Corridors of Cinders
The travel from Ashby Industries Tower — Freya’s office and CEO suite to Ashby Industries Tower — basement parking and Freya’s apartment consumed the next hour. Headlights cut cold through the gathering dusk.
The air in the Ashby Industries basement tasted of concrete dust and cold metal. Killian stood at the edge of the parking bay, his security team moving in silent patterns through the halogen glare. The fire alarm had cut off seven minutes ago, but the acrid ghost of smoke still clung to every surface.
Victor approached with a tablet, his boots echoing against the poured concrete. “Electrical fire on floor fourteen. The panel shows a 4.2 amp surge that shouldn’t have been possible with the breakers we installed.”
“Staged,” Killian said. It wasn’t a question.
“Confirmed. The surge originated from a maintenance closet directly beneath Freya’s old office. The one she used before she left.” Victor swiped through data. “The fire suppression system was disabled remotely. Someone wanted it to spread.”
Killian looked at the security feeds on Victor’s screen. The flames had crawled up the wall in a deliberate pattern, eating through the cubicle farm with surgical precision. The timing was precise: 11:47 PM, thirty minutes after the last employee had clocked out.
“Who had access to the suppression system?” Killian asked.
“Three people. Me, the building superintendent, and the fire marshal’s office.” Victor paused. “The superintendent’s credentials were used to bypass the lockdown at 11:32 PM.”
“Where is he now?”
“Missing. His apartment is empty. Car’s still in the garage.” Victor’s voice carried the weight of implication. “The Blackthorns don’t leave loose threads.”
Killian crushed the memo he still held, the paper biting into his palm. Freya’s words replayed in his mind: *I was trying to keep him safe.* She had been running from this, not him. The distinction mattered more than he wanted to admit.
“Lock down the tower,” Killian said. “Full sweep, floor by floor. I want thermal imaging on every level before sunrise.”
Victor nodded and turned to relay orders. Killian’s phone vibrated against his thigh. He pulled it out and saw the sender: an encrypted number with no name attached.
The message was three words:
*The fire spreads.*
Killian felt his pulse settle into something cold and methodical. This wasn’t a threat. This was a confirmation. Beckett Blackthorn was telling him that he knew exactly where Killian’s attention was focused. The fire was a message: *I can reach her. I can reach your son.*
“Victor,” Killian called. “I need a car. Now.”
—
Freya’s apartment building sat on the edge of the city’s old district, a brick-and-mortar holdout against the glass towers that dominated the skyline. The streetlights flickered in uneven intervals, casting shadows that stretched and shrank like living things.
Killian parked three blocks away and walked the rest of the distance. He kept his hands in his coat pockets, his shoulders relaxed, his pace unhurried. In the world he moved through, speed drew attention. The predators who hunted in these streets watched for the frantic, the desperate. He gave them nothing to track.
The apartment was on the fifth floor. He took the stairs, counting each landing as he climbed. The hallway smelled of cooking oil and stale fabric softener. The door at the end of the corridor had a child’s drawing taped to it—a stick figure with yellow hair standing next to a larger stick figure with brown hair. A house. A sun with six rays.
He knocked twice.
Helena opened the door. Her face was pale, her eyes tracking the space behind him before she pulled him inside.
“She told you,” Helena said. It wasn’t a question.
“She told me enough.” Killian stepped into the narrow living room. The furniture was worn but clean. A toy truck sat in the corner next to a stack of picture books. The television was off. The silence felt deliberate.
Freya stood by the kitchen counter, her arms crossed. She had changed out of the clothes she’d worn at the office. Jeans now. A sweater that was too big for her frame. She looked smaller than he remembered, but her eyes held the same weight they had carried the night she left.
“Leo is asleep,” she said. “He doesn’t know you’re here.”
“Good.” Killian set his phone on the counter between them. “The fire tonight was meant for you. The Blackthorns targeted the floor you used to work from. They knew your schedule. They knew your old badge still worked on the fifteenth floor.”
Freya’s jaw set firmly, but her voice stayed steady. “I haven’t used that badge in months.”
“Doesn’t matter. They were sending a message.” Killian opened the encrypted message and turned the screen toward her. “Beckett sent this thirty minutes ago.”
Freya read the words silently. Her hand moved to her throat, a gesture Killian remembered well. She always touched her throat when she was trying to keep her voice from breaking.
“He’s testing me,” Freya said. “He wants to see how fast I run.”
“Then we don’t run.” Killian slid the phone back into his pocket. “We move on our terms. I have a property in the northern district. Secure. Gated. My team can rotate watch without drawing attention.”
Freya shook her head. “I can’t. Leo has school. He has friends. If I pull him out of everything he knows, it’s going to raise questions that the Blackthorns can follow.”
