PART 1
The Harrington family laughed when I reached my daughter’s hospital bed. She was bruised, trembling, and torn. “Your military career doesn’t intimidate us,” Rosalind said, her voice dripping with sheer arrogance. They never understood my silence.
It all started with a phone call that shattered my entire world in a single second.
“Mom, please come get me,” my daughter whispered into the receiver.
Those five simple words came through her broken voice in a way I had never heard before.
I left Fort Cavazos immediately while still wearing my formal dress uniform. Every ribbon pinned to my chest caught the bright sunlight as I sped down the highway toward San Antonio.
My knuckles turned completely white against the leather of the steering wheel.
When I pushed through the automatic doors of Saint Jude Medical Center, I moved faster than I had in years. A panicked nurse rushed directly into my path to block me.
“Ma’am, you cannot go back into the emergency department right now,” she insisted.
“My daughter is in there,” I replied firmly. “Where is Savannah Harrington?”
She stared at my face for a second and then looked down at the silver eagle insignia pinned to my shoulders.
Without another word, she stepped aside and let me pass.
The treatment room was cold, quiet, and blindingly bright.
Savannah was lying beneath a thin hospital blanket, shaking so violently that the metal bed frame rattled against the wall. Her left eye was swollen shut, her lip was badly cracked, and dark purple bruises stretched up both of her arms. Her white dress was ripped at the collar and covered in dirt.
I completely forgot how to breathe as I stared at her.
This was the same girl who used to write letters to deployed service members every holiday season. This was the child who always ran to the front window the moment she heard my boots on the porch.
Now she could barely lift her head off the thin pillow.
“Mom,” she gasped.
I wrapped my arms around her trembling shoulders, realizing how small and fragile she felt in my arms.
Then I heard laughter echoing from the doorway.
It was a cold, casual, and cruel sound.
Preston Harrington stood in the doorway alongside his mother Rosalind and his brother Douglas. They were all wearing tailored suits, polished shoes, and expensive watches that practically oozed unearned privilege.
Rosalind was the first one to smile at me.
“Colonel Caldwell, your daughter has always been far too dramatic for her own good,” Rosalind said coolly. “She became emotional, lost her footing, and took a bad fall, so no one here actually laid a hand on her.”
Savannah grabbed my uniform sleeve with surprising strength.
“No, that is not what happened,” Savannah cried softly. “They locked me inside the guest house, took my phone away, and said they would ruin my life if I ever tried to leave Preston.”
Preston let out an annoyed sigh and shook his head.
“She is twisting everything around because she has always been unstable,” Preston claimed.
Douglas folded his arms over his chest and smirked at me.
“Some women marry into prominent families that they simply cannot handle,” Douglas added.
Rosalind stepped closer to me and lowered her voice as if she were offering friendly advice.
“Let us not make this embarrassing for anyone,” Rosalind warned. “Our family maintains close ties with judges, politicians, and reporters, so your military career does not intimidate us at all.”
Douglas chuckled quietly under his breath.
“You really should take your daughter home before we decide to sue her for slander,” Douglas sneered.
I stood completely still without raising my voice or taking a single step toward them. I refused to let them see the roaring fire building inside my mind.
I stared directly into each of their eyes one by one.
I looked at Preston, who felt so safe behind his wealth that he never noticed I was memorizing every detail of his face.
I looked at Douglas, who genuinely believed his smirking face made him entirely untouchable.
I looked at Rosalind, who was convinced her high-society connections rendered her completely invincible.
Then I let the room drop into absolute silence.
I let that silence stretch until their arrogant smiles began to flicker and fade.
I wanted them to feel the very first microscopic crack in their heavy armor.
They mistook my complete silence for immediate surrender.
That was easily the biggest mistake they would ever make in their lives.
I was not surrendering at all.
I was listening carefully.
I heard a wealthy family that had clearly pulled this exact stunt many times before. I saw people who truly believed no normal person could ever hope to stop them.
They had never encountered a mother who would willingly march through hell for her child.
They had never cross paths with a soldier who understood that the deadliest weapons are the ones you never see coming.
They foolishly assumed silence meant defeat.
I knew that silence was just the beginning of a strategy.
PART 2
I did not move a single inch, nor did I blink as I let the heavy silence fill the room.
Rosalind’s confident smile completely vanished.
For the very first time, she looked at me with the sudden caution of a soldier facing an unknown obstacle.
