It’s a lie.
I’m in the study when it happens. I haven’t slept. I showered. Changed. Sat down to work. Never made it past opening a file.
The house at this hour is usually quiet in a way I like — early pale light through tall windows, the faint tick of old clocks, the low hum of pipes in the walls. But even without noise, I can feel movement. Saint somewhere on the eastern grounds. Ash running silent diagnostics through the security feeds. Wraith still upstairs because he didn’t leave her bed. Vale awake too early, which always means trouble.
I’m mid-sip of coffee when the first alert hits. Not an alarm. We don’t use sirens or shrieking sensors like amateurs. It’s a tone in the comms channel in my ear — two short pulses, one long.
Perimeter breach. Front approach, and by the third pulse I’m already on my feet. “Report,” I say, crossing the hall.
Saint’s voice comes back low, calm, threaded with something like pleased violence. “Four men. Black van, no plates. Stopped just outside the front gate. Two out, two still inside. They’re geared and sloppy. Not Syndicate muscle. Hired pull team.”
“Armed?” I ask.
“Of course,” Saint says, almost amused. “They’re not carrying flowers.”
I’m almost to the front hall. “Intent?”
“Snatch and go,” Ash cuts in through the line. His voice is colder than usual. Focused. “Look at the spread. One driver, one wheelman and only two hands. No backup. No overwatch. They weren’t sent to level the house. They were sent to grab and run.”
Not for me, then. Or us. They were here for her.
My jaw goes tight, tension and stress coiling through my body. “And now?” I ask.
“Now,” Saint says mildly, “they’redead.”
I pause in the foyer. Through the tall front windows I can just make out the drive through the ironwork — a wash of pale morning, a shape of matte black van angled wide at the gate, doors yawning open.
The two who tried to come through the gate are down on the gravel outside it, bodies at ugly angles. One on his face, blood seeping dark into the stones beneath his cheek. One curled wrong around his own arm, like he tried to grab his shoulder on the way down and didn’t quite finish the motion. The two still inside the van aren’t visible from here. I don’t need to see them to know they’re not a problem anymore.
Saint doesn’t miss. Saint never warns. Saint only sanctifies after.
He did what I told him to do last night — lock down the grounds and make sure no one stepped onto the property breathing unless I said they could. He did itwell.
“Confirmation?” I say.
“They’re cold,” Saint answers. “All four. No more movement on thermal. I’ve got my boys sweeping the lane for eyes. There’s no second car in a three-block radius. We’reclean.”
Vale’s voice slides in next, lazy and bright. “Well, good morning to us.”
“Mateo,” I warn.
“What?” he says. “You know I love breakfast entertainment.”
“You know I don’t,” Ash mutters.
“Children,” Saint sighs.
“Shut up,” Wraith’s voice rumbles.
He’s on the channel now.
That tells me everything I need about how fast this escalated, because Wraith hasn’t said a word over comms since last night.He’s been in silent mode — all awareness, no chatter — because his only priority was the woman currently asleep upstairs.
If he’s talking now, it’s because he woke up the same second the alert hit.
“Status,” I ask him.
“Ember’s down,” he says immediately. “She’s fine. I woke her, told her someone tried to come through the gate but they’re already dead. She’s calm, but pissed. She’s pretending not to be trembling.”
