Six Hundred Hours of Silence

Down in the medical wing behind the kitchens, Mia Carter sat on the edge of a sterile examination cot, a thick wool blanket draped around her shoulders. A private nurse was wrapping a clean gauze bandage around her bruised, rope-burned wrists.

Harper sat right beside her, swinging her legs and eating a small cup of strawberry applesauce the nurse had found in the pantry.

The heavy oak door pushed open, and Dominic stepped inside. He had holstered his gun, but his knuckles were stained with blood—not his own.

Mia flinched instinctively, pulling Harper closer. "Mr. Vale... I'm sorry. I didn't mean to pry into the safe. I just saw Mr. Cross putting documents in there, and something felt wrong..."

Dominic stopped a few feet away. For the first time all morning, the hard, impenetrable armor around his face softened just a fraction. He knelt down on the sterile tile floor, looking directly into Mia’s frightened, exhausted eyes.

"You saved my life, Mia," Dominic said softly. "You found the rot before it poisoned the whole house. You never have to apologize to me."

Mia blinked, tears welling up in her eyes again. "What happens now? They... they have guns outside. I heard the shooting."

"What happens now is that the trash gets taken out," Dominic promised. He stood up and turned to the private nurse. "Lock this room from the inside. Do not open it for anyone—not for Marcus, not for Daniel, and certainly not for me—unless I give the specific passcode: July fourteenth."

"Yes, Mr. Vale," the nurse nodded, her hands steady as she slid the heavy iron deadbolt into place.

Dominic turned back to Harper, who was looking up at him with her big, swollen eyes.

"Mr. Daniel," she whispered, her voice timid. "Are the bad guys gone?"