Tracy – Episode 4
The lights snapped off like a heartbeat stopping.
Darkness swallowed the room.
I sat frozen, heart thundering in my chest. The sudden silence wasn't just quiet—it was heavy. Like something unseen had entered with the night.
Zane was already on his feet.
"Don't move," he said in a low, controlled voice.
He moved fast—no hesitation. Checked the windows, shut the curtains, grabbed something metal from a drawer that clicked when he held it. A weapon?
"Is this normal?" I asked, my voice barely a whisper.
He didn't answer.
He moved like a soldier. Precise. Focused. Not panicked—trained.
"Zane…" I stood up slowly. "Talk to me. What's happening?"
"Could be nothing," he said. "Or someone tracked your phone."
My breath caught.
He held out his hand. "Give it to me."
Without question, I gave him my phone. He walked to the sink, turned on the faucet, and smashed it with a hammer like it was glass. Water and pieces of plastic sprayed everywhere.
I flinched. "I needed that."
"You need to stay alive more," he said, not looking back.
Silence fell again. But it wasn't peaceful. It was the kind of silence that pressed on your lungs.
He came back, kneeling in front of me. In the faint silver-blue glow from the skyline beyond the window, his eyes flickered—intense, almost pained.
"You're safe," he said. "I promise."
"But you don't believe that," I whispered.
He looked away.
I watched him for a few seconds. His jaw clenched, his fingers twitching like there was something he wanted to say but couldn't.
"What aren't you telling me?"
He stood slowly, pacing. The way he moved—like the room was too small for the storm in his chest.
"There's something happening in this city, Tracy. Something big. People are going missing. People like you."
"Like me?" I stood now too. "What does that mean? I'm just—"
"You're not just anything," he said sharply, turning to me.
The words cut off whatever I was going to say. I stood still.
"You think this is just about Mira? That woman is a small pawn in something bigger. Something that started before either of us knew the rules."
I stared at him.
"What does that mean?"
Zane looked at me for a long moment—like he was trying to decide how much to reveal.
Finally, he said, "Your father didn't just gamble, Tracy. He owed money to people who don't deal in cards and dice. He owed them something else. And now, they think you're the only way to collect."
My heart thudded louder. "What kind of people?"
He hesitated. "The kind who don't ask twice."
Suddenly, glass shattered downstairs.
I jumped.
Zane's entire posture changed—he became ice.
"Stay here. Do not open the door. Not even for me."
Then he was gone.
Gone like he had melted into the dark.
I stood in the center of the room, heart racing, ears straining. My body begged me to run—but where?
Then I noticed something.
His jacket—thrown over the chair earlier—had slid open, revealing a small leather notebook sticking out of the inside pocket.
Curiosity tugged at me. I hesitated.
Then moved.
I pulled the notebook free. It was old, worn. Inside were names. Codes. Drawings. And a photo—
I gasped.
It was a photo of me.
Younger. Maybe sixteen. Standing beside Aunt Mira. Neither of us smiling. Behind us—barely visible—was a man with the same silver raven logo tattooed on his neck.
I dropped the notebook like it burned.
What the hell was Zane doing with a photo of me?
And why had he never said anything?
I backed away from the chair. My thoughts spun like a storm.
Just then, a loud bang came from downstairs. A voice—male, rough, angry.
Then silence again.
I grabbed a knife from the kitchen drawer and held it tight. My hands were shaking. My mind screaming.
But one thought broke through the panic.
Zane lied.
Or at least, he hadn't told me the whole truth.
And now I didn't know who to trust.
Not even him.