21 - The Package

21 - The Package

The sharp ring of Thompson’s phone yanked him out of restless sleep. His hand shot out instinctively, fingers fumbling over the nightstand before he grabbed the device. A glance at the screen—Jerome.

He exhaled, rubbing his face. 4:47 AM. Too damn early.

“Yeah?” His voice came out rough, still thick with sleep.

“You up?” Jerome’s tone was clipped, businesslike.

Thompson pushed himself upright. Now he was. “I am now. What is it?”

“There’s a package at my front door.”

Thompson frowned. “...And?”

“And I think you should see it.”

He sighed, already regretting answering the call. “Jerome, you waking me up over a damn Amazon delivery?”

“Just shut up and check your phone. I sent a picture.”

Thompson swiped to his messages, his exhaustion shifting into mild irritation. The image popped up—a large, unmarked cardboard box sitting on the worn wooden planks of Jerome’s porch. No return address. No markings. Nothing out of the ordinary.

Until his eyes caught it.

A name.

Scrawled across the top in bold, jagged letters:

ALEX HOLBROOK.

For a moment, Thompson didn’t move.

His breath thinned.

The name stared back at him, stark against the cardboard.

Alex Holbrook. His wife. The woman he’d come home to find dead on their living room floor.

His fingers curled around the phone. “Where did this come from?”

Jerome sighed on the other end. “No clue. Some guy dropped it off while I was inside. When I checked the cameras, he was already gone.”

Thompson’s pulse ticked faster. “Open it.”

“Not happening. Could be a bomb. Could be laced with anthrax. Could be a sick joke.” Jerome exhaled. “I’m calling it in. Bomb squad will be here in ten.”

Thompson ran a hand over his mouth. He didn’t know what pissed him off more—the fact that someone sent this, or the fact that he hadn’t seen it coming.

“Tom?”

He barely registered Jerome’s voice. His mind was already unraveling the possibilities. Theories colliding. None of them good.

“I’ll call you back.”

“Yeah, well, don’t take too long. I’ll let you know what we find.”

The line went dead.

Thompson lowered the phone. For a second, all he could hear was his own breathing, the faint hum of the heater, the distant sound of a car pulling out of the motel lot.

Then—a knock at his door.

He stiffened.

Not the hesitant kind. The firm, deliberate kind

Thompson barely had time to process the weight of Jerome’s call when the knock resumed, growing louder, sharper and more urgent.

He reached for his gun instinctively, fingers wrapping around the grip. His heart was still beating too fast—adrenaline from Jerome’s call mixing with something darker, heavier. But then—

“Boss, you need to see this.”

Aaron’s voice.

"Jesus. Aaron. I said I was on my way."

Thompson exhaled, forcing the tension from his shoulders before opening the door.

Aaron stood there, hands in the pockets of his jacket, expression drawn. The usual sharpness in his gaze was clouded with something uneasy.

“What is it?” Thompson asked.

Aaron glanced down the hallway before jerking his head toward the stairs. “Downstairs. You need to see this for yourself.”

Thompson didn’t hesitate. He grabbed his phone from the nightstand and followed. The motel was quiet at this hour, save for the faint hum of vending machines and the occasional creak of floorboards. But something felt… off. A presence that lingered in the air, thick and suffocating. The motel was supposed to be filled to the brim with people. Wasn't that what the receptionist said last night? That they were fully occupied? Well why does it sound like a graveyard right now?

They reached Hera’s room, and inside, Shane was already leaning against the table, arms crossed. Hera stood near the window, back straight, fingers tapping lightly against her arm.

"Glad to see you could join us, General." Hera greeted.

"Can someone tell me exactly what's going on?"

"He just called us in too. Said he wanted to show us all at the same time I guess." Shane resumed.

Aaron wasted no time. He moved straight to the laptop on the table, tapping the touchpad.

“I managed to hack into the CCTV cameras outside the motel,” he said. “Took some digging, but I found this.”

The screen flickered, showing grainy footage of the parking lot from the night before. At first, it looked empty—just the dull glow of overhead lights and the vague outlines of parked cars. But then, toward the far end of the lot, something shifted.

A black SUV.

It sat just outside the motel’s entrance, engine running.

Aaron tapped the keyboard, fast-forwarding through the footage. The SUV never left. It stayed there, parked in the same spot, engine humming softly under the flickering light.

"I saw the SUV when I was standing by the window last night. When it left the balcony I thought it had completely gone. Until I looked through the entrance cameras." Aaron said, switching to the entrance feed. They all slowly watched the counter at the bottom left of the feed continue to go.

Then, at exactly 3:27 AM, the driver’s side door opened.

A man stepped out.

Thompson leaned in. Even with the grainy footage, he could tell the guy was tall, broad-shouldered. The hood of his jacket was pulled up, obscuring most of his face, but there was something about the way he moved. He didn’t rush. Didn’t hesitate. Just stood there, looking toward the motel.

Looking toward them.

Aaron slowed the footage, zooming in on the man’s neck. The image sharpened slightly, pulling into focus—

A tattoo.

Thompson swallowed, a wave of recognition hitting him as the tattoo came into full view.

A red eye.

THE red eye.

A heavy silence settled over the room.

Shane straightened. “Tell me that’s not what I think it is.”

Hera’s expression darkened. “The Watchman.”

Thompson felt something cold settle in his chest. The same symbol they had seen back in Cincinnati. The same mark painted across the walls of the abandoned facility. The same insignia stamped onto the classified files they had stolen from Neurospark.

Now, it was here.

Thompson’s fingers curled into a fist. “Did you get a look at his plates?”

Aaron shook his head. “Nothing. They were either covered or removed. But the SUV’s still here.”

Thompson’s gaze snapped to him. “What?”

Aaron nodded toward the window. “Parked two blocks down. Hasn’t moved since last night.”

For a moment, no one spoke. The weight of it all settled over them like a thick, suffocating fog.

Shane exhaled through his nose. “This is bad.”

Hera turned to Thompson. “What’s the move?”

Before he could answer—

A knock rattled the door.

Everyone stiffened.

Aaron and Shane exchanged glances. Hera’s hand hovered near her belt.

Another knock.

Louder this time.