Page 78 of Anchor
The room went still, just the sound of their breathing. Reid kissed her once more, firmer this time, then pulled back enough to meet her eyes. “Then we’re getting it. First light.”
Claire curled against him again, her pulse still racing. Her father’s secrets hadn’t been buried after all. They’d been waiting for her.
CLAIRE’S APARTMENT – 0630 HOURS
The stairwell smelled like old paint and heat stress. Concrete echoed beneath their boots.
Reid moved first—body low, sidearm drawn, vest tight. Tree Town One fanned out behind him, Apex on rear guard, Fuse ontech overwatch, Relay manning the perimeter scans through a live uplink to Chase HQ.
Claire’s apartment door loomed at the top of the landing. Ordinary. Brown. Slightly warped from moisture. The same one he’d walked her through a few weeks ago. Only this time, the whole building felt… wrong.
“Apex?” Reid murmured.
“Interior clear. Thermal scans show no motion.”
“Then why’s it so quiet?”
Relay’s voice crackled through comms, “Because there’s no power on that side. Someone cut it.”
Reid’s stomach sank. “Move.”
Apex popped the lock.
There were no alarms, no resistance. That was the next warning sign. Reid remembered how it stuck. Reid crossed the threshold first. Everything looked undisturbed. Two mugs on the dish drain. A half-unpacked box still tucked in the corner, labeled in Claire’s handwriting:FIELD NOTES / DAD.
“There.” He pointed.
Fuse moved toward it but stopped cold. “Wait,” she hissed.
A soft whine started under the floorboards.
“Wired,” she snapped. “This place is wired.”
“Back out!” Reid shouted, lunging forward to grab the box.
Fuse was already diving. Apex slammed into Reid, shielding him from the worst of it.
The apartment exploded.
CHASE ANN ARBOR – NEWS MONITORS – 1103 HOURS
The broadcast lit up every screen in the executive wing.
“BREAKING: A mid-rise residential building in Ann Arbor, home to Claire Bowman, has suffered a partial collapse from an apparent gas explosion. Emergency crews are on site. No fatalities reported. Chase International declined to comment…”
Inside the wreckage, the dust hadn’t even settled yet. But the box was intact. Black. Scorched at the edges. Metal latch sealed.
Reid sat in the back of the evac truck, bloodied but alive, cradling the thing like it was sacred. Whatever Vos tried to erase… they got there first.
HOTEL SUITE – MIDNIGHT
Heather Bowman slammed the door hard enough, the hinges rattled. “You blew up her entire building,” she spat.
Vos turned from the window, coal eyes catching the city lights. Calm. Untouched. “She remembered the ledger,” he said simply. “I told you she would.”
Heather’s heels struck the marble like blades. “You said you’d control it. You said you’d contain her.”
“I did,” Vos replied, voice low, almost amused.
