Chapter 41: Shadows in the estate

As soon as I felt satisfied, I left the office, but the moment my car began to glide through the quiet streets, my mind betrayed me and drifted toward Sean, towards this mysterious "first love" Jessica had mentioned. The words replayed over and over, gnawing at the calm I tried so hard to maintain.

My chest tightened, a slow constriction that spread like frost over glass. I blinked hard, the road narrowing before me. My grip on the steering wheel weakened for just a second and the car veered. Tires screeched against the tar and my heart slammed into my ribs as I yanked the wheel back, forcing control.

“Damn it,” I hissed, pulling over to the side of the empty road. The silence pressed against my ears, mocking my lapse in focus. I inhaled deeply, shutting my eyes for a beat, letting the hum of the engine settle the chaos within me.

I then parked near an open field. My fingers found my nose, an old habit, rubbing it lightly as my thoughts raced. Why does it still hurt to think about him? Why does it still feel like he’s holding something from me?

I stared into the distance, the quiet fields swaying under the soft breeze. It was grounding, somehow. My reflection in the side mirror looked back at me, composed but the faint shimmer in my eyes said otherwise.

“Pull yourself together,” I whispered, voice low. “You can’t afford distraction now.”

I took another deep breath, turned the key, and drove home. The world outside looked the same, peaceful, ordinary, but my mind was already spiraling toward the next move.

Nick’s POV

The morning air was cold and damp when Amanda dropped me off. The woods were still cloaked in half darkness, the horizon just starting to pale. I watched her taillights fade through the trees, their glow vanishing like a dying ember.

“Perfect,” I muttered to myself, adjusting the worn out jacket I had chosen. The fabric hung loose, deliberately shabby.

Even under the layers, my muscles ached with restrained energy. I looked like any other drifter.

By 5:00 a.m., I saw the first set of headlights slicing through the morning fog and my pulse steadied. Showtime.

I stumbled forward into the middle of the narrow dirt road, feigning disorientation. The minibus slowed, its horn blaring twice before stopping just meters from me. " Hey! Move, man!” the driver barked, his voice muffled through the windshield.

I lifted an arm, shielding my eyes from the glare of the lights. Then, with careful precision, I staggered toward the driver’s side window.

“Hey, man,” I said, keeping my tone tired but polite. “You going toward the estate? I’m looking for work, security, gardening, anything.” I pointed vaguely toward the grand silhouette of the mansion in the distance.

The man eyed me, suspicion clouding his gaze. Inside the van, five others sat silent, their stares cold and uninviting. After a long pause, he exhaled and said flatly, “Get in.”

I climbed in without hesitation, the air inside thick with cigarette smoke and faint traces of gun oil. No one spoke. The hum of the engine filled the void until we reached the estate, a sprawling property nestled deep within the trees, isolated from the world.

When we arrived, the men inside began changing shifts. The driver stepped out, stretching his shoulders. His posture told me he was in charge.

He turned to me, expression unreadable. “You’re looking for a job? You don’t talk to the boss. You talk to me. You follow instructions. You see nothing. You hear nothing. You understand?”

I nodded. “Understood.”

He eyed me for another beat before asking, “You know how to use a firearm?”

“Yes,” I replied without hesitation.

He grunted, opening a metal locker by the guard station. From it, he pulled out a folded uniform, dark fabric, slightly worn but clean and a small firearm wrapped in a cloth.

“Uniform. Gun. You’re on backyard duty today,” he said, handing them over.

I accepted both with a short nod. “Thank you… uh... ?”

He interrupted before I could finish. “We don’t use names here. I’m One. You’ll be Zero.”

I blinked, unsure if I’d heard correctly. “Zero?”

He smirked faintly. “Means you’re new. No history yet. Earn your place.”

I forced a small grin. “Got it, One.”

As I walked toward the back of the property, I couldn’t help muttering under my breath, “What the hell…”

The place was unsettling and the backyard stretched endlessly, bordered by dense trees that seemed to swallow sound. The air carried the faint metallic tang of chlorine from a nearby pool.

Another guard stood at the far end, rifle slung across his shoulder. I nodded politely. He didn’t respond. His eyes followed me for a moment before turning back toward the trees.

Friendly bunch, I thought dryly.

I started my patrol, keeping my movements natural but observant. Every detail mattered, the layout, the cameras, the timing of shifts. Information was the real currency here. Minutes turned into hours. The sky brightened, and the faint sound of water caught my attention. I turned toward the pool area.

Michael was there.

He emerged from the side path with a bodyguard shadowing him, tall, suited, expression carved from stone. Michael himself wore leisure shorts, a towel draped over one shoulder and a cigar already burning between his fingers.

I slowed my pace, keeping my posture neutral as I passed the hedge, close enough to hear fragments of his conversation. “Have the reports been reviewed?” Michael asked, exhaling smoke. “Yes, sir,” the bodyguard replied curtly. “Good. I want the rest destroyed by tonight. I don’t want Rose catching wind of any of this.” and he sank into a chair near the pool, legs crossed, arrogance wrapped around him like perfume. He flicked ash into a tray, staring at the water’s rippling surface.

“Tell me,” he said suddenly, “how long before the next transfer?”

“By noon, sir.”

Michael nodded, then stood, stretching lazily before walking to the edge of the pool. Without another word, he dove in. I watched from the shadows, noting the rhythm of his security. Two guards near the gate, two stationed by the veranda, and the personal shadow always trailing him.

When he climbed out, droplets running down his shoulders, he didn’t bother to look around. He tossed the towel over his head, dried his hair, then threw the damp fabric at his bodyguard.

The man caught it without flinching.

Michael’s voice carried, low but sharp. “Make sure One gets the next batch of men by tomorrow. I don’t want any slip ups. And if anyone talks too much…” He made a slicing motion across his throat before walking off toward the house.

The bodyguard followed silently, towel still in hand.

I exhaled slowly, pretending to check the perimeter. Inside, my mind was already racing.