I let three more seconds pass without saying a word.
Then I turned my back on them and walked directly to Savannah’s bedside.
She was still trembling, her open eye fixed on me with a mixture of terror and absolute trust. I sat down on the edge of the mattress and gently took her cold hands into mine.
“Savannah, do you trust me right now?” I asked softly.
“Yes, Mom, I trust you,” she whispered back.
“Then listen to me very carefully,” I instructed.
I leaned in close so my voice would not carry across the small room.
“When you called me earlier, you mentioned being afraid that they would reach the medical staff before I got here,” I reminded her. “What exactly did you mean by that?”
She swallowed hard and glanced nervously toward the door.
“The desk clerk gave me a paper when I arrived,” Savannah explained. “She said Mrs. Harrington called ahead to claim I was having a mental breakdown, so they placed a note in my file saying I was confused.”
A wave of cold anger washed through my chest.
“Who gave you that specific note?” I pressed gently.
“The woman at the admissions desk,” Savannah whispered. “She leaned over and told me not to worry because they knew who my husband’s family was.”
I closed my eyes for a brief moment to maintain my composure.
This whole situation was far larger than three arrogant people standing in expensive suits.
This was a massive, corrupt system that had been quietly protected for years.
I opened my eyes and looked down at my daughter again.
“Where is that paper right now?” I asked.
“It is inside my purse,” Savannah answered. “They told me I lacked the proper paperwork for an upstairs room, so I had to wait down here until a doctor evaluated me.”
I gave her a firm, reassuring nod.
“Did you sign any documents while you were waiting?” I asked.
“No, I refused to sign anything,” she confirmed.
I stood up and turned around to face the group again.
Rosalind was watching my movements with genuine curiosity rather than her previous condescension. She was visibly trying to decipher what my next move was going to be.
Preston took a step forward into the room.
“Whatever she is telling you is a total lie, Colonel,” Preston insisted. “My wife is mentally unwell, and we have been trying to get her help for a long time.”
Douglas nodded in agreement with his brother.
“You really should just take our word for it,” Douglas added smoothly.
I locked eyes with him.
“I do not take anything for free, Mr. Harrington,” I replied coldly.
He blinked in surprise.
“Excuse me?” he asked.
“You used the word ‘take,’ which is a very revealing choice of language,” I stated.
Rosalind let out a sharp, bitter laugh.
“Colonel, you are just a soldier who has no idea how the real world functions,” Rosalind scoffed.
“Actually, I know exactly how it works,” I answered in a quiet tone. “You are just discovering that you have entered the world I operate in every single day.”
Rosalind stepped forward and pointed a manicured finger directly at my chest.
“Do not pretend you hold any real power here,” Rosalind snapped. “You are an active-duty officer with zero police authority in this state, making you nothing more than a mother in a uniform.”
I did not flinch at her aggressive gesture.
“A uniform,” I repeated calmly.
“Yes, exactly,” she sneered.
I allowed a faint smile to cross my face.
That tiny detail frightened her far more than any loud display of anger ever could.
“Rosalind, this is not just a uniform,” I informed her. “It serves as a formal identifier.”
She frowned heavily.
“What is that supposed to mean?” she asked.
I reached up and lightly tapped the silver eagle pinned to my collar.
“Do you know what this insignia actually represents?” I questioned.
“It is just a military rank,” she dismissed.
“It is a legal authority marker,” I corrected her. “As a commissioned officer, I have specific legal prerogatives when a crime is committed against a service member’s military dependent.”
Rosalind glanced nervously at her sons.
“That cannot possibly apply here,” she claimed.
Douglas pulled his phone from his jacket pocket.
“You are bluffing,” Douglas declared. “I am going to call our family attorney right now and have him clear you out of this hospital.”
Preston nodded in full agreement.
“Yes, make the call right now,” Preston urged.
Douglas began tapping rapidly on his screen.
I watched him without making any move to stop him.
Then I looked back at Rosalind.
“You mentioned earlier that your family has connections with judges,” I noted. “That is very interesting because I happen to know one as well.”
Rosalind’s jaw tightened instantly.
“Plenty of people know judges,” she countered defensively.
“I know the Honorable Miriam Vance,” I said evenly. “She is a federal judge in the Western District, and I testified in her courtroom six years ago before attending her personal retirement dinner.”
Rosalind went completely still.
“You are making that up,” she accused.
