Page 102 of Shadowed Vows: Ghost
thirty-one
Alina
My phone alarm jolts me awake at 4:30 AM, well before dawn breaks over San Francisco. I silence it quickly, staring at the ceiling of my childhood bedroom in the apartment aboveThe Bay Herald. Mom and Dad are still asleep down the hall—I can hear Dad's soft snoring through the thin walls.
This is my chance.
I slip out of bed, careful to avoid the creaky floorboard I've known about since I was ten. My attention to detail serves me well as I pull on jeans and a sweater in the darkness, moving with deliberate quiet.
Simon has information. I just need thirty minutes.
I grab my leather jacket and tiptoe down the hallway, pausing briefly outside my parents' room. A part of me feels guilty for sneaking out like a teenager, but they'd onlyworry—or worse, insist on coming with me. Dad never could resist a good scoop.
Downstairs,The Heraldoffices are dark and silent, yesterday's papers stacked neatly by the door for morning delivery. The night security guard, Ryan, looks up from his crossword puzzle as I descend the stairs.
"Ms. Bennett? Everything okay?" His hand instinctively moves toward his sidearm—Dad insisted on armed security after we published the corruption series last year.
I force a casual smile. "Just heading out to meet a source. Early bird gets the worm and all that."
Ryan shifts uncomfortably. "Your dad mentioned you shouldn't leave without letting someone know, especially with everything that's been happening."
"Look," I step closer, keeping my voice low and confident like Asher taught me during situational awareness training. "I need these files, and my source only has a small window to meet. Thirty minutes, that's all I need."
His jaw tightens. "Mr. Mercer will have my ass if anything happens to you. He was very specific when he called."
I freeze. "You've spoken to Mr. Mercer?"
Ryan nods. "He called twice last night to check the security perimeter, and once this morning around two. Said he'd be sending someone by at six."
Of course he did. The overprotective control freak.
"I'll be back before then," I promise, then add with practiced sincerity, "And I'll make sure Mr. Mercer knows you tried to stop me but that I can be... persuasive. I'll put in a good word."
Ryan hesitates, clearly weighing his options. I decide to push a bit more, using the negotiation techniques Cole had drilled into me.
"You know these files could be the break we need in the case," I say. "I've been doing this for years—meeting sources, extracting information. It's literally my job."
He sighs heavily. "Thirty minutes. Then I'm calling it in."
"Deal." I flash him a grateful smile. "I promise I'll be careful."
I slip out the back entrance, making sure to stay in the blind spots of the external cameras like Jax had pointed out during my training. The pre-dawn fog embraces me as I pull up my collar against the chill and type a quick message to Simon:Can meet now at the usual spot. Important.
His reply comes almost instantly:15 min. Come alone.
North Beach is eerily quiet this early, just a few delivery trucks and the occasional taxi. I make my way to Caffe Trieste, knowing the owner opens early to prep for the day. He lets me in with a nod—I've spent enough late nights working on stories here to earn the privilege.
I choose a seat in the back corner, my back to the wall with a clear view of both exits, old habits reinforced by Asher's tactical positioning lessons. I scan for potential threats, identifying choke points and escape routes just as he'd taught me.
The rich aroma of espresso fills the air as I settle in, ordering an americano while I wait. Something feels off this morning—a prickle at the back of my neck that I can't quite place. I scan the café's interior, noting the newspaper delivery man lingering longer than necessary and a womanby the counter who seems overly interested in the pastry display.
I adjust my posture, maintaining what Xander called "relaxed readiness"—appearing casual while being prepared to move instantly.
The bell above the door chimes. Simon enters—my source from the tech company's accounting department, although this is our first time meeting face to face. He orders coffee first, maintaining protocol we had discussed if we ever met.
I smile as he sits down, but my heart sinks. His face is pale, and beads of sweat dot his forehead. This isn't the confident whistleblower I was expecting.
"Are you okay?" I ask softly.
