Page 65 of Firethorne

When he greeted whoever was on the other side with a “Nice to see you. Couldn’t this have waited till later?” my pounding chest eased up a little and I tried to get myself under control and stop shaking as I glanced at the door and ran my sweaty palms down my thighs. He’d never greet Firethorne that way.

Damien stood back to let whoever it was into the apartment, and they said, “I figured you’d want this sooner rather than later.”

I twisted in my seat, craning my neck to see who it was, this man entering my safe space dressed all in black, with his suit and tie, and a manilla envelope in his hand. Then, as he turned to face me, my nerves spiked again. It was the man from the train. The one who’d dropped the first message into my lap.

“Maya, this is Trent,” Damien said, introducing his colleague.

I swallowed, not sure how to act or what to say.

And then something inside took over.

“You could’ve helped us, that night. You could have done more to stop us on that train.”

“Maya,” Damien snapped back, admonishing me. “I’ve already told you; we couldn’t do that. We’re playing the long game here. We needed my father to believe he could trust me. And besides, we had to tread carefully around your father, too. It wasn’t as simple as that.”

“It seems pretty simple to me,” I barked back.

“I’m sorry,” Trent said, dipping his head with guilt.

“Don’t apologise,” Damien replied. “It’s not black and white.”

“It’s not black and white, it’s dark and fucked up,” I spat venomously.

“We’ll talk about this later,” Damien said, turning his back on me, and then ushering Trent back through the door.

“It’s all in there,” I heard Trent say to Damien as he handed him the envelope and stepped back into the hallway. “There’s also contact details, a burner phone, everything she’ll?—”

“Thanks,” Damien snapped, interrupting him. “I’ll look over it all later.”

Trent frowned as he stared back at Damien for a beat, not saying a word. Then he glanced over Damien’s shoulder at me, before focusing back on Damien again, a bewildered, puzzled look on his face. He shook his head, nodded to himself, then announced, “Okay. I get it. I’ll talk to you later. Call me.” And then a little louder, he shouted, “It was nice to meet you, Maya,” just as Damien slammed the door in his face.

Damien stood facing the door for a moment, composing himself. Then he turned and walked back over to the sofas to sit down.

I needed to know more about this Trent character. So, I started to quiz him.

“How long have you known Trent?”

Damien sat back, stretching his legs out as he answered, “I’ve known him for years. We met at boarding school.”

“Is he married?”

Damien narrowed his eyes questioningly at me.

“What does that matter? No. He isn’t. He lives alone.”

“And lives where, exactly?”

He sat forward, his gaze full of suspicion.

“Not far from Firethorne. Why all the questions, Maya? You know you can trust us, right?”

“I don’t trust anyone!”

I thought I saw something in his eyes when I said that. Disappointment, perhaps. But it disappeared as soon as it came, and he nodded. “I think that’s wise, considering what’s happened to you.”

I sighed at the realisation that I might always have this neurotic, suspicion looming over me like a dark cloud.

“Does anyone else live here, in this building?” I went on, desperate for more information. Knowledge was power, after all.