Family Secret

Chapter 36

The morning was gray, the kind of dull sky that seemed to press down on the city, but Nate walked with his usual composed stride toward the psychiatric ward. To anyone passing by, it looked like a grim institution of steel and brick—a place where troubled minds were housed, tended to, and studied. But to those who belonged, to those who carried the clearance, it was something else entirely.

The Order’s true heart beat not in its wards but in its labyrinth of corridors hidden below, where agents came and went like clockwork.

Nate passed the front desk with a brief nod, flashing his credentials. He didn’t pause as the clerk—a man who looked perpetually tired—buzzed him through. His footsteps echoed against the linoleum floor until he reached the unmarked door at the end of the hall. The keycode beeped at his touch, the lock clicked open, and he slipped inside.

The back room was sterile and dimly lit, dominated by a long metal table. Kristen sat at the far end, posture stiff, hands folded in front of her. Rose leaned against a filing cabinet with her arms crossed, her sharp gaze flicking up as Nate entered. Kevin was at the table already, fidgeting with a pen between his fingers.

“Still nothing,” Rose said before Nate had even set down his briefcase. “No trace, no trail, no shadow of the leak. Whoever it is, they’re careful. Too careful.”

Kevin let the pen snap back against his knuckles, shaking his head. “It doesn’t make sense. We’ve combed every report, every handler. The Resistance shouldn’t have half the intel they’ve been using unless someone in this room—” He cut himself off, grimacing.

Kristen didn’t so much as flinch at his implication. Her gray eyes shifted, slow and deliberate, until they locked on Nate. When she spoke, her voice was even, flat—without a drop of warmth. “Agent Steele. How goes infiltrating the Monroe estate? Any progress?”

Nate set his briefcase on the table, his jaw tightening. “None yet. I’ve only been able to make brief contact with Fiona Monroe. I haven’t been able to get close to Cisco just yet.”

Kristen regarded him with that same blank, unreadable mask she always wore. If there was judgment in her, or disappointment, no one could see it. “Time is running out,” she said. “The Resistance is growing bolder. They’re expanding their reach. And somehow… they’re getting funding. We need to know who is supplying them.”

Nate nodded once, forcing his shoulders to remain steady beneath her gaze. He unlatched the briefcase, flipping it open. Inside were neatly stacked documents, coded files, and—right at the top—something utterly out of place.

A spiral-bound catalog with brightly colored fonts and doodles sprawled across the cover: Kyan’s Fundraiser Pack.

Kevin blinked, leaning forward with a puzzled tilt of his head. “What… is that?”

Nate arched an eyebrow, lips quirking into the faintest smirk. “That would be Kyan. Must’ve slipped it in before I left. Cheeky little devil.” He held it up for them to see. “Apparently, the school’s running some fundraiser. First five families who raise the most money win a cruise on the SS Nautilus. Biggest ship in the world, fanciest too.” He gave a small shrug. “It’s rubbish.”

At that, Kristen’s head shifted slightly. For once, the faintest flicker of change passed across her face—a single eyebrow raised. “Five families, you say?”

Her gaze narrowed in thought, then she spoke aloud, her voice still precise but carrying a note of calculation. “This could be your chance to get in close with Cisco. A cruise… isolated at sea for a week. There would be no way you could fail to extract information. Or something more.”

Nate’s jaw clenched. He set the catalog back down in the case with a soft thud. “The whole school is participating. Families with far more money, more influence than me. It’s a waste.”

Kristen’s lips curved—subtle, sharp, the ghost of a smirk that never quite reached her eyes. “Leave it to me.”

The room fell quiet at those words, the promise hanging heavy in the air.

---

Alexia adjusted her headset as the phone lines blinked red across the front desk. It had been a whirlwind the past few days—one moment she was scrubbing silverware in the Order’s dining hall, the next she was sitting behind the polished oak reception desk of Headquarters. A promotion, they called it. A token of recognition. But Alexia knew better. Every promotion in the Order came with strings.

She smiled politely as she directed a courier to the third floor, logged a stack of coded messages, and filed an update from the western outpost. Every detail she processed, she scanned twice over, looking for threads—any hint about why the Order was so invested in Cisco Monroe. So far, there had been nothing. Just the usual chatter about patrols, resupply, and “containment.” Cisco’s name never crossed the wires.

Her phone rang again, a subtle vibration at the base of the receiver. She lifted it, voice smooth. “Headquarters front desk, Alexia speaking.”

A string of numbers, rattled off quick and clipped, answered her. Not an extension. Not a request. A code.

Her stomach dipped. Lunch hour. Local diner. Gale.

The bell over the diner door chimed as Alexia stepped inside, the smell of fried potatoes and bitter coffee wrapping around her like a familiar cloak. She pulled her coat tighter, scanning the booths with a casual glance before sliding into one near the back. The vinyl seat was cracked in places, patched with tape, but it was private.

Moments later, the cushion of the booth behind her dipped under someone else’s weight. The faint clatter of a menu, the sound of a chair scooting back. She didn’t need to turn her head—she knew.

“Coffee,” Gale’s voice ordered flatly to the waitress.

Alexia kept her gaze forward, her reflection wavering in the greasy saltshaker. She sipped her water, waiting until the waitress’ footsteps faded. Then Gale’s voice came, pitched low, barely a murmur over the clink of cutlery.

“Found anything?”

Alexia exhaled, slow and controlled, the frustration she’d been swallowing all week bubbling close to the surface. “Nope. Not a damn thing.”

Behind her, Gale’s jaw must have tightened—she could hear the faint grind in his tone when he spoke. “Is there any way you can get closer to the Monroes? Don’t your ‘kids’ go to the same school as their boy? Set up a playdate or whatever parents call it.”

That earned a dry chuckle out of her. She shook her head, tracing the rim of her glass with a fingertip. “Easier said than done. Elementary school is just as savage as war, Gale. Kids are territorial. The twins are trying, but Miguel keeps his distance.”

For a moment, she fell quiet, thinking, the idea crawling into place almost on its own. Then she tilted her head slightly, lowering her voice to a conspiratorial tone. “You know… the school is running a fundraiser. First five families who raise the most money win a trip on that fancy cruise ship, the SS Nautilus. That could be something. Any ideas?”

Behind her, she heard it—the faint shift of cloth as Gale’s lips tugged into a smirk. “I’ll see what I can do.”

Coins clattered softly onto his table. Bronze, enough for coffee. The sound of his jacket sliding across his shoulders followed. Before he walked away, he leaned just close enough for his words to slide through the air, firm and final.

“Be careful. Secret Service has been cracking down since the Museum incident.”

Alexia’s lips curved into a smirk of her own, her eyes locked on the greasy saltshaker reflection. “When am I not careful?”

The bell above the diner door chimed again, leaving her alone in the booth.