Chapter 4 · The Wrong Target

"Drop the knife, Hera. Or I’ll make the collar fry your brain before you even blink."

Silas didn't shout. He didn't have to. He just stood there, leaning against the doorframe of the damp warehouse, his voice smooth as silk and just as cold. His thumb was hovering over the remote trigger in his palm.

I didn't move. My blade was buried deep into the carrier’s shoulder, pinning the shivering man to the rusted metal crate. He was screaming—a raw, wet sound that echoed off the corrugated walls.

"He’s a Ghost Code carrier," I spat, my chest heaving. "You told me to bring him in. I’m bringing him in."

"I told you to secure the asset," Silas corrected. He stepped forward, his expensive leather boots clicking on the concrete. The sound was rhythmic. Predatory. "Not to carve him like a Thanksgiving turkey. You're getting sloppy. Or maybe you're just enjoying the blood a bit too much."

I tightened my grip on the hilt, glancing at the carrier. The man’s eyes were blown wide, terrified. He wasn't a soldier. He was a messenger, a glitch in the system wrapped in human skin.

"Get away from him," I snapped, stepping back but keeping the blade locked.

Silas was suddenly right there. Too fast. He didn't grab me; he just invaded my space, his chest nearly brushing my shoulder. I could smell him—sandalwood and something metallic, like ozone after a storm. The heat radiating off him was a physical pressure, a reminder that while I had the knife, he owned the air I breathed.

"Look at me," he whispered.

I didn't. I looked at the carrier.

"Hera." He reached out, his fingers grazing the nape of my neck, right where the gold collar bit into my skin. His touch was light, almost a caress, but the threat was implicit. One twitch of his finger and I’d be seizing on the floor. "You’re shaking. Is it adrenaline? Or are you starting to remember why you hate me so much?"

"I don't remember anything," I lied, my voice cracking. "That's the point, isn't it? You wiped me clean."

"I polished you," he murmured, his breath warm against my ear. "I took the jagged edges of a broken weapon and made you mine. Now, pull the knife out. Gently. Before I decide you're too unstable to keep in the house."

I felt the power dynamic shift like a landslide. I was the predator in this room until he walked in. Now, I was just a dog on a very expensive leash.

I yanked the blade out. The carrier gasped, collapsing into a heap. I didn't help him up. I just stood there, staring at Silas, my heart hammering against my ribs like a trapped bird.

"Clean yourself up," Silas said, glancing at the blood splattered across my cheek. He didn't use a tissue. He reached out and wiped a smudge of red away with his thumb, his gaze lingering on my lips for a second too long. "You're a mess. A beautiful, violent mess."

"Go to hell," I whispered.

"I built this city, Hera. Hell is just a suburb to me."

He turned his back on me—a move of pure arrogance, knowing I couldn't strike him without the collar snapping my neck—and walked toward the carrier. He knelt down, not out of mercy, but to inspect the cargo. He pulled a small, shimmering data-drive from the man's collar.

"This is it," Silas muttered, his eyes glowing with a faint, digital blue light as he interfaced with the drive. "The Ghost Code fragment. Finally."

I watched him, my muscles still coiled. "What does it do?"

"It unlocks doors, Hera. Doors that were locked for a reason." He stood up, the drive disappearing into his pocket. He looked at me, and for the first time, there was something other than amusement in his eyes. Hunger. "And maybe it unlocks a few more memories for you."

I opened my mouth to retort, but a sharp, piercing static ripped through the air. It wasn't coming from the room. It was coming from the internal comms implanted in my ear.

*"...Hera... can you... hear me?"*

I froze. The voice was distorted, layered with interference, but it was human. Not Silas's synthesized perfection. It was raw. Urgent.

"Who is that?" I demanded, looking at Silas.

Silas frowned, his brow furrowing. "I'm not broadcasting. You're picking up a rebel signal. They're desperate, trying to hijack your frequency."

*"Hera, listen to me!"* the voice shouted, breaking through the noise. *"The carrier... he wasn't the target. Silas lied to you. The carrier was a distraction. The real message... it was a warning for YOU!"*

I stepped back, my mind racing. "A warning? About what?"

*"He's not trying to restore your memory, he's—"*

*SNAP.*

The signal cut out. Dead silence returned to the warehouse, save for the heavy breathing of the wounded man on the floor.

Silas was staring at me. His expression had shifted from smugness to something cold and calculating. He knew I'd heard it. He knew the seed of doubt had been planted.

"How touching," Silas said, his voice dropping an octave. "The rebels playing the hero. Trying to convince my favorite pet that her master is the villain."

"Who was that?" I demanded, stepping toward him. "Who is Kane?"

Silas paused. He didn't like that I knew the name. "Kane is a ghost. A relic of a failed revolution who thinks he can save a girl who doesn't even know her own middle name."

He stepped closer again, pinning me against the metal crate. He didn't use force, but the way he boxed me in felt like a cage. He leaned in, his lips inches from mine, the tension between us stretching until it felt like it would snap.

"He’s a liar, Hera. Everything he tells you is a trick to get you to betray me. And we both know what happens to traitors in Orion."

I glared at him, my breath hitching. "Maybe I'd rather be a traitor than a pet."

Silas smiled. It wasn't a kind smile. It was the look of a man who had already won the game.

"Is that so?" He reached down, grabbing my chin and forcing me to look up at him. "Then let's give you a real mission. One that proves where your loyalties lie."

He let go of me and looked at the digital map flickering on his wrist.

"Kane is hiding in the Sector 4 slums. He’s the one who sent that signal. He thinks he’s your savior."

Silas leaned in one last time, his voice a dangerous whisper against my skin.

"Go find him. And instead of shaking his hand... kill him."