Page 98 of Taken Off Camera
A soft chime breaks the monotony, and Sebastian’s fingers fly across the keyboard, accepting the incoming call.
Saint’s easy drawl fills the room, tinny through the speakers. “South side’s a bust.” In the background,car horns blare, sirens wail in the distance, and voices shout profanities. “But I’ve been spreading the message.”
My spine straightens at the familiar tone. To anyone else, Saint might sound bored or indifferent, but the casual inflection masks the predatory focus that once kept us both alive in the group home, when bigger kids thought we’d be easy targets.
“Define ‘spreading the message,’” Sebastian responds, his eyes never leaving the map display where Saint’s location pulses as a red dot in the industrial district.
“Hit two of his crash pads. Neither had seen him in days, but they’ll spread the word.” Something metallic clinks against the phone on Saint’s end. “Made it real clear that anyone thinking about helping Travis out should reconsider their life choices.”
I wince, picturing what that “clarity” entailed. Saint’s knuckles often came back bruised when we were younger, though he’d always tell me the other guy looked worse.
“Any positive leads?” Sebastian asks as he updates notes on a secondary screen.
“Nothing solid.” Saint pauses, and I can picturehim scanning his surroundings, always alert. “But people are talking. Word travels fast when the right pressure gets applied. Found his old roommate at the mail center. Guy couldn’t spill information fast enough once I explained the situation.”
“Did you need to get physical?” I ask before I can stop myself.
Saint’s laugh crackles through the speaker. “With that guy? Nah. Just stood in his personal space and mentioned how I felt about people who protect stalkers. His supervisor might need a change of pants, though.”
The casual way he discusses intimidation sends a familiar shiver through me. This is the side of Saint that came out the day he stepped between me and our House Manager, dangerous and willing to cross the line.
“Keep us updated,” Sebastian directs, already typing notes into the system.
“Will do. Gabriel’s checking the north end. Pretty boy’s actually not bad at this.” The hint of grudging respect in his voice surprises me.
As if summoned by the mention, a second line buzzes through. Sebastian accepts the call, and Gabriel’s measured breathing fills the room. Nobackground noise, no traffic, no people, just the quiet click of a door closing.
“North side has been canvassed,” Gabriel reports. “No direct sightings of our target, but I’ve visited his former workplace and three associates’ residences.”
The contrast between their reporting styles strikes me. Where Saint broadcasts chaos and violence, Gabriel’s control fills the spaces between his words with equal menace.
“Results?” Sebastian prompts.
“Effective.” Gabriel’s satisfaction travels through the connection. “I didn’t need to threaten anyone. Just stood in their space, watched them, and let them fill the silence with their own fears.”
I can picture Gabriel with his confident posture and cold eyes, saying nothing while people nervously babble all their secrets.
“By the third house, they were waiting for me,” Gabriel continues. “Word had traveled. The man’s sister tried to give me his old laptop as a peace offering. I accepted it, of course.”
“Smart,” Sebastian mutters, typing away. “Bring it back. Micah can extract any data.”
The casual way Sebastian volunteers my skills warms me. He believes in my abilities without question, integrating me into their operations as if Ibelong here. Hacking has always been something I did in secret, and Saint never understood enough about it to be a true partner.
I had my job, and he had his. Never the two sides crossing. But this is a true collaboration of the mind.
“The message is clear across the city now,” Gabriel concludes. “Travis is toxic. No shelter, no help, no second chances.”
In less than a day, the Rockfords have turned Travis from a predator to prey. The man who once watched me through hidden cameras now finds himself hunted, his support network systematically dismantled by people who’ve elevated intimidation to an art form.
“Good work,” Sebastian says. “Both of you, head back. We’ll reconvene when you arrive.”
The calls disconnect with twin beeps, leaving the war room in humming silence once more. On screen, the red dots representing Saint and Gabriel begin moving toward the manor.
Sebastian swivels his chair to face me. “You’re quiet.”
I trace a finger along the edge of the keyboard as I gather my thoughts. “It’s just… seeing it all coordinated like this. Hearing them work together.”
“Does it bother you?” Sebastian’s scarred face remains neutral, but his attention stays fixed on me.
