Cassian Rourke Discovery
1323 Words
( Cassian Rourke’s POV)
I should not have gone there last night.
That was the first thought that crossed my mind when I walked back into the operations room the next morning.
The second thought was worse.
I was already thinking about going again.
The glass walls of Aurelion Tower reflected the pale morning sun, but the operations room remained dim.
The giant screen at the center still displayed the profile that had kept me awake most of the night.
Mireya Solis.
Her photograph stared back at me like it had questions I couldn’t answer.
Rowan sat across the room with a tablet in his hand. He didn’t even bother looking up when I walked in.
“You look terrible,” he said flatly.
“I slept.”
“No, you didn’t.”
I loosened the knot of my tie and walked toward the console.
“Did ORACLE update anything overnight?” I asked.
Rowan finally glanced up.
“Before I answer that,” he said slowly, “I want to ask you something.”
I rested my hands on the desk.
“What?”
“You drove to the Vireo District last night.”
It wasn’t a question.
I didn’t deny it.
“Yes.”
Rowan leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms.
“You said we would observe.”
“That was observation.”
“You parked in an alley and watched her for twenty minutes.”
“I needed to see the environment.”
Rowan stared at me.
“You’re a billionaire with satellite feeds, city cameras, and predictive algorithms. But sure. Sitting in a dark car like a stalker sounds very scientific.”
I ignored the comment and turned to the screen.
“Did the system update?”
Rowan sighed.
“No.”
That answer eased a small knot in my chest.
The prediction remained unchanged.
Subject: Mireya Solis
Predicted Fatal Event: 82 Days
I stared at the number.
Eighty-two days sounded like a long time.
But when a clock starts counting down, every second suddenly matters.
Rowan stood and walked toward the screen.
“So,” he said, “tell me about her.”
“What do you mean?”
“You watched her last night.”
He nodded toward the photograph.
“What’s she like?”
I hesitated.
Because describing Mireya Solis felt strangely difficult.
“She paints,” I said.
Rowan blinked.
“That’s your big insight?” “She paints murals.”
“That’s in the file.” I folded my arms.
“She’s determined.”
“How do you know that?”
I thought about the moment she had stepped back from the wall to study her work.
The way she had stood alone in the dark alley, as if she belonged there.
“She paints at night,” I said quietly.
Rowan frowned.
“So?”
“So most people wouldn’t.”
Rowan studied my face for a moment.
Then he sighed.
“You’re already getting attached.”
“I’m analyzing a situation.”
“You drove across the city at midnight to watch a stranger paint wings on a wall.”
“That’s still analysis.”
Rowan rubbed his forehead.
“Cassian, listen to yourself.”
I turned away from him and opened another file.
The city redevelopment map appeared.
Several blocks of the Vireo District were highlighted in red.
Atlas Development had been busy.
Property after property marked for acquisition.
Rowan stepped closer.
“That company is aggressive.”
“Yes.”
“Why are they targeting that district?”
“Location,” I answered!
The neighborhood sat close to the harbor.
Prime land for luxury towers.
Rowan tapped the screen.
“And this building?”
The railway structure where Mireya had been painting blinked on the map.
“Scheduled for demolition,” I said.
“When?”
I opened the permit file.
The date appeared.
Still three months away.
Rowan nodded slowly.
“So the prediction makes sense.”
“Yes.”
“If she keeps painting there, eventually she could get caught in a collapse.”
“Exactly.”
Rowan crossed his arms.
“Then warn her.”
“No.”
He looked at me like I had just insulted his intelligence.
“You’re serious?”
“If I interfere directly, the variables change.”
“Good,” Rowan said. “Change them.”
“You don’t understand how fragile predictive systems are.”
“I understand that a real person might die.”
I met his gaze.
“And I understand that reckless interference could make things worse.”
Rowan didn’t look convinced.
Silence filled the room for a moment.
Then he asked quietly,
“Are you going back tonight?”
I didn’t answer immediately.
But the truth was obvious.
Yes.
Because something about that mural had stayed in my mind all night.
Those wings.
Those tiny painted houses inside the feathers.
It was like she was trying to give the neighborhood a way to fly away before the bulldozers arrived.
“I might,” I admitted.
Rowan groaned. “You’re unbelievable.”
“Observation requires repetition.”
“You’re not a scientist studying birds.”
I turned back to the screen.
“Maybe not.”
The surveillance feed from the district flickered to life.
Daytime now. Cars passing.
People walking. Normal life.
Rowan leaned closer.
“Look.”
The camera zoomed slightly toward the flower shop across the street.
A small wooden sign read Solis Flowers.
The door opened.
Mireya stepped outside carrying a bucket of water.
She wore a simple gray sweater and jeans.
Her dark hair was tied loosely behind her head.
Nothing about her looked extraordinary.
And yet…
Rowan glanced at me.
“You’re staring.”
“I’m observing.”
She placed the bucket beside a row of potted plants and began watering them carefully.
Each movement is slow and patient.
Rowan shook his head.
“She has no idea some billionaire is watching her life on a giant screen.”
“That’s the point.”
He turned toward me again.
“Just promise me something.”
“What?”
“If this starts affecting you…”
“It won’t.”
“You’ll step back.”
I didn’t respond.
Because deep down, I wasn’t sure anymore.
The screen switched to a different camera angle.
The railway building.
The half-finished mural still stretched across the bricks.
Even in daylight the wings looked powerful.
Alive.
Rowan studied the image.
“You know what’s strange?”
“What?”
“She paints wings on a building that’s going to be demolished.”
“Yes.”
“Almost like she knows time is running out.”
I stared at the mural.
At the unfinished feathers waiting for color.
Then something caught my eye.
A new red symbol was sprayed near the bottom corner of the wall.
I zoomed the camera closer.
The image sharpened.
Rowan leaned forward.
“What’s that?”
I felt a cold weight settle in my chest.
Because the symbol wasn’t part of the mural.
It was a demolition mark.
Fresh. Bright red.
Placed there sometime during the night.
Rowan frowned.
“That wasn’t there yesterday.”
“No,” I said quietly.
He looked at the permit date again.
“The demolition isn’t scheduled yet.”
I nodded slowly.
“Which means…”
Rowan finished the sentence.
“Atlas moved faster than expected.”
My eyes remained on the red mark painted across the bricks.
Demolition companies only used that symbol for one reason.
Final clearance.
Rowan’s voice dropped.
“Cassian…”
“Yes?”
“If they marked the building already…”
I finished the thought for him.
“They’re preparing to bring it down.”
I glanced at the calendar on the screen.
Ninety days suddenly felt very uncertain.
And somewhere in the Vireo District…
Mireya Solis was still painting wings on a wall that might not survive the week.
- Writer