“You are welcome to call her yourself,” I offered. “Her personal contact is saved right here in my phone.”
I pulled out my phone and held it up.
The silence returned to the room, heavier and more suffocating than before.
Preston exchanged a worried glance with Douglas, while Douglas looked over at their mother for guidance.
For the first time all evening, their overwhelming confidence visibly fractured.
I did not give them a single second to recover.
“You know what I find particularly interesting about this whole situation?” I asked.
They stood motionless, waiting for me to continue.
“When Savannah called me tonight, she specifically told me that you had confiscated her phone,” I stated clearly.
Rosalind’s left eyebrow twitched slightly.
“She also mentioned that you threatened to destroy her reputation if she ever tried to leave Preston,” I added.
Preston opened his mouth to interrupt me.
“Do not speak,” I commanded sharply.
He clamped his mouth shut.
“Attempting to destroy someone’s standing is a civil wrong, but taking away her means of communication while holding her against her will crosses into criminal territory,” I explained.
Rosalind scoffed, trying to regain her dominant posture.
“Good luck finding a local attorney willing to take a case against our family,” Rosalind taunted.
“I do not need a local attorney,” I replied calmly.
That statement landed with heavy weight.
Douglas’s phone suddenly chimed with a notification, and as he looked down at the screen, all the color drained from his face.
“What is it?” Preston asked urgently.
Douglas did not answer his brother.
He just stared at his phone display in total shock.
I raised my own phone to my ear and placed a call.
It was answered on the very first ring.
“Colonel Caldwell, we are in position,” a voice reported.
“Bring them in right now, Major,” I commanded.
“Understood, ma’am,” Major Wayne replied.
Rosalind’s composed composure completely shattered.
“Who are you talking to?” she demanded loudly.
I chose not to answer her question.
A moment later, the heavy double doors to the emergency unit swung open.
A tall woman in a military uniform entered the hallway, followed immediately by two military police officers and a local law enforcement officer. Behind them stood a specialized forensic medical examiner.
Rosalind backed away toward the wall.
“You cannot do this in a private medical facility,” Rosalind shouted.
The military police officer, Master Sergeant Miller, stepped forward and held out a formal folder.
“We have proper authorization, ma me,” Master Sergeant Miller stated firmly.
Rosalind stared at the document in disbelief.
“What is that supposed to be?” she asked breathlessly.
“It is an official federal hold order,” I explained. “Federal jurisdiction applies when there is probable cause involving federal crimes against a military dependent.”
“Federal crimes?” Preston sputtered in disbelief. “My wife is a private citizen!”
“Savannah holds a military dependent identification card and is covered under my federal healthcare benefits,” I informed him. “Unlawful restraint and physical assault against her fall under federal statutes.”
Douglas began quietly stepping toward the exit.
Master Sergeant Miller unclipped a pair of restraints from his belt.
“Preston Harrington, Douglas Harrington, and Rosalind Harrington, you are all being detained pending an investigation,” Master Sergeant Miller announced clearly.
“This is an absolute outrage!” Rosalind screamed hysterically.
I looked directly into her frantic eyes.
“This is simply legal due process,” I corrected her.
The forensic nurse walked past them without acknowledging their presence and approached Savannah’s bed.
“Ma’am, I need to document your physical injuries and collect biological evidence,” the nurse explained gently. “Do I have your permission to proceed?”
Savannah looked at me for reassurance.
I gave her a firm nod.
“Yes, you have my permission,” Savannah whispered softly.
The nurse immediately began her examination.
I turned back to face Rosalind one last time.
“You were right about one thing earlier,” I said quietly. “Your family status does not intimidate me, nor do your financial resources or political connections.”
Her eyes were wild with anger and confusion.
“Then what actually frightens you?” she demanded to know.
I leaned closer to her.
“Nothing on this earth,” I answered in a low, steady voice.
I let those words hang in the air between us.
“You built your entire reputation on intimidating defenseless people,” I told her. “I made my career managing high-stress operational crises.”
Preston began shouting demands for his attorney as the officers restrained him.
One of the military police officers immediately began reading him his legal rights from a small card.
Rosalind tried to pull her arms away from the officer, but the local law enforcement officer stepped in front of her path.
“Please cooperate and walk this way, ma’am,” the local officer instructed firmly.
Douglas was already speaking frantically into his personal phone, though his tone had lost all of its previous confidence.
They were escorted out of the room one after another.
