Page 19 of Dark Night of the Soul

Names long buried stirred. As if the sworn had heard me.

Men who’d gone quiet, who’d learned to live invisible lives. Defectors, oath-breakers, and burned assets. Men who the Brotherhood believed dead, broken, or neutralized.

Loyal not to the Brotherhood. Loyal to me.

The Quiet Watch.

“Stand ready.”

Then the names faded away.

Somewhere beyond the manor, beyond the trees and the illusion of safety, the Quiet Watch awoke. They were moving into position. When the time came—when we were ready to strike back—they’d be there.

I closed the box. Replaced it to the recess. Closed the bookshelf. Smeared the blood on my black cargo pants to hide it. Then left the root cellar and headed back to the kitchen as dawn broke the horizon.

In the kitchen, Grace was there cracking eggs into a bowl. Frying bacon. The smell of fresh coffee permeated the air.

“Oh,” she said, startled at my sudden appearance. She pressed a hand to her chest. “You’re up early.”

Without a word, I grabbed a mug from the cabinet, poured a cup. She watched the entire time, curious.

“You don’t drink coffee,” she said.

“For Anna.”

“Don’t forget the creamer, then.” She reached into the fridge, pulled out creamer and poured it into the cup until it turned from black to taupe.

“Breakfast soon,” she added with a smile.

I nodded and headed back through the manor. The steam lifting in pale white swirls.

A sharp knock on the front door stopped me. Piers got to it before me, materializing out of nowhere. He was getting better at that.

He opened the door. A voice I didn’t recognize asking for me. Piers turned toward me, brows lifted.

I stepped to the door as he moved away. A man stood there. Scarred face. Battle-worn.

“A message for you,” he said.

I gave him the go-ahead nod.

“First threat neutralized. Quiet Watch active.”

From Silas. Confirmation. Escalation.

“Thanks,” I said and closed the door. Then headed up the stairs without acknowledging Piers.

In the room, Anna was up, pulling on her shirt. She eyed me from the bed.

“You brought me coffee?”

“Yes.” I sat next to her and handed her the cup.

She smiled. Soft. “Thanks.” Then sipped.

She leaned into my shoulder as she drank, warm and alive and utterly unaware of the line I’d crossed.

I wrapped an arm around her, careful. Steady. As if holding her too tightly might shatter the illusion.