Page 72 of Anchor
Killian stood by the suite’s secondary entry door, scanning clearance logs on his wristband. He looked up as they entered. “Security rotation’s live. Two personnel on the floor at all times. We’ve upgraded the cameras and rerouted feeds through a private loop. You’re sealed tight.”
Reid nodded, wheeling her gently toward the bed. Then he turned to Killian. “I’m staying.”
Claire blinked, then looked at him.
Killian just nodded. “Figured you would.”
“Night rotation too,” Reid added.
Killian’s gaze flicked to Claire, then back. “Understood.” He stepped out without another word.
Reid helped her to her feet slowly, steadying her as she eased onto the edge of the bed. She winced. “You want anything? Ice pack? Extra pillow?”
Claire looked at him. “Just you.”
He sat down beside her, the quiet stretching comfortably between them.
Outside the suite, security locked into place. Inside were just the two of them. No briefings. No threats at the door. Just ten days of survival behind her. And Reid Hanlon was in the room beside her.
She leaned her shoulder against his. And finally… let her guard down.
UNKNOWN LOCATION – SURVEILLANCE CORE – TIME: REDACTED
The footage played in crisp, silent clarity across three high-resolution monitors. One showed the interior of Chase HQ’s executive suite. A wide shot, top corner view. Another displayed a narrow hallway angle outside the suite. The third: a looping feed of Claire Bowman in the wheelchair, Reid Hanlon at her side.
Vos sat still in the center chair. No light in the room except from the screens. A glass of dark wine rested on the desk beside his hand. He watched the way Hanlon leaned close. The way Claire’s eyes flicked toward the shadows of the suite. How her fingers traced the edge of the blanket in thought, reflexive, uncertain.
“She’s not fragile,” he murmured aloud. “She’s contemplating.”
A soft beep chimed on the encrypted terminal beside him. Incoming connection. Scrambled. No signature.
Vos pressed one key, and the screen shifted. Heather Bowman’s face appeared, elegant and polished, jaw tight.
“You shouldn’t be contacting me this way,” she snapped immediately. “Not with everything that’s happened.”
Vos didn’t flinch. His voice was silk through gravel. “And yet you answered.”
Heather glared into the lens, jaw tightening further. “You told me this was going to be surgical. Quiet. Not open warfare in the middle of Chase’s compound.”
“Don’t be dramatic,” Vos replied mildly. “It was a pressure point. A calibrated test of their reflexes.”
Her eyes flashed. “Claire almost died.”
“But she didn’t.” He leaned back slightly. “You of all people should understand the value of proximity pain. She’ll cling to Hanlon now. And to Chase. That gives you more leverage later. Unless you’ve decided to disown her again?”
Heather didn’t answer.
Vos turned his gaze back to the suite feed, watching Claire curl closer to Reid on the bed. Reid tucked her in without saying a word. “They believe they’ve won this round.”
“And you’re letting them?” Heather asked.
He smiled. “For now.” He reached forward, tapped the screen, and froze it. Claire’s hand rested in Reid’s.
“Let them feel safe. Let Chase lock the doors. Secure the suite. Wrap themselves in the illusion of control.” Vos leaned into the camera. “Because when I decide to cut, I want them wide open.” He ended the call.
The room returned to silence. Only the flickering screens remained, watching the watchers. Recording every movement.And Lucien Vos sat alone in the dark sipping the fine red wine. Smiling.
EXECUTIVE SUITE – NIGHT