Preston was the very last one pushed toward the exit.
He turned his head back to look at Savannah as the metal restraints clicked around his wrists.
“Savannah, please tell them the truth!” Preston yelled desperate words across the room. “Tell them that I love you!”
Savannah did not answer his plea.
She simply watched him leave with her swollen eye.
In that quiet moment, I saw a profound change in my daughter as she began to reclaim her strength.
“Goodbye, Preston,” she said clearly.
His face completely crumpled before the doors closed behind him.
The hospital room became peaceful, save for the steady rhythm of the heart monitor next to Savannah’s bed.
The forensic nurse looked up at me after finishing her work.
“I have gathered all the necessary evidence,” the nurse reported. “I will deliver the official report to the lead investigator shortly.”
“Thank you for your quick work,” I responded.
The local officer took my formal statement before leaving the room to join the military police officers outside.
A hospital social worker approached us and offered to move Savannah to a secure, private room upstairs.
I accepted her offer immediately.
Twenty minutes later, Savannah was comfortably settled into a quiet room on the fourth floor, tucked under clean blankets with an intravenous line running into her arm. Her injuries were fully documented, her statement was officially recorded, and security personnel were posted outside her door.
Despite being safe, she kept glancing anxiously at the entrance.
“What is bothering you, sweetie?” I asked gently.
“Mom, there is something important I forgot to tell the officers earlier,” she admitted quietly.
My stomach tightened instantly.
“What is it?” I pressed.
She looked down at her bruised fingers.
“Before they took my cell phone, I managed to record an audio file on a tiny digital device I kept in my jacket,” she revealed.
I felt a sudden chill run down my spine.
“Do you have it with you?” I asked.
“No, I had to hide it,” she answered.
“Where did you leave it?” I questioned.
“It is inside the guest house, hidden beneath a loose floorboard in the bathroom,” Savannah explained. “I kept it there for weeks in case I ever needed evidence.”
I sat down on the edge of her mattress.
“What exactly is on that recording?” I asked.
She took a shaky breath before meeting my gaze.
“It is the conversation they had right before they attacked me,” Savannah disclosed. “They were discussing you, your military career, and something called Project Obsidian.”
The name hit me with the force of a physical impact.
“Where did you hear that name?” I demanded urgently.
“I saw it on Preston’s computer when he left it open one evening,” Savannah explained nervously. “There was a restricted file containing photographs of you, Dad, me, and several other military families.”
I stood up immediately and pulled out my phone.
“Mom, what does Project Obsidian mean?” Savannah asked fearlessly.
“I do not fully know yet, but I am going to find out right now,” I assured her.
I placed a call to my trusted contact.
“Captain Marshall, I need you to secure a private property in San Antonio immediately,” I ordered as soon as he picked up. “Bring a forensic team and check for hidden evidence related to a threat against military dependents.”
There was a brief pause on the line.
“What are we searching for, Colonel?” Captain Marshall asked.
I looked back at Savannah.
“We are hunting for answers,” I answered firmly.
The room felt cold as Rosalind’s earlier warnings echoed back through my memory.
I realized this conflict had started long before Preston ever met my daughter.
The silence I had used in that hospital room was merely my opening move in a much larger confrontation.
I hung up the phone and stared at the dark screen for several seconds.
The term Project Obsidian burned in my thoughts like a threat.
Savannah watched my expression closely.
“What is our next step, Mom?” she asked quietly.
“First, I am going to ensure you are fully protected,” I answered her. “Then I am going to tear down whatever system they built.”
She stared down at her bruised hands in silence.
“I never wanted to drag you into this mess,” she whispered softly.
“None of this is your responsibility, Savannah,” I told her firmly as I sat back down beside her. “You are not to blame for their actions.”
She did not reply, allowing the quiet room to settle around us.
Forty minutes later, Captain Marshall called my phone back.
“Colonel, we located the winter coat inside the guest house closet,” Captain Marshall reported. “We recovered the small flash drive hidden within the lining.”
“What about the digital audio recorder?” I asked quickly.
There was a long silence on the foreign end of the line.
“I checked the floorboard in the bathroom as instructed,” Captain Marshall stated carefully. “The floorboard was completely intact, and there was no recording device underneath it.”
My heart sank instantly.
“Someone retrieved it before you arrived,” I deduced grimly.
“Colonel, there is an additional detail you need to know,” Captain Marshall added in a low voice.
