Chapter 1: Leave Papers
Quinn killed the engine and the silence in the car became absolute. He did not get out. He sat watching the house, a quiet two-story painted light blue, set against a calm suburban street. His gaze was not on the bicycle lying in the grass or the carefully tended flowerbeds. He was scanning the windows, the roofline, the spaces between the neighboring houses. He was assessing.
His hand rested on the passenger seat, next to a cheap, disposable burner phone. The screen was dark now, but the two-line message was burned into his memory. It had come from a number he did not recognize but a source he trusted implicitly.
LEAVE PAPERS. BLACKWOOD EVENT IMMINENT. STAY DARK.
Event imminent. The phrase was deliberately vague, professionally sterile. It could mean a data leak. It could mean a security breach. Or it could mean what the contingency plans had always feared. It was the reason he had driven through the night, the reason a heavy, military-grade backpack sat on the floor behind him. Inside it, among other things, was a sealed manila envelope. Leave Papers. The instruction was clear. But abandoning it felt wrong now. The second part of the message changed the parameters. Stay Dark. No calls. No warnings. Just observation until the situation clarified.
His sister lived here. His niece and nephews. They were his only real anchor in a life spent drifting. The tip hadn't been a warning to him, but for him. He was here to make sure they were safe, to be the first line of defense if the worst happened. He took a deep, steadying breath, pushed the mission parameters to the back of his mind, and put on the face of a visiting brother.
He grabbed the heavy backpack from the backseat, slung it over one shoulder, and got out of the car. He walked up the concrete path, and before his hand could reach the doorbell, the door flew open.
"Uncle Quinn!"
A small girl with brown pigtails launched herself at his legs. Quinn's practiced calm melted into a genuine smile as he bent down, wrapping his arms around her.
"Hey, Lily-bug," he said, ruffling her hair. "You've gotten bigger."
A boy, a few years older than Lily, appeared in the doorway behind her. He held a gaming controller and gave Quinn a small wave. "Hi, Quinn."
"Tom, good to see you."
Sarah, his sister, came into view, wiping her hands on a dishtowel. She looked tired but happy. "Quinn. You made it. I was starting to think you got lost."
"Traffic was light," Quinn said, straightening up as Lily released his legs. He stepped inside, the weight of the backpack a constant, heavy reminder of his true purpose. "You know I have a perfect sense of direction."
"A perfect sense of getting into trouble, you mean," she replied, pulling him into a hug. It was warm and familiar, a stark contrast to the cold dread that had been his companion for the last twelve hours. Over her shoulder, he saw her husband, Mark, leaning against the kitchen entryway.
Mark gave him a nod. "Quinn. Good to have you. Need a hand with that?" he asked, gesturing to the backpack.
"I've got it," Quinn said, letting it slide to the floor by the front door. "It's just some gear."
The house smelled of cooking food and clean laundry. It was the scent of a normal life, a life he was here to protect. The children were already chattering, pulling him toward the living room to show him a new video game. The sounds were loud and cheerful. He followed, but his eyes were scanning the room, noting the large picture window, the sliding glass door in the kitchen. Vulnerabilities.
After a few minutes of observing Tom's game, Lily tugged on the sleeve of Quinn's jacket. Her expression was serious. "I made something for you," she said in a low voice.
She led him to the kitchen table. Spread across its wooden surface were crayons and several pieces of paper. She picked one up and held it out to him with both hands. The drawing showed five stick figures under a large yellow sun. One of the tall figures stood slightly apart from the other four.
"That's Mommy, that's Daddy, that's Tom, and that's me," Lily explained, pointing. She then placed her finger on the solitary figure. "And that's you."
Quinn took the paper carefully. "It's a great drawing, Lily. Thank you." This, he thought. This is the mission. He folded it with care and put it in his jacket pocket, next to the burner phone.
"Hear a drip," Mark said, emerging from the small bathroom off the kitchen. "Sink's acting up again."
"Want a hand?" Quinn offered. It was an opportunity to talk to Mark, to gauge the local mood without raising suspicion.
The space under the sink was cramped. Quinn held a flashlight while Mark worked a wrench around a pipe joint.
"So," Mark started, his voice slightly muffled. "What brings you out this way so suddenly? Sarah said you were just passing through."
"Thinking of sticking around for a bit," Quinn lied, keeping his voice casual. "Maybe look for some work here. Tired of the road."
Mark grunted, applying pressure to the wrench. "Seriously? That's great news, man. Sarah worries about you, you know. Bouncing from one security contract to the next. It's a good town to settle down in. Safe."
Safe, Quinn thought, the word echoing with bitter irony. "Yeah, well. We'll see." He scanned the pipes, the shut-off valve. Good to know where it was. The steady drip of water stopped.
"There," Mark said, sliding out. "Good for another six months." He looked at Quinn, a genuine smile on his face. "I'm glad you're here."
"Me too," Quinn said, and it was the truest thing he had said all day.
Dinner was a loud, pleasant affair. Spaghetti and meatballs. Tom talked about a school project, Lily about a playground disagreement. Quinn ate and listened, his senses on high alert. He could hear the faint sound of a siren in the far distance, but it faded quickly. Normal background noise. For now.
"You're quiet tonight," Sarah observed.
"Just tired from the drive," he said, forcing a smile. "It's good to be here."
He watched them live their lives, oblivious to the threat he knew was simmering just miles away. The casual conversation, the easy laughter—it all felt incredibly fragile, like a thin sheet of glass laid over a chasm. He was the only one who could see the cracks.
Later, Sarah asked if he would tuck Lily in. In her room, dim except for a whale-shaped nightlight, she demanded a story. He told her a quick one about a bird who was afraid to leave its nest, about how a strong wind forced it to fly. As he spoke, he looked at the window, checking the simple latch. It would not hold against a determined entry.
After she was asleep, he walked quietly out, leaving the door slightly ajar. He needed to watch the news.
Hours later, the house was silent. He was alone in the living room, the glow of the television the only light. He kept the volume low, flipping through channels, looking for more than just local headlines. The national news was focused on politics, on overseas markets. Nothing.
His feeling of unease was a cold, solid weight now. It wasn't just his usual restlessness. It was the tension of waiting for a bomb to go off.
His eyes drifted to the red ticker scrolling at the bottom of a local news channel. A water main break. A sports score. Then, the words he had been looking for.
LOCAL NEWS: PROTESTS AT BLACKWOOD INSTITUTE DISPERSED. OFFICIALS STATE FACILITY REMAINS SECURE.
Quinn's jaw tightened. He read the words again. Dispersed. Secure. It was official language. It was the language of containment and control. It was the language of a cover-up. The tip had been accurate. The event was happening, and they were trying to keep a lid on it.
His unease was no longer a vague feeling. It was a certainty. His mission had just changed from observation to defense.
He looked at the backpack by the door. Everything was about to get much, much worse.