Bruce phone buzzed loud against the nightstand.
He was still half-asleep, one arm over his eyes, sheets tangled around his legs. Rain tapped against the tall windows. Distant thunder rumbled low and steady, like a beast waking up somewhere above the clouds.
He reached out, fumbling for the phone with a groan.
But he was too slow.
Talia had already slid out from the bed. She wore nothing but one of his black shirts, loose and oversized, brushing her thighs as she padded barefoot across the hardwood floor.
She grabbed the phone, looked at the caller ID, and smirked.
"Oh, hello Mom," Talia said sweetly, sarcasm dripping like venom as she pressed the phone to her ear. "So nice of you to call this morning. I had no idea you loved your daughter this much."
Bruce groaned again, sitting up now, rubbing his eyes. "Talia…"
Too late.
Her tone sharpened. "No, he's not available. He was too busy making me breakfast in bed—naked. Want me to put him on?"
On the other end of the call, Mayor Diana Halbrook wasn't amused. Her voice came through, cold and sharp enough to cut glass.
"Put Bruce on the phone."
Talia rolled her eyes and walked toward the window. "No 'good morning'? No 'how are you, darling'? Not even a fake one?"
"Talia," Diana snapped, "this isn't about you. This is city business. And I don't appreciate you answering calls meant for him."
Talia smiled without warmth. "Right, because you only call when it suits you. Don't worry, your precious agenda is safe. Bruce has nothing to do with your dirty games. I make sure of that."
Bruce sat on the edge of the bed now, running a hand through his hair, watching her silently.
"Talia," he said softly. "Enough."
She looked over her shoulder at him, something unreadable in her eyes. Then she turned back to the phone.
"He'll call you back," she said flatly, and ended the call without waiting for an answer.
She tossed the phone onto the couch, crossing her arms as she stood by the glass, watching the storm build over Vyre City.
"She's not just calling for city business," Talia muttered. "Something's wrong. She never calls this early unless she's rattled."
Bruce stood up and walked over to her. "What kind of wrong?"
Talia shrugged, but her jaw was tight. "The kind where people start dying in patterns."
Bruce glanced at the phone. No new messages. No follow-up.
"Did she say anything specific?"
"Just the usual cold power-play tone," Talia said. "But I could hear it. She's scared. Which means we should be, too."
Bruce stared out the window. Smoke was still rising in the far distance—faint, curling above the shipyard ruins like a scar that refused to heal.
"I'll call her back," he said quietly. "But only once I know what this is really about."
Talia nodded. "Be careful. You know how she gets when she feels control slipping."
Bruce glanced at her.
"No one controls me," he said.
She gave him a small, crooked smile.
"Good. Then let's keep it that way."
The rain hit harder now. Somewhere in the city, something was shifting in the dark.
And they both knew—it was only just beginning.
City Hall
The door slammed shut so hard the walls shook.
Papers flew off the desk. A glass of water tipped, spilled across a stack of reports no one had read yet. The assistant outside flinched but didn't dare come in.
Inside, Diana stood behind her desk, jaw tight, one hand gripping the edge so hard her knuckles went white.
The office was sleek—black wood, brushed metal, tall windows that overlooked the rainy skyline of Vyre City. Everything was in order. Sharp. Clean.
Except her.
Her breath was shallow. Her eyes burned.
That damn girl. That filthy mouth.
Diana grabbed her phone again, thumb jabbing the screen like it had insulted her. She paced now, the click of her heels sharp against the polished floor.
"Of course she picked up," she muttered to herself. "Of course she did. Little snake."
She stopped, stared out the window.
Smoke still hung out there—faint but visible. The docks hadn't stopped bleeding.
She remembered the call from last night. Hector. Yara. Their kids. Gone. And now, that name scrawled in blood.
"We're coming for each and every one of you that night."
It echoed in her skull.
Bruce Bloom.
Diana turned slowly, walked over to her desk, and sat. She didn't slouch. Not even alone. Shoulders straight. Chin high. Power had a posture. She wore it well.
She pressed another contact on her phone.
The line rang once.
Then a voice answered. Soft. Clipped. British.
"Yes, Madam Mayor?"
"Where is your team right now?"
"Already in Vyre. Waiting for orders."
She exhaled, slow through her nose.
"Send one to the upper district. Don't engage. Just watch the penthouse. If Bruce Dhark leaves, I want to know where he goes, who he talks to, what he breathes near."
There was a pause on the other end.
"…That's your daughter's residence, ma'am."
Diana's voice turned colder than ice. "I didn't stutter."
"Yes, ma'am."
She hung up.
Then another call.
This one was private—no caller ID, no traceable ping. A line that didn't exist on paper.
It rang once.
Then a woman's voice picked up. Smoky. Dry. Like cigarettes and old sins.
"Well, well. Waking me up this early? Must be serious."
Diana didn't waste time.
"I want the Fox Sisters. Now."
A low whistle through the receiver. "You're not playing around."
"No. This is cleanup. We missed a body twenty years ago. He's back. And he's got a list."
"Kid?"
"Not anymore."
The voice on the other end chuckled darkly.
"Good. They like it better when they scream like adults."
"I don't care what they do to him," Diana said, calm as steel. "I just don't want a body left for the police to find."
"Understood."
The line went dead.
Diana set the phone down gently this time.
She leaned back in her chair, eyes narrowing at the rain hitting her window.
Bruce Bloom.
She remembered the name. The files. The case they buried so deep it damn near rotted.
They left a mess behind and now it was clawing out of the dirt.
She hated messes. Hated things that didn't stay dead.
But she was still in charge.
She'd made this city what it was. The parties, the speeches, the clean suits, the silent killings. The throne she built out of broken promises and forced smiles.
And no ghost from some blood-soaked birthday was going to ruin it.
Diana Halbrook sat in silence.
Then she smiled.
A slow, cruel, perfect smile.
"Come on then, Bloom," she whispered. "Let's see how far you're willing to go."
Thunder cracked again outside.
The storm wasn't coming.
It was already here.