I hate my curiosity sometimes. I tell myself to stop digging, to leave it alone, but here I am, taking a night off just to chase the man, the reason why I have sleepless nights.
I’m parked outside a sketchy warehouse at midnight, downing gas station coffee and whispering to myself like I’m the star of a low-budget cop show.
“Great job, Lyra,” I muttered, blowing into my hands for warmth. “Totally normal behavior. You’re definitely not spiraling.”
The warehouse sat on the edge of the Western District, quiet, fenced, and guarded like it housed the Holy Grail or a meth lab. It was tied to Pierce through a company that didn’t even exist until three weeks ago.
I found it buried in a trail of fake shell businesses and half-deleted financial logs. So yeah, I followed it. Two hours in, I’d already filled an entire page of notes. License plates. Entry times. Number of guards.
I clicked my pen. “>Entry 11:42. Black SUV. Two men. The driver’s nervous, and the passenger looks ex-military. No markings. Left 11:47.” And then I sighed.
“You know this is insane, right?” I asked no one in particular. “You’re stalking a guy who almost choked out a politician in front of you.” But I didn’t stop watching.
I stared through the windshield like I could decode something in the way the security team rotated shifts. Or how no one stayed parked for more than five minutes. That kind of silence? It doesn’t mean nothing.
It means something big’s about to go down, or someone really important is behind it. And deep down, I knew the truth. I wasn’t just tracking a lead anymore. I wanted to understand him.
The man who touched me like he owned me. Who whispered “mate” like it meant something for him or even for me. Who looked at me like I was already his.
I stayed an hour longer. Just watching. When I finally got home, my hands were numb, and my brain felt like static. I peeled off my hoodie, dumped my boots by the door, and headed straight for the laptop glowing on the table.
I opened the folder I wasn’t supposed to have. The one labeled “Work Docs” but hidden behind three passwords.
Pierce Leneghan: Subject Notes.
I scrolled past arrest reports that went nowhere. Names of known associates. Maps with red pins. And then… there it was. A photo. Not surveillance. Not blurry security cam footage.
An actual press photo, him, at a gala three years ago, smiling in a tux like he hadn’t just threatened to break someone in half last week.
“You’ve gotta be kidding me,” I whispered.
Hair slicked back. Clean-shaven. Suave. He looked like the kind of guy who’d donate a wing to a hospital and then walk away before the ribbon-cutting. It didn’t match the man from the club.
“Look at you,” I muttered. “Two versions. Public and predator.”
I reached for my notebook and jotted a note next to the photo. Appearance 3B – Gala (Public Investor Tag). Contrast w/ current profile: 90% shift.
My phone buzzed. Jasmine.
> You good? You were quiet last night. Also, the new security guys give me CIA energy.
I snorted and typed back.
> I’m good. Just tired. And yeah, same. If they’re watching me, they’re doing it way too well.
I hesitated… then added:
> Hey, did anyone mention that scary af man from Room Three name? Like actually said it?
She replied almost instantly.
> Nope. No one talks about him by name. Like it’s cursed or something. You know something I don’t?
I didn’t reply. Instead, I clicked back to the image, zooming in on Pierce’s face.
“Why do I feel like you don’t just scare people… you own them?” I whispered.
And then I heard it, his voice. Not in the room. In my head. ‘She’s mine’. The way he said it. Calm. Certain. Like gravity or death. I grabbed my phone and called someone I haven’t spoken to in months, Jonas, a hacker friend from my freelance days.
He picked up after two rings. “Well, well, well. Look who finally remembered I exist.”
“Hey,” I said, trying to keep it casual. “I need a favor.”
“I figured. You don’t call for brunch. What’s up?”
“I need eyes on a building near Dock 12. Warehouse. Western District. No visible signage, but linked to a company called Lintelcorp Holdings.”
Jonas whistled. “Lintelcorp? That’s deep black stuff, Lyra. Like a military-grade cover-up level.”
“I know. That’s why I called you.”
He was quiet for a beat. “Who are you chasing?”
I hesitated. “Just someone I want to understand better.”
There was another pause. “Alright. I’ll send you what I find. But Lyra?”
“Yeah?”
“Whatever this is… be careful. If it’s what I think it is, you’re dancing way too close to fire.” I swallowed hard. I know the consequences of my action.
I may regret digging deeper but hell…. I want to know for myself.