“Tell me,” I demanded.
“We discovered a hidden camera installed inside the bathroom light fixture,” he revealed. “It appears to have been operating for a long time.”
A wave of dread washed over me.
“If there was a camera installed, they knew about the floorboard the entire time,” I realized aloud. “They knew every move she made.”
I looked over at Savannah, whose face had turned pale.
“Mom, who else knows I was hiding that evidence?” she asked in a trembling voice.
I did not answer her question immediately as I calculated our options.
I placed a call to Major Vance without delay.
He answered on the very first ring.
“Colonel Caldwell, what is the situation?” Major Vance asked.
“They recovered the recording device before my team arrived,” I informed him. “There was surveillance operating inside the property.”
Major Vance was silent for a second as he digested the news.
“That means they were aware of her actions,” Major Vance noted gravely. “They know you are closing in on them.”
“I am aware,” I replied.
“You need to transfer Savannah to a secure military installation immediately,” he advised strongly. “Do it tonight.”
“That is already in motion,” I assured him.
“I will meet you at Brooke Army Medical Center to handle the incoming intake paperwork,” Major Vance offered.
“I appreciate that,” I responded.
“Colonel,” he hesitated, his tone turning serious. “Exercise extreme caution, because your daughter may not be their only target.”
His warning lingered in my mind as I disconnected the call.
I knew his assessment was entirely correct.
I moved with absolute speed.
Within an hour, Savannah was loaded into a secured transport vehicle bound for Brooke Army Medical Center.
Military police vehicles escorted us along the entire route.
Major Vance was waiting in the parking area when we arrived, holding the necessary administrative documents.
The medical team took charge of Savannah immediately upon our arrival.
A specialized team documented her condition once again, while a counselor initiated a formal support assessment.
Armed guards were stationed outside her private room around the clock.
I stood in the corridor, watching the heavy door click shut.
Major Vance stepped up beside me.
“She is entirely secure here,” Major Vance assured me.
“For the moment,” I replied quietly.
He searched my face.
“What is your next move?” he asked.
“Project Obsidian,” I stated plainly.
“Do you understand what that project involves?” he questioned.
“Not yet, but I know who can decipher it,” I replied.
I pulled out my phone once more.
There was only one person who possessed the technical expertise to navigate classified archives without leaving a trace.
She was a former intelligence analyst named Captain Brenda Foster.
She had left active service two years prior, but she retained deep knowledge of restricted networks.
Brenda answered her phone on the third ring.
“Colonel Caldwell, it is two in the morning,” Brenda noted dryly.
“I need you to look up a classified term for me,” I requested without preamble.
“What is the designation?” she asked.
“Project Obsidian,” I answered clearly.
A long silence followed on her end of the line.
I heard the faint sound of typing through the receiver.
“Where did you encounter that specific name?” Brenda asked, her voice dropping all levity.
“It appeared during an investigation connected to my daughter,” I disclosed.
“Your daughter?” she repeated in surprise.
“Brenda, are you familiar with it?” I pressed.
She paused before answering carefully.
“Colonel, that designation is not something you query lightly,” Brenda warned. “It is a restricted compartment I have encountered only once before.”
“What did it contain?” I asked.
“Both times I saw it, the files were buried deep within protected databases,” Brenda explained. “They contained surveillance logs on military personnel and their immediate families.”
Cold realization settled over me.
“Specifically targeting officers who testified in procurement fraud cases?” I guessed.
“Precisely,” Brenda confirmed. “Officers like you.”
“I provided testimony six years ago regarding a major contractor called Vance Dynamics,” I recalled.
Brenda went quiet for a moment.
“You should check the ultimate disposition of that case, Colonel,” Brenda suggested softly. “It ended in a non-disclosure settlement with monetary fines, but no executives faced imprisonment.”
I felt a sudden shift in my understanding of events.
“So my testimony was buried,” I realized.
“Your testimony created a record,” Brenda corrected me. “It placed your name and your family on a list of potential liabilities.”
I held the phone tightly against my ear.
“What else can you tell me?” I demanded.
“It represents an informal network of corporate executives, military officials, and politicians,” Brenda explained. “They utilize targeted surveillance to gather leverage and prevent future disclosures.”
“And Preston’s marriage to my daughter?” I asked.
“I cannot say for certain,” Brenda admitted. “However, if an interest group wanted proximity to your affairs, a personal connection would provide ideal access.”
