Page 169 of Fractured Allegiance
Told myself she needed space, that pushing her would only make things worse.
I thought giving her time meant she'd be safe. That maybe she'd change her mind.
I was wrong.
I drag both hands through my hair and stand. My legs are stiff. I haven't moved in hours. I pace once—twice—and then stop at the window.
Miramont is still sleeping.
Damp sidewalks. Fog crawling like it’s lost its way. Someone walks a dog across the alley below, slow and shuffling, like the world isn’t burning beneath us.
I grab my phone and call Naomi.
She answers on the third ring. "It's 6 AM, Silas."
"Is there any Bureau activity around Lydia Carr?"
Silence. Then: "Why?"
"She's missing. Drazen's men took her yesterday evening. Black SUV, east toward the waterfront. Footage was scrubbed."
"Missing? Or relocated?"
"I don't know. That's why I'm calling you."
“Hold on.” A few seconds pass. Then I hear her typing.
"Nothing in the system," she says. "No alerts, no surveillance flags, and no inter-agency reports."
"Nothing?"
"Nothing."
I go still. "So either no one noticed, or—"
"Or someone didn't want it noticed." Her voice is flat. "Where are you?"
"My apartment."
"Stay there. I'll make some calls."
"Naomi—"
"I said I'll handle it. Don't do anything stupid."
She hangs up.
I stare at the phone.
The Bureau has no alerts. No follow-ups. No missing-person pings.
Not even a hint that they noticed anything.
Either they don't know, or they're choosing not to look.
The next hour is a loop of movement. Shower. Cold. Clothes. Clean shirt. Get all the backup ammo reloaded. I don’t even know where I’m going yet, but I can’t stay still.
Every instinct I’ve buried in five years of operations screams the same thing:
