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Cinders of the Conspiracy Chapter 33
Cornered in the Dockyard.The stale scent of damp wood and rust curled in Eleanor’s nostrils as she squeezed into the shipping crate. Silas crouched beside her, his breath uneven, his back pressed against the splintered wood. The narrow space stifled them, suffocating in its silence, but there was no other choice.Outside, the sound of boots scuffing against the dockyard’s cold concrete echoed through the night. Crowe’s men. Searching. Hunting.“Fan out,” a deep voice ordered, cutting through the hushed tension. “They’re here. I want them found.”Eleanor clenched her fists, nails digging into her palms. One wrong move, one shift in the shadows, and it would all be over.Silas nudged her gently, his eyes gleaming even in the dim slivers of light filtering through the wooden slats. He held a single finger to his lips. Stay still. Stay silent.She nodded, her pulse hammering against her ribs.Footsteps grew closer. A man whistled, a slow, taunting tune.Eleanor held her breath.The crate
Cinders of the Conspiracy Chapter 34
Fractured Alliances.The storm outside battered the windows, its fury a perfect match for the tension brewing inside the safe house. The dimly lit room pulsed with frustration, the air thick with unspoken blame.Wyatt slumped onto the battered couch, his shirt sticking to the wound on his side. He exhaled sharply, eyes flickering toward Silas, who was pacing like a lion in a too-small cage."Brilliant," Wyatt muttered, pressing a cloth against his ribs. "Infiltrate the docks, grab the evidence, escape unnoticed. And yet, here we are, empty-handed. Again."Silas stopped mid-step, turning to face him. His expression was taut, controlled, but anger simmered beneath the surface. "We were seconds away. If Crowe hadn’t shown up…."Wyatt scoffed. "If. If. If. We don’t live in a world of ‘ifs,’ Silas. We live in a world where we lost the shipment and damn near got killed in the process."Eleanor, leaning against the wooden table, arms crossed, cut in. "Enough. We made it out alive, and that c
Cinders of the Conspiracy Chapter 35
The Politician’s Hand.The night air clung thick to the damp alley behind The Marionette Club, a high-end gentlemen’s establishment tucked away in the shadow of the city’s skyline. Silas and Eleanor crouched behind a stack of wooden crates, concealed by the gloom, their eyes locked on the second-story balcony. A single lamp flickered through the curtained French doors, casting the shadowy figures of two men deep in discussion.“That’s him,” Eleanor murmured, adjusting the focus on her binoculars.Silas didn’t need to ask. He already knew. Senator Royce Alden, draped in his signature dark trench coat, leaned over the small table, his posture stiff, voice low but commanding. Opposite him, Hartwell lounged, a whiskey glass cradled in his palm, his expression one of smug confidence.“They’re talking numbers,” Silas whispered. He slid his hand inside his coat, retrieving a small recording device. “We need to get closer.”Eleanor’s heart pounded against her ribs as she followed him, stickin
Cinders of the Conspiracy Chapter 36
Race Against Time.The streetlights flickered as Silas and Eleanor sprinted through the deserted streets, their breath coming in sharp gasps. The Tribune’s towering structure loomed ahead, its massive stone façade casting deep shadows over the pavement. A sense of foreboding clawed at Eleanor’s chest.They raced up the steps, Silas reaching the door first. He grabbed the brass handle and twisted. Locked.Eleanor pounded against the wood. “James? Are you in there?” Her voice echoed in the still night.No answer.Silas cursed under his breath and glanced around. “We need another way in.”Eleanor’s eyes darted to the side alley. “The fire escape,” she said, already moving.They rushed toward the metal ladder, its rungs slick from the damp night air. Silas climbed first, his body tense, muscles coiled like a predator stalking unseen prey. Eleanor followed, her hands shaking as she hoisted herself onto the second-floor ledge.The office window was ajar.Silas pushed it open and slipped ins
Cinders of the Conspiracy Chapter 37
The Journalist’s Fate.The air was thick with damp fog, curling through the twisted alleyways like silent fingers. Silas gripped the wheel of the battered car, his knuckles bone-white, his jaw locked tight. The headlights slashed through the darkness, illuminating puddles on the cracked pavement, reflections rippling like broken glass. Eleanor sat beside him, her breath shallow, her fingers clutching the folded scrap of paper, the last message from the journalist."Pier 9. Alone. Urgent."Her heartbeat drummed in her ears. The meeting place was too exposed. Too predictable.“Faster,” she urged.Silas pressed his foot to the pedal, the engine growling in response. The city blurred past shuttered shops, dimly lit taverns, the occasional flicker of movement in a shadowed doorway. Rain began to fall, a slow, deliberate drizzle that left streaks on the windshield.He turned onto the desolate pier, the scent of salt and rust thick in the air. Wooden planks stretched toward the water, slick
Cinders of the Conspiracy Chapter 38
The Weight of Failure.The storm raged outside, rattling the windowpanes of the dimly lit safe house. Rain streaked down the glass in erratic trails, much like the turmoil inside Eleanor’s chest. She sat on the edge of the worn leather couch, shoulders curled inward, her fingers locked together so tightly her knuckles ached.The weight of the journalist’s death pressed down on her, suffocating.Silas stood a few feet away, his hands braced on the back of a chair, his jaw locked. His silence was heavier than any words he could have spoken.Eleanor exhaled sharply, breaking the quiet. “This is my fault.” Her voice cracked under the weight of those words.Silas lifted his gaze, dark and unreadable. “Don’t do that.”She shook her head, eyes burning. “If I had just acted faster….”“You think you could’ve saved him?” Silas snapped, pushing away from the chair. His voice was rough, edged with frustration. “Crowe had men everywhere. They wanted him dead. He was already marked.”Eleanor’s ches
Cinders of the Conspiracy Chapter 39
The Temptation.The rain drummed against the windowpane, a relentless rhythm mirroring the storm in Silas’s mind. He stood near the small wooden table, the dim light casting jagged shadows across his sharp features. The weight of Hartwell’s offer pressed against him like a lead vest, suffocating, insidious.Wyatt leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, his gaze unreadable. “You’re actually considering this?” His voice was sharp, edged with something that could have been betrayal.Silas exhaled through his nose. “I don’t know.” He ran a hand through his hair, his usually steady fingers trembling. “If I meet with him, I could get closer, get something…..”“Or end up dead.” Wyatt’s voice was as flat as the knife he idly twirled between his fingers. “This isn’t a negotiation, Silas. It’s a trap. You walk into that meeting, and he owns you, one way or another.”Silas turned away, pacing the room. His thoughts warred against one another justice against survival, righteousness against pr
Cinders of the Conspiracy Chapter 40
Hartwell’s Game.The air inside the warehouse felt stagnant, thick with something unseen. Silas stood at the edge of the dimly lit space, his gaze locked on Hartwell, who lounged in an old leather chair, the worn upholstery cracking beneath his weight. A brief flicker of amusement danced across Hartwell’s face as he swirled the amber liquid in his glass.“You look like a man who’s tired of fighting,” Hartwell mused, setting the tumbler down with a deliberate clink. “I know that look well, Silas. A man can only chase ghosts for so long before he realizes he’s the one being haunted.”Silas remained still, every muscle in his body coiled tight. His fingers hovered near the knife tucked inside his coat, but he forced himself to remain calm. Hartwell was toying with him, the way a predator tests the edges of its prey before striking.“I didn’t come here for riddles,” Silas said, his voice low. “Say what you came to say.”Hartwell’s smile widened. “Straight to business. I can respect that.”
Latest Chapter
Chapter 100
The Price of Justice.Eleanor gritted her teeth as she slammed her back against the metal crates, gripping the pistol tighter in her hands. The warehouse was a warzone, gunfire ricocheted off steel, shouting filled the air, and the acrid scent of smoke stung her nose.She stole a glance around the corner. Five men, heavily armed. Hartwell’s remaining enforcers, the last line protecting his precious shipment.Her radio crackled. “Eleanor, we’re almost there,” Silas’s voice, weak but determined. “Hold them off.”Her eyes flickered toward the metal briefcase near the truck. The evidence. Documents, transaction logs, everything they needed to bring Hartwell down.The men advanced.She took a breath, steadying her aim. Then, she moved.Two shots. The first took out the closest man, his rifle clattering to the ground. The second hit another in the leg not enough.He swung his weapon toward her, but Eleanor was faster. She lunged, knocking him off balance, slamming the butt of her gun into h
Chapter 99
Race Against Time.The air in the dimly lit motel room was thick with tension. Papers littered the small wooden table, maps marked with frantic scribbles. A single laptop screen glowed, casting eerie shadows over the determined faces surrounding it.Silas leaned forward, his knuckles pressed against the table. His voice was low, commanding. “Hartwell is moving the shipment by train. We intercept at the junction near Brighton before he reaches the border.”The FBI agent, Calloway, nodded. His grizzled face betrayed years of experience. “We’ll have tactical units in place, but we need a precise point of entry. If we storm in too early, he’ll vanish again. Too late, and the shipment’s gone.”Margaret pointed to a section on the map. “Here. The terrain forces the train to slow. It’s the only place we’ll have a real shot.”Eleanor, arms crossed, locked eyes with Silas. “And if he’s waiting for us?”Silas exhaled through his nose. “Then we play it smart.”A knock at the door. Three slow tap
Chapter 98
Hartwell’s Vanishing Act.The night pressed heavy against the city, the neon glow of streetlights barely reaching the shadowed corners of the safe house. Silas paced, phone pressed against his ear, pulse hammering. Across the room, Eleanor sat rigid, eyes locked on him, waiting for answers.A voice crackled through the line. Agent Calloway. His tone was flat, but the urgency was undeniable.“He’s gone underground, Silas. And not alone. Hartwell has federal protection. High-ranking officials are helping him disappear.”Silas clenched his jaw. “You’re telling me we lost him because some corrupt bastards are covering his tracks?”“That’s exactly what I’m telling you,” Calloway confirmed. “This isn’t just a syndicate anymore. It’s bigger than we thought. Someone with power wants Hartwell alive.”Eleanor stood, tension rolling off her in waves. “Did you track his last movements?”Calloway hesitated. “That’s the problem. He didn’t leave the city.”Silas exhaled sharply. “What?”“He’s here.
Chapter 97
The Chaos Unleashed.The grand ballroom had become a war zone. Shattered glass crunched beneath fleeing footsteps, chairs overturned, bodies surged toward the exits. Screams rang through the air, blending into the shrill alarm that pulsed through the speakers.Silas gritted his teeth as he pushed forward, gripping Eleanor’s wrist. The crowd was moving against them, bodies pressing in from all sides. They had to reach Hartwell before he disappeared into the chaos.“There!” Eleanor pointed.Through the shifting sea of people, Hartwell’s silver-gray suit stood out as he moved toward a side door, two armed men flanking him. His face was calm, too calm. He knew something they didn’t.Silas didn’t hesitate. He surged forward, shoving a man out of his way, ignoring the protests. Eleanor followed, eyes sharp, lips pressed together in a thin line. They were running out of time.Then, a gunshot.A chandelier shattered overhead, sending shards raining down. The crowd screamed louder, panicking f
Chapter 96
The Celebration’s Cover-Up.The ballroom was a spectacle of wealth, crystal chandeliers dripping with gold light, violins weaving a delicate symphony above the murmuring crowd. Silas adjusted the cuff of his suit, the unfamiliar fabric tight against his skin. He hated events like these. Too many eyes, too many masks.Eleanor, draped in a floor-length black gown that clung to her form like shadow, moved beside him, a vision of elegance. But Silas knew better. She was a blade wrapped in silk, sharp and waiting.With her lips hardly moving, she held a champagne glass and said, "Calm down." "You should be a journalist, not a man on his way to death." Silas exhaled, scanning the room. Too many familiar faces, men he’d rather see behind bars.Near the bar, a cluster of men stood huddled in hushed conversation. Their suits were expensive, their postures rigid. Syndicate men.Silas angled his body toward them, listening.“…shipment lands tomorrow. Late night drop.”“Security?”“Tighter than
Chapter 95
The Safe House Secrets.Margaret pulled open the rusted cabinet doors, her breath shallow as a cloud of dust erupted into the air. The safe house had been untouched for years, but the lingering presence of recent intruders suggested otherwise.Wyatt knelt beside her, flashlight aimed at the back of the cabinet. “There’s something here.” His fingers brushed against a loose panel, and with a firm tug, the wood gave way, revealing a metal lockbox.Margaret glanced toward the door, paranoia curling around her spine. “We need to move fast.”Wyatt nodded, pulling his switchblade from his boot and jamming it into the lock. The steel creaked, resisting, but after a few forceful twists, the mechanism snapped.Inside, stacks of documents lay in neat, organized rows, ledgers, transaction records, names.Margaret’s stomach twisted.“These aren’t just records,” she whispered, flipping through the pages. The names were tagged with locations, New York, Chicago, Atlanta, Los Angeles. It wasn’t just a
Chapter 94
The Informant’s Shadow.Silas paced the dimly lit hotel room, the weight of Delano’s warning pressing on him like a vice. His thoughts churned, replaying every conversation, every movement within their group. Someone had been feeding Hartwell information. But who?Eleanor sat on the edge of the bed, her arms crossed. “You’re being paranoid,” she said, watching Silas with narrowed eyes. “We’ve been through hell together. No one in our group would sell us out.”Silas ceased his pacing. Then describe how Hartwell constantly appears to be ahead of the game. How was the gala known to him? The penetration of the office? Why did Crowe's soldiers wait at the docks for us? He let out a breath and wiped his face. "If we don't find out who is telling him everything, we're dead." Eleanor shook her head. “Margaret would never betray us. She’s risked her life more than once.”Silas clenched his jaw. “I’m not saying it’s Margaret.”Eleanor stiffened. “Then who?”Silas hesitated. His gut twisted as
Chapter 93
Behind Enemy Lines.Silas adjusted his bowtie, scanning the glittering crowd with practiced ease. A jazz band played soft notes from the far end of the ballroom, masking the hum of conversation. The air was thick with wealth and power, business moguls and politicians clinking glasses, exchanging handshakes that meant deals far deadlier than anyone here would admit.Eleanor, in a sleek black gown, moved beside him, her expression calm but eyes constantly shifting. She looked every bit the poised journalist she was pretending to be. “Keep walking,” she murmured. “Eyes forward. Don’t react.”Silas followed her gaze. A security team had just entered from the side doors, Crowe’s men. Dressed in suits, but their stiff postures and wary glances gave them away. They weren’t here to mingle. They were hunting.Silas exhaled. “They don’t know who we are yet.”“Yet.” Eleanor’s fingers grazed his wrist, subtle but urgent. “We need to stay near the press section.”He nodded. They slipped through th
Chapter 92
Into the Lion’s Mouth.Silas spread the blueprint across the table, the faded paper smudged with ink and cigarette stains. The layout of the ballroom gleamed under the dim light. Eleanor leaned in, eyes scanning the pathways, the exits, the blind spots. Every inch of that space had to be committed to memory."We’ll go in through the back entrance," Silas said, tapping the map with the end of his pen. "Press credentials will get us past the first checkpoint, but once we're inside, we’re on our own."Eleanor folded her arms. "And when we get to Hartwell?"Silas sighed. "That’s the tricky part. We need to get close enough to extract something solid video, audio, anything incriminating. The moment we do, we slip out before his security realizes we're not supposed to be there."Margaret scoffed from across the room. "And if he already suspects us?"Silas exchanged a glance with Eleanor. That possibility had been weighing on them both."We improvise," Eleanor said. Her voice was firm, but i
