Chapter 3 - Shadows of the Past
For the next four days, Saraphina lost all track of time.
The light in the small room remained perpetually illuminated, erasing the boundary between day and night. A silent guard entered twice every twenty-four hours, placing a tray containing cold water, bread, and simple meals on the table before exiting without uttering a single word. Saraphina used the time to exercise, pacing the perimeter of the small cell, stretching her limbs, and reciting old songs from her childhood to keep her mind grounded.
On the fifth evening, the mechanical lock clicked, and Elias entered once again.
He looked different. The pristine perfection he usually maintained was slightly frayed. His dark hair was somewhat disheveled, the top button of his shirt was undone, and there were dark shadows beneath his icy gray eyes. He sat down across from her, placing a tumbler of dark amber liquor on the steel table.
“The maid is gone,” Elias said abruptly, his voice raspy.
Saraphina stopped pacing and looked at him. “What do you mean, gone?”
“She attempted to extract a encrypted drive from my study last night,” Elias explained, his gaze fixed on the liquid in his glass. “Your observation was correct. She had been recruited six months ago by the Marcone syndicate. She used her position to map my daily routines.”
Saraphina felt a chill run down her back. “What did you do to her?”
Elias looked up, his expression unreadable. “She has been removed from service. The breach has been contained.”
Saraphina swallowed hard, understanding the grim reality behind his diplomatic phrasing. “So... I proved I was telling the truth. Can I go home now? Can I go back to my family?”
Elias laughed—a dry, humorless sound that contained no joy. “Go home? Saraphina, you now know that my home had an active intelligence leak. You know the structural location of my subterranean grid. You know what I do to people who breach my perimeter. You are far too dangerous to simply release back into the world.”
“I don't care about your business!” she shouted, her composure cracking. “I don't care about your rivalries, your money, or your guns! I just want my life back! I have a mother who needs her medicine!”
“Your mother’s medical expenses have been paid in full for the next three years,” Elias replied calmly. “A wire transfer was executed from an offshore account two days ago. Her clinic has already confirmed receipt of the funds.”
Saraphina froze, stunned by the revelation. “Why would you do that?”
“Because I am a businessman, not a sadist,” Elias said, leaning forward. “You provided valuable intelligence that saved my life and preserved my assets. I settle my debts. But paying your mother's bills does not mean I can afford to let you walk away.”
“Then what are you going to do with me?” she whispered. “Keep me in this box forever?”
Elias did not answer immediately. He picked up his glass, took a slow sip of the whiskey, and studied her face. “You possess a peculiar talent, Saraphina. You see things that trained men miss because they are too focused on the grand strategy. You notice the small inconsistencies.”
He leaned back, his gray eyes probing her face. “Tell me about your past.”
“You already read my file,” she said defensively.
“Files contain dates, locations, and bank transactions,” Elias said. “They do not contain truth. Where did you learn to pay such close attention to everything around you?”
Saraphina looked away, staring at the cold concrete floor. “I grew up in a place where if you weren't paying attention, bad things happened to you. My father left when I was six. My mother worked sixteen-hour days in a laundry facility. I had to look after my little sister. I had to watch the streets, watch the neighbors, watch the weather. If you don't pay attention when you have nothing, you lose what little you have left.”
“And your memories before age six?” Elias asked unexpectedly.
Saraphina frowned, looking back at him. “What does that have to do with anything?”
“Answer the question.”
“I don't remember much,” she admitted quietly. “I know I was sick with a high fever when I was very small. My mother told me I was in a hospital for weeks. I have broad memories of sunshine, old wooden houses, and the smell of the ocean. But everything before age six is hazy. Like looking at a photograph through thick steam.”
Elias reached into his pocket and pulled out a small, old silver pocket watch. He placed it gently on the stainless-steel table between them. The silver casing was worn smooth by decades of handling, and an intricate design was faint on its front cover.
“Look at this,” Elias commanded softly.
Saraphina looked down at the watch. She did not touch it, but her hazel eyes tracked the delicate line work etched into the metal. Slowly, a strange, uncomfortable sensation began to bloom in the back of her mind—a sharp, prickling feeling at the base of her skull, like the faint memory of a melody she hadn't heard in twenty years.
“It’s old,” she said, her voice dropping to a whisper. “It... it smells like sea salt.”
Elias’s eyes narrowed slightly. “Does the design mean anything to you?”
Saraphina leaned closer, examining the faint engraving. It depicted a stylized sun rising over three cresting ocean waves, framed by two crossed anchors.
“It’s... it’s pretty,” she murmured, shaking her head as if to clear a sudden dizziness. “But no. I’ve never seen it before.”
Elias picked up the watch and returned it to his pocket, his face returning to its mask of cold restraint. “Rest tonight, Saraphina. Tomorrow, we move. The Marcone family knows our main location in Monaco has been compromised. We are relocating to the private estate in the mountains.”
“And I’m coming with you?”
“You are coming with me,” Elias confirmed, standing up. “Not as a prisoner in a cellar, but as part of my personal household staff. You will remain within my line of sight at all times.”
As he walked toward the steel door, Saraphina called out to him once more. “Why are you keeping me so close, Elias? If I’m a liability, why not just pay me off and send me away?”
May you like
Elias paused at the door. He turned his head slightly, his profile sharp against the harsh overhead light.
“Because, Saraphina,” he said quietly, “you are the only person in the last ten years who looked into my house and saw what was actually happening inside it. And right now, I need eyes I can trust.”
