My apartment feels smaller when I return to it, the equipment case sitting on my floor like evidence of professional failure.
My phone sits on the coffee table. No new messages. I pick it up three times in an hour, put it down without texting her, repeat the cycle until the compulsion feels pathological. This is withdrawal. The addict's response to removing the substance that's been regulating his entire neurochemistry.
At three-fifteen, my phone vibrates. Text from Elias:Monthly lunch tomorrow. Giordano's at noon. Don't cancel.
I'd forgotten about our standing appointment. Tomorrow feels impossible—sitting across from Elias and pretending I'm functional when I've just removed surveillance from the woman I'm trying not to obsess over.
Me:I'll be there.
Elias:Bring honesty. The kind that hurts.
He always knows when I'm compromised. Has some algorithmic sense for detecting when my patterns deviate from baseline normal. Tomorrow's conversation will be uncomfortable in ways I'm not prepared for, but that's the point of accountability. The discomfort is the mechanism that prevents worse outcomes.
I spend the afternoon doing work I've been avoiding—security assessments for three new Dominion members,system updates, reviewing overnight footage from Thursday. Professional tasks I can handle remotely, the kind of labor that fills time without demanding presence. By four PM I've caught up on everything except the part where I'm supposed to stop thinking about Lana.
Today is supposed to be my day off. I use the time for maintenance work, equipment checks, the administrative tasks that don't require being in the control center. Usually I'd spend at least part of the day sleeping since my normal shift runs six PM to two AM, but sleep feels impossible when my entire operational framework just got dismantled.
My phone vibrates at four-thirty. Text from Lucien: Need you at The Dominion immediately. Situation developing. Not optional.
The phrasing tells me this isn't routine. Lucien doesn't pull me in on my day off unless something threatens the club's operations. I text back:Be there in thirty.
The shower is quick, work clothes familiar, the drive to The Dominion automatic after two years of making this trip six nights a week. The building looks the same—polished marble entrance, discreet security, the architecture of wealth performing restraint. But walking into the control center feels different now that I'm not splitting my attention between club surveillance and Lana's apartment feeds.
Lucien is waiting for me, expression grim. "Owen Trask checked in two hours ago using Senator Michaels' guest authorization. Currently in Room Seven."
The name hits like cold water. Trask—the PI Ezra hired to document Lana's movements, now inside The Dominion using a senator's credentials. This isn't coincidence. This is escalation.
"Why didn't Marcus flag him during day shift?" Marcus handles the control center from eight AM to six PM, covering the hours when The Dominion operates more as members' club than evening venue.
"Because Trask used legitimate guest credentials. Nothing in our system marked him as security risk—he has no criminal record, no red flags that would trigger automatic review." Lucien pulls up footage on the main monitor, shows me Trask's entry two hours ago. "But I recognized his name from your reports about Ezra Pope's investigation. Started reviewing his movements through the building and realized he's not here for Michaels' protection."
I pull up Room Seven's camera feed, watching Trask move through the space with professional assessment, cataloging exits and security measures the way I would. "What's he doing?"
"That's what I need you to determine." Lucien's voice carries the edge it gets when complications threaten his carefully constructed discretion. "Michaels claims Trask is consulting on personal security. But I've watched two hours of footage. Trask has spent more time examining our infrastructure than protecting the senator."
I switch through camera angles, tracking Trask's movements since he entered. Main lobby—ten minutes examining entry systems. Elevator bank—five minutes studying camera placements. Outside Room Seven before entering—another three minutes assessing hallway security. This isn't about protecting Michaels. This is reconnaissance.
"He's casing the building," I say. "Running through our security protocols, identifying vulnerabilities. Whatever he's planning, it involves intimate knowledge of Dominion operations."
"Connected to the Pope woman?"
The question carries weight I wasn't expecting. Lucien knows about my surveillance of Lana, knows I removed equipment today, probably has some theory about why Trask would surface at The Dominion the same day I dismantled my monitoring infrastructure.
"Has to be. Trask works for Ezra Pope. If he's here, it's because he's expanding his investigation beyond just photographing Lana in public." I pull up the footage from Room Seven, watch Trask photograph something outside the window with focused attention. "He knows I work here. Probably knows I was surveilling Lana. Now he's documenting our security systems—either to leverage against me or to understand how The Dominion connects to Lana's protection."
"Then remove him. Politely but definitively. Make it clear that The Dominion doesn't tolerate surveillance of our operations, regardless of which senator authorizes it."
I'm moving before Lucien finishes speaking, taking the stairs to the third floor where private rooms offer the kind of discretion people pay membership fees to maintain. Room Seven is at the end of the hallway, door closed but not locked—Dominion policy ensures nothing can be completely sealed during active sessions.
I knock once, don't wait for response before entering. Michaels looks up from his conversation with one of the women, expression shifting from annoyance to recognition to something that might be concern. Trask is standing near the window, camera in hand, photographing something outside with the focused attention of someone documenting evidence.
"Mr. Trask." I keep my voice neutral, professional. "I need you to come with me."
He turns, assesses me with the same cataloging attention he was giving the building's exterior. "I'm here as Senator Michaels' guest. Whatever security concern you have can wait until we're finished."
"It can't. You're conducting surveillance of Dominion infrastructure without authorization. That violates membership terms regardless of who invited you." I move into the room, positioning myself between Trask and the door. "You can leave voluntarily or I can have you removed. Those are your options."
Michaels stands, diplomatic instincts engaging. "Mr. Hills, I'm sure we can resolve this without—"
