Page 9 of Fractured Allegiance

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Dom doesn’t say things like that unless he’s cushioning a blow.

He reaches into the drawer at his side and pulls out a black folder with paper inside—not digital.

He’s old school that way. So is Drazen. Anything worth protecting doesn’t belong in a cloud.

He pushes the folder toward me.

“Viktor wants this handled today.”

I open it.

No photo. Just names. Notes. A location.

Someone took this by hand. It was probably Drazen himself. It’s too neat, too sparse, to be a field agent’s file.

I skim:

Front business: small logistics firm

Suspected laundering

Four employees flagged

One in particular: Silas Ward

The name doesn’t land at first. It’s just data. Ink.

Then something in my brain… stops.

Silas.

I blink once.

Ward.

No photo. No profile. Just a name.

But it doesn’t matter.

It’s him.

I know it. Some part of me registers it before the rest catches up.

Dom’s watching me. Waiting for a reaction.

I give none.

“What’s the protocol?” I ask.

“Assessment. First. If he’s clean, he walks.”

“And if he’s not?”

Dom leans back. “You’ll know what to do.”

I keep my tone steady. “Why him?”

“New face. Recent activity. Drazen doesn’t like variables.”

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