I'm dismissed. The meeting lasted less than ten minutes but it accomplished what Lucien intended—made crystal clear that my involvement with Lana has become a problem that threatens more than just my own operational effectiveness. That continuing down this path leads to consequences I'm not prepared to face.
I take the stairs back down to the control center, pull up the research I started this afternoon before Lucien calledme in. Blackwood Security—licensed, bonded, specializing in executive protection and threat assessment. Their portfolio includes politicians, CEOs, people who need professional distance between themselves and danger. Exactly what Lana needs now that I've removed the surveillance that was keeping her safe.
I pull up my phone, text Lana: Found a security firm that can handle the Trask situation. Blackwood Security. Sending you their info along with everything I have on Trask and Reese. Your attorney can coordinate with them directly.
I attach the files—Blackwood's contact information, my documentation on Trask's patterns, photos of Victor Reese, threat assessment reports I've been compiling for three weeks. Everything a professional security team would need to protect her without me being the intermediary.
The message sends before I can second-guess the wording. Professional, distant, the kind of communication that establishes I'm stepping back from direct involvement. Exactly what Lucien ordered. Exactly what Lana asked for this morning when she told me to remove the cameras.
My phone vibrates almost immediately. Text from Lana: You researched security firms?
Me: Started looking this afternoon. They're legitimate. Better than anything I could provide.
Lana: Better or just less complicated?
The question sits on my screen like an accusation. She can probably sense the distance I'm trying to create even though every part of me resists it.
Me:Both. You asked for space to figure out if this is real. I'm giving you that space. Which means separating my role in your protection from whatever else is between us.
The dots appear and disappear three times before her response comes:Trask was outside my building again today. Took photos of me coming home from the foundation. I saw him this time. He wanted me to see him.
My hands tighten on the phone hard enough that I'm surprised the screen doesn't crack. Trask is escalating, moving from covert documentation to overt intimidation. Making Lana aware she's being watched, trying to create the fear that precedes more direct action.
Me:Did you call police?
Lana:What would I tell them? Man took photos on public street? That's not illegal.
Me:It's harassment. Pattern of behaviours. You can file a report even if they can't arrest him immediately.
She doesn’t respond immediately after, but after a few minutes, my phone vibrates.
Lana:I called Mira. She's contacting Blackwood Security. She’ll have them send someone tomorrow morning to assess the situation.
Me:Good. They'll handle it properly.
Lana:Will they? Or will they just be professional security who don't know Trask the way you do?
The question is designed to pull me back in, to make me argue that she needs my specific expertise rather than professional distance. And she's right—I do know Trask in ways generic security won't. Know his patterns, his methodology, the way he's been building toward something worse than just documentation.
But Lucien's warning echoes:Stop being the thing Trask can leverage against this organization.
Me:Make sure you provide everything I sent, what I have on Trask and Reese. Patterns, photos, threat assessment. They'll know what to watch for.
Lana:But you won't be watching.
Me:No. I won't be watching. That's what you asked for.
The dots appear again, stay visible for almost a minute, then disappear without response. Whatever she was going to say, she decided against it. Maybe realizing that pushing me to maintain involvement contradicts her request for space this morning. Maybe processing that protection and relationship can't coexist the way we've been trying to make them.
I sit in the control center monitoring Dominion feeds that suddenly feel insufficient. Staying here is better than going home to brood in my apartment, replaying surveillance footage I'm supposed to delete or driving past Lana's building to check on threats I'm no longer authorized to monitor. At least here I have professional distractions, work that requires focus without emotional complication.
Room Seven where Trask was two hours ago. Main floor where members are starting to arrive for evening sessions. The lobby where everything appears normal even though the threat profile just escalated into territory I can't monitor anymore.
My phone doesn't vibrate again. Lana doesn't text asking me to reconsider. The space she asked for is exactly what she's getting, and it feels worse than any outcome I'd anticipated.
At seven-thirty, Elias texts:Still on for lunch tomorrow?
Me:Yes.
