders if danger might be exactly what I've been missing all these years of careful control and isolation.
Episode 8
