Two days later…
The train sliced through the morning haze, its windows catching streaks of gold as the landscape rolled by — acres of green, pockets of mist, and the distant silhouette of Silverline shrinking behind her.
Olivia sat by the window, fingers wrapped around the strap of her luggage bag. Her reflection in the glass looked worn and dim, as if she'd aged years in just two days.
A thought stabbed through her — sharp, unwelcome — and she forced it back down.
Not now.
Not here.
Not where she couldn't afford to unravel.
Her phone buzzed.
She didn't touch it.
The announcement chimed overhead.
"Next stop: Downtown Central."
Olivia stood, collected her bag, and stepped onto the platform as the city swallowed her in humid air and merging voices.
A man stood waiting — mid-fifties, composed, familiar.
"Leon," she greeted softly.
He nodded, took her luggage, and guided her through the crowd without ceremony.
Their silence was heavy… and purposeful.
They retreat into the crowd.
---
Silverline City
Silverline felt too quiet that evening, almost hollow.
Jenna pushed open the door to Olivia's apartment — a space that seemed colder without her friend's presence. She had been inside earlier, but now she returned with a sharper intent.
Something about the way Olivia left… wasn't right.
A vague text.
A sudden leave request.
No explanation.
Jenna locked the door and stood still for a moment, absorbing the room's unnatural neatness. Olivia wasn't an impulsive cleaner — she only scrubbed things spotless when she was hiding stress.
A long sigh escaped Jenna's lips.
"Liv… what are you not telling me?"
She walked toward the desk again. That small indentation in the wood caught her eye — deeper now that she was paying attention. Something heavy had rested there. Recently.
Her pulse tightened.
She pulled out the chair and sat.
Olivia's laptop rested on the desk, too neatly placed.
No password barrier.
It opened instantly.
Jenna swallowed.
The desktop was almost blank. Clean to discomfort.
She clicked on the Calendar.
Most days were empty… but then her stomach dropped.
There it was.
A single entry.
"Appointment — 2 days left."
Just that.
No title.
No location.
No details.
Nothing to decode.
Jenna clicked it.
It didn't open.
She tried again.
Nothing.
She tried to delete it.
It wouldn't delete.
The cursor blinked back at her — slow, cold, unfriendly.
A chill ran through her.
"Liv… what were you preparing for?"
The apartment felt tighter, smaller, as if the walls themselves were holding their breath.
Jenna leaned back, hands trembling slightly, her mind racing through possibilities she wished she didn't have to consider.
Whatever Olivia had stepped into…
it wasn't simple.
It wasn't random.
And it wasn't something she intended anyone — especially Jenna — to uncover.
PRIVATE JET — NIGHT
A low mechanical hum vibrated through the cabin as the private jet cut across the dark sky, slicing through clouds as if they were nothing but pale smoke.
The interior glowed with soft amber lights — leather seats, polished oak tables, chrome accents. Luxury and power wrapped into one airborne cocoon.
A hand entered frame.
Calm.
Controlled.
Expensive cufflinks gleaming faintly beneath the cabin lights.
The hand reached for a crystal glass on the side table, lifting it with deliberate ease. Condensation trailed down the sides as the liquid shifted inside — amber, slow, aged.
He took a sip.
No rush.
No emotion.
Just quiet intention.
Only his torso and hands were visible — the camera never daring to climb high enough to reveal his face.
A soft knock on the cabin wall.
The air hostess stepped forward, her voice polite and composed.
"Sir, do you need anything?"
The hand lowered the glass slightly.
A calm, deep voice — measured, unreadable:
"…No. That will be all."
She nodded once and retreated quietly, disappearing behind the cabin curtain.
He placed the glass back onto the polished table — perfectly aligned with the coaster.
Then, without lifting his head, he reached for a folded newspaper on the seat beside him.
The headline caught a faint glint of cabin light as he opened it — but the angle kept the print hidden from the audience.
He didn't smile.
Didn't frown.
Didn't react.
He simply read.
As if waiting.
As if counting down.
The jet continued its silent flight across the night sky — a predator moving above a world that had no idea it was being watched.
Fade out.
TO BE CONTINUED...