The walk back to my office felt like moving through waist-high water. Darian’s words about South Carolina were playing on a loop in my head. He wasn’t just building a cage; he was building an empire that required my submission as the fuel.
I walked past Marcus, not even looking at him as I entered my office and slammed the door. My hands were shaking as I sat at the desk. I had until sunset.
I pulled up Elias Thorne’s file again. If Darian “owned” him, then Thorne was either a loyalist or a victim of the same coercion I was facing. If it was the latter, there was a chance.
I didn’t use the desk phone or the computer. I reached into my bag and pulled out a small, unassuming flash drive I’d “borrowed” from the IT supply closet during my tour with Darian. It was a diagnostic tool, desig
