....Michael Creed....
New York's skyline stretched endlessly beyond the reinforced glass, glittering under the early morning sun. The city pulsed below loud, restless, chaotic, but up here, on the 19th floor of the Creed's Tower, it was silent. Controlled.
I stepped out of my private elevator, the soft ding fading behind me as i crossed the spacious floor. The 19th floor was exclusively mine, only Jason had access to this level besides me. It was sleek and modern, designed with minimalist sophistication: glass walls, dark wood panels, and steel accents. A scent of leather and coffee lingered in the air.
The building itself stood tall at twenty stories in the heart of Manhattan. The first and second floors were leased to a prestigious law firm. Floors four through six housed my real estate operations, Creed's Estates. Everything above, from the 7th to the 18th, belonged to my private security firm, Creed's Risk & Recovery.
More than a hundred employees worked across departments: surveillance, data intelligence, field ops, legal, and covert extraction.
But the 20th floor? That was my sanctuary. A fully furnished penthouse designed for the nights when i didn't want to drive back to the suburbs. Marble floors, a stocked bar, blackout blinds, a library, and a gym it was everything i needed when i needed to disappear from the world.
I loosened the cuffs of my white shirt, crossed the office, and sank behind my massive mahogany desk. From this height, i could see the East River glittering in the distance. A long breath escaped me as i reached for the intercom.
"Jason. My office. Now."
A few minutes later, Jason walked in, dressed in a black tactical polo and slacks, tablet in hand, face unreadable.
"Priority Alpha," i said without looking up. "What've we got?"
Jason placed the tablet on the desk and swiped to bring up a grainy surveillance still. "This is from the last sweep. Intel flagged it. Caught near the abandoned warehouse we've been watching on the East Side."
My eyes locked onto the image.
A woman, dressed in all black, beanie pulled low, face shielded by shadows and the angle of the camera. There was no identifying mark. No facial recognition hit. No digital trace.
But my heart skipped. Something in my chest clenched tight. My fingers curled slightly, gripping the edge of the desk.
I knew her.
Her curves , her walking steps , not consciously but something deep in my gut stirred. Like recognition buried under layers of time and fog.
Jason continued talking, oblivious. "She's good. Slipped in and out. No security alerts. No facial match nothing. It's like she ghosted the system. I've been cross-referencing our old files but nothing's"
I wasn't listening anymore.
The image pulled at something raw inside me. A whisper of a memory. A heat in my
blood that shouldn't be there. The kind that only she had ever stirred.
I know Who the hell are you.
"Boss?" Jason asked, finally catching the faraway look in my eyes. "Unless that picture's got you in love, you might wanna blink."
My face didn't twitch. Cold. Controlled. Stone.
Jason cleared his throat, shifting awkwardly. "Anyway... I'll keep digging. Maybe try an old network sweep. Darknet chatter, any IP pings from that area."
I finally looked up. "Do that."
Jason paused at the door. "You think she's connected to the case?"
My gaze dropped back to the blurred image on the screen.
"I think," he said quietly, "we're not the only ones hunting."
As the soft click of the door signaled Jason's departure, silence reclaimed the 19th floor.
I leaned back in my chair, the skyline of New York glittering behind me like a million secrets. My office, walled with floor-to-ceiling glass, offered a pristine view of the city. From this height, the chaos below looked serene, controlled, almost peaceful. But i knew better. Peace was always a well-crafted illusion.
I turned back to my desk. Neatly arranged stacks of documents, reports, and invoices waited for my review. I pulled one toward me and began signing, my strokes clean, sharp, decisive but my mind was still occupied with her. Halfway through the second folder, my burner phone buzzed.
Only a handful of people had this line.
I didn't bother to check the caller ID. I already knew.
I pressed the green button and raised the phone to my ear. "Creed."
A familiar voice spoke, crisp and calculated. "Michael. This is Director Langley."
MI6.
I straightened slightly in my seat, pen still poised between my fingers.
"We need your expertise," Langley continued without preamble. "A government agent's gone rogue. He's carrying intel that can burn the White House to the ground if it falls into the wrong hands."
My eyes narrowed. "What kind of intel?"
"Black book level. Names. Off-record operations. A leak would compromise more than two dozen field agents globally, and that's the light version."
I didn't respond immediately. I simply opened a new file on my encrypted terminal and began typing, pulling up old joint ops i'd once run with British intelligence.
"When was he last seen?" i asked.
"Two days ago. Manhattan. We tracked his burner to the West Side, then nothing. We've attached all the files we have on him to a secure drop."
I clicked into the link sent to his encrypted email. A file began to download.
Langley's voice turned sharper. "We want him alive, Creed. No clean-up. No body bag. We need to know who else he's been in contact with."
"And what's the bounty?"
Langley chuckled faintly. "I knew that'd be your next question. We're offering twenty million pounds. Half now, half when he's delivered,breathing."
My lips curved, but not in amusement. "I'll find him. But if he shoots first, I won't hesitate."
Langley's voice was grave. "Fair. Just bring him in if you can."
The call ended with a beep.
I leaned back in my chair, gaze fixed on the city again, only now, i wasn't seeing buildings and lights. I was calculating.
A rogue agent with nuclear-level secrets. A woman in black my gut swore i knew her.
I didn't know how all the pieces fit yet.
But something told me they would.