Chapter Eight — Father
1237 Words
We had one hour before everything came out.
One hour before eleven years of buried cases, signatures, and quiet orders reached people who were never meant to see them.
One hour before my father’s world started to fall apart.
I spent forty minutes of it sitting in the back of a stolen car, parked on a quiet street three miles from headquarters, staring at my phone without moving.
Caelum sat beside me.
He didn’t rush me. Didn’t check the time. Didn’t fidget or sigh or pretend patience while actually waiting for me to hurry up.
He just sat there.
Still. Present. Like he meant it when he stayed.
“I need to see him,” I said.
He was quiet for a moment.
“Before it releases?”
“Yes.”
He exhaled softly. “Lena…”
“I know,” I said quickly. “I know it’s not part of the plan. I know it’s risky. I know every reason not to do it.” I turned to him. “I need to look at him when I tell him it was me.”
He watched me for a long moment.
I expected him to argue. To remind me what was at stake.
Instead, he said, “I’m coming with you.”
“You don’t have to.”
“I’m coming with you.”
Simple. Final.
I held his gaze for a second longer, then nodded.
“Okay.”
The building still accepted my physical access.
That didn’t surprise me as much as it should have. Digital systems were faster to shut down. Physical security always lagged behind.
I had written a report about that gap two years ago.
It had been filed.
And ignored.
My father had ignored it.
That felt fitting.
We went in through the loading bay, took the service elevator up to the executive floor. The air was different there. Quieter. Controlled. The kind of silence that belonged to people who made decisions instead of following them.
His assistant looked up the moment I stepped inside.
“Ms. Voss,” she said, already standing. “You shouldn’t be here. He’s not seeing anyone.”
“I won’t be long,” I said.
I didn’t wait for permission.
I walked straight into his office.
Caelum followed and closed the door behind us.
My father stood by the window.
He turned at the sound, and when his eyes landed on Caelum, something changed.
Not fear.
Something deeper.
Recognition.
Like he had just seen the shape of something inevitable.
Then his gaze shifted to me.
“Lena.”
Just my name.
The same way he had always said it.
Warm. Familiar.
For a second, it almost worked.
“Sit down,” I said.
He didn’t move. “How much do you know?”
“Everything.” My voice stayed steady. “The cases. The signatures. The files. Mom.” I paused. “Marcus.”
His jaw tightened.
“Sit down.”
He sat.
Just like that.
And that told me more than anything else could have.
I stayed standing.
“I want to understand something,” I said. “Before this ends. Before you start explaining and reframing and controlling the story.” I met his eyes. “Did you know what she was when you married her?”
Silence stretched between us.
“Yes,” he said.
“Did you love her?”
This time, the pause was longer.
“Yes.”
I swallowed.
“And you still let them kill her.”
“It wasn’t my decision.” His voice cracked, just slightly. “By the time the order came, I had no control left. They had leverage. Things I had done. Things I couldn’t undo.” He looked at me. “I was already trapped.”
Trapped.
I stood there, looking at the man who had shaped my entire life, and realized something I hadn’t expected.
He hadn’t started as a monster.
He had started as a coward.
And somewhere along the way, that had been enough.
“And me?” I asked. “Recruiting me at seventeen. The suppression when I was a child. Turning me into this.” My voice stayed quiet. “Was that being trapped too?”
His eyes dropped.
That was answer enough.
“You built me,” I said. “You took everything she was and trained me to hunt it. I had a list. Seventeen names. People I believed were dangerous.” I shook my head slightly. “They were just like her. And you pointed me at them.”
He looked up at me.
For the first time in my life, my father looked small.
“I’m sorry,” he said.
Two words.
Late. Real.
Not enough.
I felt Caelum shift slightly beside me. Not stepping in. Not interrupting.
Just there.
I took a breath.
“The evidence goes out in nineteen minutes,” I said. “Press. Oversight. People outside your control.” I held his gaze. “You have nineteen minutes to decide who you want to be when it happens.”
He studied me.
“What would you have me do?”
“Tell the truth,” I said. “All of it. Not your version. Not something controlled. Everything.” I paused. “Give them something. Give the families something.”
He was quiet for a long time.
Then he looked at Caelum.
“Who is he?”
“Someone who told me the truth,” I said.
My father studied him carefully.
Whatever he saw there, it changed something in his expression.
Not approval.
Something quieter.
“Take care of her,” he said.
Caelum didn’t answer.
I turned toward the door, then stopped with my hand on the frame.
“Dad.”
He looked up.
“She was quick to laugh,” I said softly. “That’s all her file says. Four words.” My throat tightened. “Don’t let that be all that’s left of her.”
I didn’t wait for a response.
I walked out.
We didn’t speak until we were outside.
Past the lobby. Past the building. Two blocks away.
The silence wasn’t heavy.
It was just… there.
Like something had shifted and needed time to settle.
Caelum stopped walking.
I stopped too.
“Are you alright?” he asked.
I almost laughed.
The truth was complicated. Too complicated to explain out loud.
So I looked at him and said, “Ask me again in a week.”
Something soft crossed his face.
“Okay,” he said. “In a week.”
His phone buzzed.
He checked it.
“It’s happening,” he said. “Mara released it.”
We stood there on an ordinary street, surrounded by people who had no idea what had just changed.
I didn’t feel victorious.
I felt… empty. Like everything had burned down and I was standing in what was left, waiting to see what came next.
“What do we do now?” I asked.
Same question.
Different moment.
This time, he didn’t hesitate.
He reached for me slowly, giving me time to pull away if I wanted to.
I didn’t.
His hand closed around mine.
Warm. Steady.
“Now,” he said quietly, “we figure out what comes next.”
I looked at our hands.
Then back at him.
And for the first time in a long time, I wasn’t afraid of what came next.
- Writer
