SILAS
Gideon’s placeis too quiet without Penelope and Talon in it.
Gideon’s typing like a demon at the table—sharp, efficient, annoyed that the world can’t keep up with his brain. Fake credentials spread out across the hardwood: forged clinic badges, laminated staff IDs, employee clearance stickers that look authentic enough to pass a TSA check.
He pushes one toward me. “Try to look less like you strangle people for a living.”
“I don’t strangle people,” I mutter, taking the badge.
He raises a brow. “Not anymore, no.”
I ignore him and clip the lanyard to my shirt.
“Penelope get him to class?” Gideon asks, eyes still on the screen.
“Yeah,” I say. “They’re fine.”
But Talon’s not fine.
And I am absolutely not fine.
Not after watching them leave together this morning. He just slid into her world like it was easy, like he belonged there. And I’m stuck here with spreadsheets and forged IDs while she’sacross town. I’m almost a decade her senior, and I’m pouting over missing her like a boy, not a man.
It shouldn’t bother me.
But it does.
Gideon snaps his fingers once. “Earth to Silas. Eyes on the screen.”
I blink, drag myself back from the useless spiral, and he spins the laptop toward me—the clinic map open, emergency exit outlined in red.
“Two turns,” Gideon says, tracing the map with his finger. “If they take her to Room 203 like the schedule says, it’s down this hall, left, then straight through the staff corridor.”
“How long?” I ask.
“Maybe a minute or two if we’re moving slow and blending in,” he says.
I shake my head. “We’re not making noise. We’re ghosts.”
“Exactly,” Gideon says. “We blend, we walk, we don’t exist. Anyone looks at us too long, we’re staff doing staff shit.”
He scrolls to another file. “Look at this.”
Observation notes - Student said she was present during home altercation. Details withheld. Family informed. Necessary measures pending.
My shoulders go rigid. “Altercation? With who?”
“Doesn’t say,” Gideon replies. “But Minxy witnessed something. And whatever she saw scared Abi enough to keep her daughter from the world, and God knows what’s happening to her there or what will happen if she stays.”
“What kind of school does shit like this?”
“The kind with donors who don’t like complications,” he mutters.
A chill crawls up my spine.
Whatever Minxy saw—Abi wants it erased.
“Tomorrow,” Gideon says, “I’m running recon on the exterior cameras. Today, you need to rest.”