“Raising questions is a delay. Staying here is a death warrant.”
“Then give me an option that doesn’t turn my son into a ghost.”
The silence between them stretched. Helena retreated to the kitchen, busying herself with the kettle. The soft click of the burner igniting punctuated the room.
Killian moved closer, lowering his voice. “Freya, I have been tracking the Blackthorns for two years. Cole Blackthorn runs his organization through shell companies, legal fronts, and a network of loyalists who would burn down hospitals for a promotion. Beckett is his father’s weapon—sharp, ruthless, and trained to find weaknesses.”
“I know who they are,” Freya said. “I lived in their shadow for ten months. I know what Beckett is capable of.”
“Then you know he won’t stop. Not until he has leverage. Not until he has you.”
Freya’s eyes met his. “He already had me. I got out. I will not let him take Leo.”
The door to the hallway creaked open. Both of them turned.
Leo stood in his pajamas, his dark hair sticking up at odd angles. He rubbed his eyes with small fists, blinking against the dim light. When his vision focused on Killian, his mouth opened into a small O of recognition.
“Daddy?”
The word hit Killian with a force he hadn’t anticipated. He had heard it before, in hurried phone calls and video chats that ended too soon, but hearing it in person—in this apartment that smelled of his son’s shampoo and bedtime stories—was different.
“Hey, buddy,” Killian said. “I’m sorry I woke you.”
Leo padded across the carpet, his bare feet slapping against the floor. He stopped in front of Killian and looked up, his head tilted in the way it always did when he was trying to solve a puzzle.
“Why is your voice scared?” Leo asked.
Killian crouched down to meet his son’s eye level. “I’m not scared. I’m just… careful.”
“You were talking fast,” Leo said. “Like when the big dog next door growls.”
Freya knelt beside them, her hand resting on Leo’s shoulder. “Honey, Daddy and I are talking about grown-up things. You should go back to bed.”
“Is the scary man coming here?”
The question hung in the air. Freya’s hand tightened on Leo’s shoulder. Killian looked at his son’s face, trying to find the words that would shield him without lying outright.
“No,” Killian said. “The scary man is not coming here. I’m going to make sure of that.”
Leo studied him for a long moment, his small face serious with an understanding that no six-year-old should have had. Then he nodded, turned, and shuffled back toward his room. The door clicked shut behind him.
Freya stood. Her hands were trembling.
“He’s not stupid,” she said. “He knows something is wrong.”
“Then we need to move before he learns what it is.”
Helena appeared with a duffel bag. “I packed what you’ll need. Clothes, documents, the cash you kept under the mattress.” She paused. “I also packed his drawing kit. He’ll need something familiar.”
Freya took the bag, her fingers brushing Helena’s. “Thank you.”
“Don’t thank me. Just stay alive.”
Killian pulled out his phone and typed a quick message to Victor. The response came within seconds: *Route clear. Vehicle waiting at the east entrance.*
“We leave in ten minutes,” Killian said. “I need to make a call first.”
He stepped into the hallway, the door closing behind him. The corridor was empty, the lights dim. He dialed a number from memory.
The line connected on the first ring.
“Heloise,” Killian said. “I need access to the Blackthorn financial records. The ones your firm audited last quarter.”
A pause. “That would require a court order.”
“I can get you the eyes. I need you to follow the paper trail.”
“Killian, if you’re planning to go after their accounts, you need to understand the scope. The Blackthorns have diversified. Real estate, pharmaceuticals, private defense. They’ve laundered their fortune through seventeen different shell companies.”
“Then I’ll need seventeen different warrants.”
“You’ll need proof. Hard proof that connects them to a crime.” Heloise’s voice softened. “Do you have it?”
Killian looked down the hallway, toward the door behind which his son was sleeping. “I have something better. I have their next target.”
He ended the call and walked back into the apartment. Freya was zipping the duffel bag closed. He could hear the soft shuffle of feet inside the apartment, Leo moving in the bedroom.
“A man named Cole Blackthorn borrowed 4.2 million dollars from my father’s estate in 2007,” Killian said. “The debt was never repaid. The contract was buried in a legal settlement that my father signed before he died.”
Freya stopped moving. “You’ve known about this?”
“I found the contract three years ago. It was buried deep enough that I almost missed it.”
“Then this entire time… they weren’t after me because of us. They were after me because of the debt.”
Killian met her eyes. “They wanted leverage. They wanted something that would make me give them back the contract. And when they found out about Leo…”
He didn’t finish the sentence.
Freya closed her eyes, her breath coming unsteady.
Killian gripped her arm in the hallway. “This was not an accident. Beckett is sending a message. I’m moving you both tonight.”
Freya’s voice broke. “I won’t make Leo a target again.”