BURN WITH ME

Chapter Six — The Lion’s Den

My father’s office always smelled the same—leather, old paper, and that quiet, controlled authority he carried everywhere.

I grew up breathing it in.

It used to comfort me.

Now it felt like walking into a memory I no longer trusted.

I stood outside his door at exactly nine, badge clipped neatly to my jacket, expression already in place—calm, steady, unreadable. The version of me he expected.

I gave myself four seconds.

Just four.

Enough to feel everything rushing under my skin—the anger, the grief, the image of my mother’s hands, the truth buried in Marcus’s file, Seren Dray laughing at something stupid.

Four seconds.

Then I shoved it all down so deep it might as well not exist.

And I knocked.

“Lena.”

He looked up, and there it was—relief. Controlled, subtle, but real.

“I heard there was an incident last night. Maren District.”

“There was.” I took the seat across from him, back straight, hands relaxed. Muscle memory. “Target wasn’t there. Building was empty. I think the intel was bad.”

He watched me carefully.

Harlan Voss was sixty-one and looked ten years younger, like everything about him had been maintained with intention. Even his aging. Silver at his temples, eyes sharp and dark—just like mine.

Once, that had made me proud.

Now it just made me wonder what else we shared.

I smiled anyway.

“The cleaners were dispatched,” he said.

“I saw them,” I replied smoothly. “Pulled back before they arrived. No point compromising the team if the intel was already off.”

A pause.

Then, a nod. “Smart.”

“You trained me.”

Something softened in his face—approval, pride, something almost warm. I used to chase that look.

Now I saw it for what it was.

A tool.

He didn’t just use power. He used affection. Placed it carefully. Measured the impact.

And waited.

“We have a new assignment,” he said, sliding a file across the desk. “Northern District. Mid-level warlock. Possibly building a network off-grid.”

I picked it up, scanning just enough to respond while my mind tracked everything else—his posture, the tension in his shoulders, the fact that he hadn’t fully relaxed since I walked in.

He didn’t know what I knew.

But he wasn’t sure I didn’t.

That uncertainty was the line I had to walk.

“Timeline?” I asked.

“End of the week. I want the network mapped before you move.”

Five days.

Caelum needed three.

Good.

“I’ll start today.”

I stood, file in hand, already turning toward the door.

“Lena.”

I stopped.

Turned back.

He was studying me again—carefully this time, like he was deciding something.

“You look tired.”

“Long night.”

“You should rest.” A brief pause. “You’re important to me. You know that.”

The words landed the same way they always had.

But now I could see the structure behind them. The calculation.

Still, I gave him exactly what he expected.

A small, easy smile.

“I know, Dad.”

I didn’t make it far.

The stairwell door closed behind me, and my hands started shaking.

Not fear.

Pressure.

The kind that builds when you hold too much inside for too long.

I leaned back against the wall and breathed slowly, forcing my body to catch up with the mask I’d just worn.

Three days.

That was all.

I pulled out my phone and opened the encrypted line.

I’m in.

The reply came fast.

I know. You were in there eleven minutes.

I frowned.

You were watching the building?

Yes.

That wasn’t part of the plan.

No.

A pause.

Then—

You walked in there knowing everything you know and still came back out. I wanted to be sure you did.

I stared at the screen.

Read it again.

And again.

Something in my chest shifted, quiet and unfamiliar.

I didn’t know what to do with that.

Evidence is moving, he added. First package secured. Two left.

How long?

Sixty hours. Maybe less.

Sixty hours.

I could survive that.

Don’t get caught, I typed.

There was a longer pause this time.

Then—

Don’t let him see you.

I slipped the phone away, pushed off the wall, and walked back inside.

Back into the place that had shaped me.

Back into the system I was about to destroy.

---

The next two days dragged.

I sat through briefings, nodded when expected, filed reports that sounded thorough but said nothing useful. I had lunch with Hargrove—one of the names on the drive—and listened to him talk about nothing while remembering exactly what he’d signed off on.

I smiled at my father in the hallway.

Morning and night.

Every time, he looked a little more reassured.

But never fully.

At night, I went back to my own apartment. Not Caelum’s. Routine mattered.

Suspicion lived in small changes.

I sat in the dark and read my mother’s file again.

Not for answers.

Just… for her.

Elena Callahan.

Born in a coastal town I’d never seen. Recruited young. Married into this world. Gave birth to me.

Terminated at thirty-seven.

No photos.

Just a description.

Dark eyes. Slight build.

Quick to laugh.

I held onto those words like they mattered more than anything else in the file.

Because they did.

---

On the second night, my phone lit up.

Are you sleeping?

I stared at the message.

No.

Me neither.

A pause.

Talk to me. About something that isn’t this.

I hesitated.

Then—

My mother was quick to laugh, I typed. It’s the only real thing I have.

His reply took longer this time.

Seren used to laugh at her own jokes before she finished them. Drove me insane.

I let out a quiet breath.

Something inside me eased.

They would’ve liked each other.

Yeah, he said. I think so too.

We talked until after two.

About them.

About things that existed before this mess.

About grief and memories and all the small details that make people real.

At 2:17—

Get some sleep, Lena.

At 2:18—

You too.

At 2:19, before I could stop myself—

Thank you. For this.

His reply came instantly.

Always.

I lay there in the dark, that word settling over me in a way I didn’t understand.

Always.

From someone I was supposed to bind.

I closed my eyes.

And for the first time in three years—

I slept.