Friday arrivedwith the particular weight of knowing everything I'd built over three years was about to either succeed spectacularly or fail catastrophically.
I spent the morning preparing equipment. Audio bugs small enough to hide in plain sight. A keycard cloner that fit in my palm. Specialized tools for accessing phones without triggering security alerts. Everything stored in places I could reach discreetly—pockets, cuffs, the small of my back.
Dom texted at noon.
Dominic
You ready?
Callahan
I stared at the message for five minutes before responding: As ready as I'll ever be.
Dominic
That's not reassuring.
Callahan
It's honest.
Dominic
Meet me at Eden two hours early. We need to talk through positioning.
I arrived at Eden at ten. The club was still closed to regular guests, just staff preparing for the night. The VIP room was on the third floor, accessed through corridors most patrons never saw.
Dom was already there when I entered. Standing in the centre of the room like he owned it. Which, in a sense, he did. This was his territory. His element. The place where his particular brand of control became art.
The room smelled like leather and expensive cologne. Clean but with undertones that suggested history. How many scenes had happened here? How many people had surrendered control in this exact space?
“You're early,” Dom said without turning around.
“So are you.” I closed the door behind me. Locked it. “What did you want to discuss?”
“Boundaries. Limits. What happens if Harrow pushes harder than we anticipated.” He turned to face me. “I need to know what you can handle and what will break you.”
“Nothing will break me.”
“Bullshit.” He moved closer. “Everyone has limits, Cal. Even you. Especially you.”
“Then ask your questions.”
“Can you watch me touch other people without losing focus?”
“Yes.”
“Can you participate in a group scene without dissociating or shutting down?”
“Yes.”
“Can you handle Harrow watching you? Knowing he's cataloguing everything you do for future leverage?”
I hesitated. That one was harder. The idea of Harrow seeing me vulnerable, seeing me in a context designed for pleasure and intimacy, made my skin crawl.
“I'll stay masked,” I said finally. “Stay in shadow. He won't have clean visuals.”
“He'll still know you're there. He saw you at the gala. He knows you're hunting him. If you're in that room, he'll be looking for you.”
