Miles’ firm has been on my radar since I got this assignment, and the more I dig, the more it stinks. Their public face—champions of justice, taking down corrupt bigwigs—doesn’t add up with the whispers I’ve caught.
Shady clients, off-shore accounts, connections to players the Guard’s tangled with before.
Miles is either in on it or clueless, and I need to know which. The Guard’s future could rest on finding this out, and so too could Miles’ life.
I pull up a client list I swiped from a hacked server last week. Names jump out—politicians, CEOs, a cartel front disguised as a shipping company. Nothing concrete ties them to anything illegal, but the pattern’s there, like a shadow just out of reach.
I sip my whisky, the burn grounding me, and open a secure chat to Cole, my go-to for intel.
TRAVIS: Need backup on Knox & Rain. Dig into their client history, financials, anything off-book. Something’s rotten, and I want to know what.
I hit send and lean back, swirling the whisky. Cole’s fast—by morning, he’ll have something. If Miles’ firm is dirty, it could explain why someone’s after him. Maybe he’s a loose end, or maybe he’s digging too close to their secrets, not just ours.
Either way, I’m not letting Miles out of my sight until I’ve got answers.
The whisky’s half-gone when I hear a soft creak from the hallway. I glance over, but it’s just the building settling.
Still, I’m on edge.
Someone trashed his place, left a death threat.
Marcus Vane, that crooked official he took down, is my top suspect, but I can’t rule out someone closer—maybe even inside his firm.
I need him to talk, to spill what he knows, but pushing too hard could backfire.
Miles is stubborn, but that Little side of him… there’s leverage there.
I just have to play it right.
Dawn breaks, painting the skyline in pinks and golds. I’m up, my daily multi-vitamin regimen down the hatch, the bitter taste of the cocktail of powdery pills making me wince, just like every morning.
Miles is still asleep, or so I assume, but we’re not lounging today.
I need to keep him moving, keep him close, and a walk to the harbor will clear both our heads. Plus, it’s a chance to see if anyone’s tailing us.
I knock on his door, sharp and loud.
“Miles, up. We’re going for a walk,” I bark. “Harbor. One hour. Move.”
A muffled groan comes through the door, followed by his voice, groggy and annoyed. “It’s too early, Travis. Can’t we sleep in?”
I push the door open, leaning against the frame. He’s buried under a pile of blankets, Bean clutched to his chest, his hair amessy halo. He looks small, vulnerable, and it tugs at something I don’t want to name.
“Not a request, Little,” I say, my voice firm. “We’re going. Get dressed. Five minutes.”
The boy glares at me, his eyes half-lidded but sparking with defiance.
“You’re a tyrant,” Miles sasses. “A big, ugly tyrant!”
“And you’re a brat,” I shoot back, a grin tugging at my lips. “Move, or I’ll carry you out in your pajamas.”
His blush is instant, and he ducks under the blankets, muttering something I can’t catch.
I chuckle, closing the door, but the image of him—sleepy, sassy, clutching that stuffy—sticks with me. He’s trouble, and not just for the Guard.
I’m walking a thin line, and if I’m not careful, this Little’s going to turn my world upside down.
The harbor’s alive with the early morning hum—gulls squawking, waves lapping against the docks, the faint clatter of cranes unloading cargo.