I closed my eyes as the full reality set in.
“Brenda, I need you to retrieve whatever documentation exists on Project Obsidian,” I requested firmly.
“I will attempt to locate traces, but accessing those nodes carries extreme risk,” Brenda cautioned.
“I understand the risk,” I replied.
“Stay vigilant, Colonel,” Brenda added before hanging up. “Keep your daughter safe.”
I stared at the white walls of the hospital corridor as the overhead lights hummed softly.
Every passing shadow felt like a potential threat.
Major Vance touched my shoulder gently.
“What is our strategy?” he asked.
“We wait for Brenda’s report, and then we dismantle their network,” I declared.
“Colonel, you are an active-duty officer,” Major Vance reminded me carefully. “If you intend to challenge senior leadership, you will require undeniable evidence.”
“I will gather whatever evidence is necessary,” I stated.
“You need a formal avenue within the system,” he advised.
I looked at him resolutely.
“Then I will create one,” I answered.
The following morning, my phone chimed with an incoming call from an unregistered number.
I answered immediately.
“Colonel Caldwell,” I stated clearly.
“My name is Captain Conrad Ross,” the caller introduced himself. “I am an attorney with the legal review division, and I have been tracking irregularities tied to Vance Dynamics.”
My pulse quickened.
“How did you obtain my secure contact?” I asked.
“Your name triggered a systemic flag late last night,” Captain Ross explained. “I have been monitoring specific data channels for two years, searching for affected personnel.”
I gripped my notepad tightly.
“Who authorized your review?” I questioned.
“Brenda Foster contacted me directly,” Captain Ross revealed. “She indicated that you required an ally with legal authority to process restricted files.”
I took a steady breath.
“What have you uncovered?” I asked.
“Enough to confirm widespread systemic abuse,” Captain Ross reported. “However, the chain of command above the contractors is extensive.”
“How high does it reach?” I inquired.
“It extends to General Raymond Sterling,” Captain Ross disclosed.
I stood completely still in shock.
“General Sterling from the joint staff?” I asked for confirmation.
“He authorized the initial intelligence gathering under Project Obsidian,” Captain Ross explained. “It was designed to protect major defense acquisitions from external scrutiny.”
The magnitude of the situation settled over me.
“This involves far more than a single family,” I realized aloud.
“Correct, ma’am,” Captain Ross agreed. “Challenging this structure means facing immense institutional resistance.”
I looked out the window at the military insignia displayed on the parade field below.
My career, my service, and my life were all tied to this institution.
“I do not care about institutional resistance,” I stated coldly. “I care about protecting my daughter.”
Captain Ross paused on the line.
“Then you need to travel to the regional headquarters in Austin,” Captain Ross instructed. “I possess hard copies of the authorization files, but we must meet in person.”
“When?” I asked.
“Tonight,” he replied. “I will transmit secure coordinates, but you must travel alone.”
He disconnected the call.
I turned to Major Vance, who was observing me attentively.
“I am traveling to Austin tonight,” I informed him.
He raised an eyebrow in concern.
“Your command has not issued official travel orders,” he noted.
“This matter supersedes routine travel orders,” I replied firmly.
“Colonel—” he began.
“Major, they harmed my daughter to establish leverage over me,” I interrupted with quiet intensity. “They believed I would remain silent.”
I grabbed my coat from the chair.
“I am done remaining silent,” I declared.
He looked at me for a long moment before reaching into his pocket and handing me a small card.
“Contact this individual when you arrive,” Major Vance suggested. “He serves on the investigative committee and can provide official oversight if you present concrete evidence.”
I took the card and slipped it into my pocket.
“Ensure Savannah remains protected while I am away,” I requested.
“She will be completely secure,” he promised.
Later that evening, I drove down the highway toward Austin under the cover of darkness.
My formal uniform was neatly hung in the back seat.
I had informed no one else of my destination.
Halfway to the city, my personal phone buzzed with an incoming text message.
“No one escapes Obsidian,” the message read.
I stared at the glowing screen for a second before replying:
“Who is this?”
The response arrived almost instantly:
“The one who oversees the system.”
Seconds later, the phone lost all signal service.
I pulled over to the shoulder of the empty highway as my hands gripped the steering wheel firmly.
They were fully aware of my movement.
I looked out at the long stretch of road illuminated by my headlights, pressed down on the accelerator, and continued driving directly into the storm.
THE END.
