The old warehouse was silent, save for the occasional creak of its rusting steel frame against the night wind. Outside, the abandoned industrial district stood as a tombstone to what had once been a thriving part of the city. Inside, under the dim hum of a single overhead bulb swinging slightly on its chain, three men sat around a weather-worn metal table.
Tyrone Martin sat stiffly, back rigid against the cold metal chair, fingers drumming against a glass of untouched whiskey. His tailored suit—normally a source of confidence in the newsroom—felt like a costume here. His eyes darted between his half-brother—Senator Donovan Lewis—and Police Chief Reginald Walter, both of whom had the air of men long accustomed to controlling the narrative in rooms far more imposing than this.
"You're sure we weren't followed?" Tyrone asked, voice barely rising above a whisper.
Chief —Walter to his friends, though Tyrone doubted the man had any true ones—snorted. "Please. Give me some credit." He tapped the service weapon holstered beneath his jacket. "Thirty years on the force. Nobody follows me unless I want them to."
Scattered across the table were the photographs, taken with telephoto lenses from unmarked vans. Shadows flickered over them like restless ghosts. Nadia's laughter caught in still frames. Jayson's casual arm around her shoulder as they danced at the Meadowbrook market. Their world, blissfully unaware that wolves had been watching.
Senator Donovan leaned back, his face hard as granite, eyes calculative. He picked up one of the photos—Nadia, head thrown back, laughing at something off-camera. Her braid hair caught the sunlight like fire.
"That smile," he said, his voice low, cold, deliberate. Each word fell like a stone into still water. "That carefree look. It offends me. Did you find anything about her?"
Tyrone flinched. "I'm sorry I couldn't find anything. But dropped a message for her", his mind drifted back to the night he ransacked Zora's house hoping to find collected evidence Nadia secured. "I didn't think she'd go that far. I thought—"
"You didn't think," Senator Donovan snapped, setting the photo down with precision. "She was your staff. You were supposed to guide her, not inspire her. Not give her delusions of grandeur about taking down power structures she doesn't understand."
"I tried to block the story," Tyrone protested, voice rising slightly before he caught himself. "I reassigned her, kept her out of the investigative loop. Believed she'd give up ---"
Donovan's lips curled, but there was no amusement in it. "And yet, she keeps digging. That's not just stubbornness—that's help." His finger jabbed at another photo. "Jayson Coleman. What's their relationship?"
"I think they were an item...in the past " Chief Walter replied.
Senator Donovan picked up the picture where both of them were at the port, Jayson smiling affectionately while looking at Nadia "I don't think they're past item" he tapped at it.
"You think, there's something going on between them?" Tyrone asked his brother.
"If not, I don't see the reason why both of them would agree to work on a story."
"You're right sir. I think there's still chemistry between them." chief Walter added.
"Good, that's a perfect angle to use. Shutting both of them up at this point might bring bigger scandal for us. But they seemed to know too much and the best way will be to clip their wings. Tying them down until the primaries are over." Donovan murmured, then turned his gaze back to Nadia's picture, studying it with something almost like curiosity. His finger traced her smile.
"What about the girl?" Tyrone asked, voice hollow.
Donovan's eyes narrowed. "I want her wings crippled. If she finds out she can't fly, she'd feel fear, loss, pain and eventually give up. Then we'll take care of her."
Tyrone looked up, unease threading through his posture. "She's just trying to work, maybe ....."
"Do you still think she wants to work for you? After discovering your secrets? Wake up little bro, this girl knows you're a murderer." Senator leaned closer to Tyrone."She's a threat," he snapped, his tone slicing like a blade. "And threats don't get empathy. They get erased, slowly or fast. But always fully."
"There are other ways," Tyrone insisted, desperation edging into his voice.
"A scandal would make her talk," Chief Walter interrupted. "Cornered animals bite. No, we need her silent."
"But not dead," Donovan clarified, raising an eyebrow at the police chief. "Nothing so messy or... final. Not yet, anyway."
"What then?" Tyrone asked.
Donovan leaned forward, elbows on the table. "We take her wings. First Jayson. Then her career. Then her reputation. Piece by piece."
A heavy silence settled, broken only by the clink of ice in a glass. Senator Donovan raised his drink, the amber liquid catching the light.
"To damage control," he said.
"To silence," Chief Walter answered, raising his.
Tyrone followed suit, his hand trembling slightly. "To necessary evils," he whispered, the words tasting like ash.
They drank.
Outside, a distant train whistle cut through the night, mournful and fading.
"Tyrone you take care of her. Keep a close watch. If she crosses the threshold....there might be a need to silence her"
"What if I can't do this?"asked softly, not meeting his half-brother's eyes.
Donovan's smile didn't reach his eyes. "Then I'll find someone who can. And you'll join the list of liabilities." He stood, straightening his immaculate tie. "Family only goes so far, little brother. Besides it's not your first time."
Chief Walter gathered the photographs, tucking them into a manila envelope. "I'll have my team start surveillance on Jayson tonight. By this time tomorrow, we'll know every secret he's carrying."
As they moved to leave, Tyrone remained seated, staring at his still-full glass of whiskey. The memory of the night he killed Naomi came flashing back. Her Screams. Fights. The blood . He closed his eyes, pushing the memory away.
Donovan paused at the door, silhouetted against the dim light from outside. "You've already crossed the line, little brother."
The heavy metal door clanked shut behind them, leaving Tyrone alone with the echo of their plans and the burden of his own thoughts.
The clock on the wall ticked on, counting down to a disaster already set in motion.