Dakota's POV
Everything happens in slow motion and fast forward at the same time.
Thomas Reeves sees the blood on the desk and his whole body goes rigid. For a second he just stares like maybe he's seeing something that isn't real. Then his survival instinct kicks in and he spins around, heading straight for the door.
Straight for me.
Jordan moves without rushing. He steps into the doorway and fills the space completely. He's not a big man, not bulky like Marcus, but something about the way he stands makes him impossible to get around. He blocks everything.
"Don't do this," Jordan says. His voice is quiet. Too quiet.
Reeves doesn't listen. Panic makes people stupid. He lunges forward and shoves Jordan hard against the door frame. The sound of it makes me flinch. But Jordan barely moves. He just steadies himself and steps right back into position like Reeves didn't even touch him.
That's when I realize this isn't the first time Jordan has done this.
Reeves looks around the office like he's calculating exits. Like he's looking for a way out that doesn't go through Jordan. His eyes land on the windows. The massive glass windows that overlook the entire city fifty floors down.
"I can fix this," Reeves says. His voice shakes. He's not talking to Jordan anymore. He's talking to himself. He's trying to convince someone that escape is possible. "I can disappear. You'll never hear from me again. Nobody has to know."
He runs toward the windows. His hands are up like he's going to smash through the glass. Like somehow jumping out of a fifty-story building is better than whatever he thinks Jordan is going to do to him.
Jordan doesn't rush. He just follows at the same calm pace. It's like watching someone walk through their own house. Like this is all perfectly normal to him.
My legs feel weak. I should run. Every part of my brain is screaming at me to turn around and run as fast as I can. But I'm frozen. I'm watching this happen like I'm not really here. Like this is something I'm seeing on a screen instead of in front of me.
Reeves reaches the desk. He grabs the edge, trying to get past it toward the windows. His fingers slip on the marble. He's sweating. He's terrified. He's completely lost his mind.
Jordan reaches for his arm and Reeves yanks away. He spins around and there's a moment where their eyes meet and I can see the exact second Reeves understands something. He understands that Jordan isn't going to let him leave. He understands that whatever he did, whatever he sold, whatever he took, it costs him his life.
He backs up. One step. Two steps. He's moving away from Jordan now, moving toward the windows like they're his only hope.
His heel catches on something.
The edge of the carpet maybe. Or the way the floor dips. I don't know exactly what it is. But suddenly Reeves is stumbling. His arms come up trying to catch his balance. His body lurches backward.
And his head hits the corner of the desk.
The sound is the worst thing I've ever heard.
It's not a sharp crack like I would have thought. It's wet and dull and it echoes in the office and in my bones. It's the sound of something breaking that shouldn't break. It's the sound of finality.
Thomas Reeves crumples to the floor like a puppet with cut strings.
Blood spreads across the white marble in a dark red pool. It moves slowly at first and then faster. It doesn't stop.
I can't breathe. I'm pretty sure I stopped breathing somewhere between the shove and the sound of his head hitting the desk corner.
Reeves doesn't move. His body is at an angle that bodies shouldn't be at. One arm is stretched out toward nothing. His eyes are open but empty. He's not looking at anything anymore because he's not looking at anything at all.
He's dead.
A man I saw alive two minutes ago is now dead on the floor of Jordan March's office and I'm standing here watching it happen.
Jordan stands over the body. He's breathing normally. His chest rises and falls like he just walked up a flight of stairs. Like he's not looking down at a dead man. Like he didn't just watch someone's skull crack open on marble.
He reaches into his pocket and pulls out his phone. He doesn't look at Reeves again. He just scrolls through his contacts like he's looking for a restaurant reservation.
"Security," he says into the phone. "This is Jordan March. I need you in my office immediately. Come alone. Tell nobody."
He hangs up.
Then he turns to me.
Our eyes meet and I see nothing in his. No shock. No guilt. No humanity. He looks at the body and then back at me like he's assessing a problem. Like he's running calculations in his head about what to do with the dead man and the terrified intern witnessing all of it.
I wait for him to do something. To threaten me. To tell me I'm next. To grab me and throw me out the window like Reeves.
But something shifts in his expression when he really looks at me.
His eyes move across my face like he's reading something written there. He steps closer and I should be more terrified but instead I'm just confused. He's looking at me like he's seeing something. Something he wasn't expecting to find.
"You didn't scream," he says. His voice is different now. Still calm but different. There's something underneath it. Something like recognition.
I don't know what to say. I don't know if screaming was an option. My body locked up the second Reeves hit the desk.
"Most people scream," Jordan continues. He's still looking at me. Still evaluating. "Or they run. Or they cry. They do something human."
"I..." I try to speak but nothing comes out.
"But you just stood there. You watched. You understood what was happening."
He steps closer and I should move away but I don't. I'm frozen between terror and something else. Something that feels like recognition meeting recognition. Like he's looking at me and seeing someone he knows. Someone like him.
"That makes you dangerous, Dakota," he says quietly. "Or very useful. I haven't decided which yet."
There's a knock on the office door.
Jordan doesn't break eye contact with me. He just calls out, "Come in."
The door opens and a security guard steps inside. His eyes go straight to the body on the floor and his face goes pale. But he doesn't say anything. He just waits. Like this is a situation he's been trained for.
"Handle this quietly," Jordan tells him. "Thomas Reeves had an accident. He fell. It was tragic and unfortunate and it happened exactly like I'm telling you it happened."
The security guard nods. He's already on his radio calling for the cleanup crew. Calling for people who specialize in making bodies disappear.
Jordan turns back to me and for the first time since I've known him, I see something in his eyes that looks almost like tenderness.
"Come here," he says. And this time it's not an order. It's an invitation to something I don't understand yet.
I don't move.
"Come," he repeats. "And understand that nothing changes after this moment. Everything you knew about safety and control and how the world works just ended. And now you belong to me."