Smoke in the Glass
In Elijah’s penthouse, the glass reflected Raven back at herself—pale face, guarded eyes, her hair pulled too tight. Outside, the city burned with light, a hundred thousand windows flickering against the dark. It should have made her feel smaller. Instead, she felt exposed, like those lights were aimed inward, illuminating things she’d rather keep hidden.
Elijah poured his own drink and leaned on the edge of the bar. His movements were precise, unhurried. He handled crystal and decanter the way a surgeon handled a scalpel.
“I knew Zara,” he said finally. “A lifetime ago. We were… young.”
Raven’s chest constricted. “How young?”
“Seventeen. A different name, a different life. You wouldn’t have recognized me.”
“You disappeared,” she said, her voice sharper than she intended. “Back then, after she died. People assumed—”
“That I ran because I was guilty,” he finished for her. “I ran because I was next.”
Her breath caught. “The Sin Collector?”
He swirled the amber liquid, not drinking. “We didn’t call him that then. Just… Cassian. A mind you couldn’t cage. He believed the world needed purging. The Crimson Verse gave him a vocabulary for it. I gave him a philosophy.”
“You wrote the manifesto,” she said flatly.
His mouth twisted. “I wrote ideas. Cassian made them flesh. I never thought—” He stopped himself, shoulders tightening. “Belief is a dangerous thing in the wrong hands.”
Raven stepped closer, the air between them charged. “And now he’s using Zara to bait me. Which means that you’re not just a link in the chain, you’re the thread tying the whole thing together.”
He met her gaze without flinching. “Then maybe you shouldn’t be here.”
“Too late for that.”
They stood in silence for a long moment, the city noise muted behind the glass. Then his phone buzzed on the bar. He glanced at it, and something in his expression changed—just a flicker, but enough for her to notice.
“What is it?” she asked.
He slid the phone into his pocket. “Nothing you need to worry about.”
Her temper flared. “If it’s nothing, you won’t mind showing me.”
He didn’t answer.
Before she could press, a sharp crack echoed from somewhere below—a sound out of place in a building like this. Not thunder. Not construction. Gunfire.
Elijah was already moving. He crossed to a concealed panel in the wall and pressed his palm to it. A compartment slid open, revealing a matte-black handgun. He tossed her a second one without hesitation.
“Basement level,” he said.
She caught the weapon, her body falling into old muscle memory. “Security?”
“Two men stationed downstairs. If they’re still breathing, they’ll hold the lobby.”
They took the private stairwell, the air was growing cooler as they descended. The scent of ozone hung in the hall, freshly discharged firearms. Raven’s pulse hammered, every sense heightened.
The basement was dim, it was lit only by emergency strips along the floor. One guard lay against the wall, blood spreading beneath him. His eyes were wide, still trying to focus.
“Two—came through the loading dock,” he rasped.
“Where’s the other guard?” Elijah demanded.
The man swallowed hard. “Didn’t—make it.”
Raven crouched, pressing her hand against the wound, but it was bad. She looked up at Elijah. “We need an ambulance.”
“Already called,” he said, scanning the shadows.
A flicker of movement at the far end of the hall caught her eye. She raised the gun, but the figure was already slipping through a steel door. Raven sprinted after him, boots ringing against concrete, Elijah close behind.
They burst into the loading dock. A man in a black mask was halfway into a waiting van. He turned, and for a split second, their eyes met through the slit in the fabric. The same cologne. The same deliberate stillness she’d felt on the street.
She fired. The shot missed by inches, sparking against the van’s frame. The driver slammed the accelerator, tires screeching as the vehicle fishtailed into the night.
Raven stood frozen, breath sharp in her throat. Elijah stepped beside her, his voice low. “You recognize him.”
“Yes.”
“Cassian?”
She shook her head. “Not sure. But he wanted us to see him.”
They returned upstairs to find the living room bathed in flashing red and blue from the street below. Paramedics worked in the basement, and police swarmed the lobby. Micah arrived within minutes, his coat still wet from the rain outside.
“Blaire,” he said, eyes narrowing. “Tell me why you’re in Cross’s building during an active shooting.”
“I was asking him questions when it happened,” she replied. “Two intruders came in through the loading dock. One escaped. The other never made it inside.”
Micah’s gaze shifted to Elijah. “Convenient.”
Elijah’s voice was smooth, but steel-threaded. “If I wanted you dead, Detective, you wouldn’t be standing here.”
Micah ignored him. “You get a good look?”
“Black mask, about six feet, lean build,” Raven said. “Cologne like winter air.”
Micah frowned. “That’s specific.”
“It’s how I work.”
They spoke for another ten minutes, running through details until the tension in the room became unbearable. When Micah finally left, promising extra patrol cars in the area, Raven turned to Elijah.
“You need to tell me everything you know about Cassian,” she said.
Elijah poured himself another drink. “And if I do, will you stay out of my way?”
She didn’t answer.
“That’s what I thought,” he said, lifting the glass. “In that case, we’ll need to arrange something more… permanent.”
She arched an eyebrow. “Permanent?”
“You and I. An alliance. You want him stopped. I want him erased. Our goals align.”
Raven crossed her arms. “And when it’s over?”
His smile didn’t reach his eyes. “Then we see what’s left of us.”
She left the penthouse near midnight. The streets glistened from the earlier rain, streetlamps haloed in mist. Her mind replayed the moment in the loading dock—the way the masked man had moved, the unhurried way he’d met her gaze before disappearing.
She didn’t notice the black sedan trailing her until it pulled out from the curb behind her. The hairs on her neck rose. She quickened her pace, glancing at shop windows to track its reflection. The car matched her step for step.
Half a block later, a shape detached itself from the mouth of an alley. Too tall to be a coincidence. Too quiet.
Her hand slipped into her coat, fingers closing over the gun Elijah had given her.
The figure stepped into the light. A mask. The same one from the dock.
He didn’t run this time. He just stood there, head tilted—mocking, patient. Then he lifted a gloved hand and held up something small. A flash drive.
Raven’s breath caught.
Before she could move, he dropped it into a storm drain and backed away, disappearing into the shadows.
The sedan pulled away without a sound.
She stood rooted in place, heart pounding. Whatever was on that drive was meant for her and now it was gone.
Or maybe that was the point.
