The cryptic text
Chapter Six
The next morning, I woke before the alarm, the kind of restless stirring that meant my mind had been running all night even if my body had been still. The city outside was gray with dawn, a slow drizzle crawling down the glass like veins across a map. I lay there for a moment, staring at the ceiling, thinking about Cain’s warning and the way his voice had curled around the words like he was leaving me breadcrumbs I wasn’t supposed to follow.
By the time the kettle hissed, I already had the files spread out again across the kitchen table. Cruze’s face stared up at me from a grainy photograph clipped to the corner of a report. The Ember Room sat like a shadow between the lines, more present in absence than in detail. And Alexander Cole’s name bled across my notes like a stain I couldn’t scrub out.
The phone buzzed. Unknown number.
I almost didn’t answer, but curiosity leaned heavier than caution.
“Green,” I said, voice tight with sleep and suspicion.
Static first, then a man’s voice low enough that I leaned forward instinctively, like he was sitting right across from me instead of buried somewhere in the city’s circuits.
“You’re asking the wrong questions in the wrong places.”
The line went dead before I could answer.
I stayed there, the silence swelling in my apartment until even the hum of the refrigerator felt too loud. My pen rolled off the edge of the table, clattering onto the floor, startling me more than it should have.
When I finally breathed again, I scribbled the time and words onto the margin of my notes. Even whispers left a trail if you wrote them down fast enough.
By noon, I was standing outside The Ember Room again.
The place looked different in the daylight, stripped of its midnight glamour. The brick facade was chipped, the door ordinary. It could have been any bar in the city. But the silence clung thicker here, even with traffic crawling past, even with pedestrians brushing by. The Ember Room carried its secrets like a second skin.
Inside, the dim was intentional. Heavy curtains filtered what little light the street wanted to give, and the smell was a blend of wood polish, smoke, and something darker, like the residue of too many sins. A bartender with a shaved head was wiping glasses with a rag that looked dirtier than the counter, but his eyes sharpened when they landed on me.
“Back again,” he said. Not a question.
“Couldn’t stay away,” I replied.
He didn’t smile.
I ordered a whiskey I had no intention of drinking and took a seat in the corner where I could see the whole room. The place wasn’t crowded. A couple in suits sat too close in a booth, their voices low. A man in a leather jacket hunched at the far end of the bar, staring into his glass like it held answers.
And then Alexander Cole walked in.
He wasn’t flashy. No entourage, no announcement. Just presence. The kind that shifts the air without trying. His suit was cut sharp, not ostentatious but precise, like every line had been measured twice before stitched. His hair was dark, neat, and his gaze, when it swept the room was the kind that pinned you without touching.
I kept my face down just long enough to look like I wasn’t staring, but when I looked up again, he was already watching me.
Cole didn’t come straight over. He took his time, spoke briefly to the bartender, shook a hand here, leaned in close there. He moved like a man who knew everyone owed him something. When he finally crossed to my table, it felt less like a choice and more like gravity.
“Miss Green,” he said, settling into the chair opposite mine without asking. His voice was velvet on the surface, steel underneath. “You’re making a habit of this place.”
“I like the atmosphere,” I replied evenly.
He studied me, not smiling, not frowning, just looking. Like he was cataloging me the way I’d catalogued him. His fingers tapped once against the table, then stilled.
“You’re chasing Cruze.” Not a question.
“I’m chasing the truth,” I said.
He tilted his head slightly, eyes narrowing in faint amusement. “And you think those two are the same?”
Something in my chest tightened, but I didn’t let it show. “I think they’re connected. And I think you know how.”
For the first time, Cole leaned back, considering me. The room seemed quieter for it, though no one else had stopped talking. He reached into his jacket, pulled out a silver case, and lit a cigarette with deliberate slowness. The first curl of smoke rose between us, softening the space.
“Cain should have told you to walk away.”
“He did,” I said.
Cole’s lips curved, not into a smile but into something close, something knowing. “And yet here you are.”
His eyes lingered on me in a way that wasn’t strictly professional. It wasn’t lust, not outright, but an awareness that pressed against the air between us. It unsettled me more than I wanted to admit, but I forced myself to hold his gaze.
“If you’re going to threaten me,” I said, “do it plainly.”
“Threats are a waste of time,” he replied softly. “People either listen, or they don’t. And you…” His eyes flicked over me, a slow, deliberate movement. “…you don’t listen.”
For a second, the silence pressed tighter than the smoke.
Then he stood, dropping his cigarette into the empty glass in front of me. The hiss was sharp, final.
“Enjoy your drink, Miss Green. We’ll talk again.”
He walked away without looking back, and yet I felt his presence even after the door shut behind him.
I stayed seated, my pulse too loud in my ears, my notes untouched in my bag. Cole hadn’t given me answers. He’d given me something worse, an invitation I hadn’t asked for but couldn’t refuse.
When I finally stepped back into the drizzle, the city looked different. Like the board had shifted, and I was no longer just chasing pieces. I was on it.
And Cole was watching.
