The air was heavier in the hills.

  Not in temperature, but in tension — like the elevation came with its own kind of silence. It hung between the trees like breath held too long. The street lamps here didn’t buzz. They whispered. The kind of neighborhood where you didn’t knock on doors. You were either expected… or you weren’t welcome.

  The car rolled to a stop in front of a tall wrought-iron gate. A camera pivoted toward them.

  Inside the sleek black vehicle: Iris, Mara, Marcus, and Darren.

  The mission had formed quickly once Felix and Lina traced the girl’s phone metadata to a private contact: Cassie Temple — a minor influencer and daughter of an estate developer. She’d hosted the last three “invite-only” parties in the hills. And her name had popped up on Natalie’s calendar just two days before she vanished.

  Now, they were here.

  Blending in.

  Kai had stayed behind to monitor from HQ, watching every angle via embedded body cams and Felix’s surveillance network.

  Iris fixed her collar in the mirror. Her jacket was dark velvet — sleek, with minimal flash. Mara, beside her, wore heels and edge, exuding just enough confidence to pass for someone used to this kind of crowd. Marcus and Darren sat up front, clean-cut in sharp blazers, posing as drivers or bodyguards — depending on what the moment demanded.

  “Everyone remember their roles?” Iris asked, eyes locked on her reflection.

  Marcus nodded. “Be silent unless things get loud.”

  Darren cracked his knuckles once. “Loud, we can do.”

  “Hopefully we don’t need it,” Mara muttered.

  Iris smiled faintly.

  The gate buzzed, and a low male voice came through the car’s speaker.

  “Invitation?”

  Iris leaned over Marcus’s shoulder. Her voice was warm, disarming.

  “We’re with Cassie’s list. She’s expecting us.”

  There was a pause.

  The camera zoomed slightly.

  “I don’t see your name.”

  Iris tilted her head, letting out a small breath — the kind of exhale that suggested mild frustration, not anger.

  “What name do you have under ‘plus two’? Because I was listed under Camilla.”

  Another pause.

  Longer this time.

  “Camilla left a note,” the voice said slowly. “But you weren’t—”

  Iris leaned back just slightly and smiled, like someone who knew exactly what she was doing.

  “She told me your people might give us trouble. Said you were thorough, not rude.”

  That caught the guard off guard. A hesitation in his voice, a shift in tone — his professionalism threatened by a seed of doubt.

  Iris continued before he could recover.

  “Look. I know what this party is. Who it’s really for. And I also know you’d rather not call Cassie and explain why her private guests were turned away because of a missed line in a spreadsheet.”

  Another pause.

  “I get it,” she said gently. “You’re just doing your job. And you’re good at it. That’s why Cassie trusts you.”

  The silence stretched.

  Then the gate began to open.

  Marcus glanced in the rearview mirror, impressed. “You’re terrifying.”

  Iris didn’t answer. Her eyes were already scanning the massive house at the end of the drive — glass walls, curved balconies, music pulsing just below the surface of the air.

  “Let’s move,” she said.

  The front doors opened with a hiss of air conditioning and the low thrum of bass-heavy music.

  The moment they stepped inside, it hit them — the curated chaos of wealth disguised as freedom: mood lighting in purple and gold, slow-moving fog creeping along the floor, voices half-raised in laughter, glasses clinking against glass, perfume and cologne mingling into a luxurious haze.

  The house was a dream sculpted in glass and stone — open-concept halls, towering ceilings, indoor plants shaped like sculptures, and walls full of abstract paintings no one here understood.

  It smelled expensive.

  It smelled like people pretending.

  They moved as a unit.

  Iris and Mara walked shoulder to shoulder, bodies loose but alert, eyes scanning without appearing to scan. Darren and Marcus flanked behind, playing their role to a tee — no eye contact, no chatter, just presence. Quiet pressure.

  “I hate these kinds of people,” Mara muttered, tilting her head just enough to mimic interest in a sculpture as they passed.

  “They’re not people,” Iris whispered back. “They’re masks. Look deeper.”

  That was when she saw it.

  Near the bar.

  Cassie Temple.

  Blonde braid, glittering heels, flawless skin under artful makeup. But the giveaway wasn’t her outfit — it was the circle around her. Too tight. Too performative. Everyone laughed half a second too late, eyes shifting for approval before reacting.

  Cassie was the sun of this solar system.

  And every person in her orbit was watching her too closely.

  “Target acquired,” Iris murmured.

  “Should I approach her?” Mara asked.

  “No,” Iris said. “We don’t want Cassie.

  They peeled off toward the side hall — just near the patio doors. From this angle, they could still see the room’s layout, the clusters of conversation.

  Iris leaned against the glass wall, just enough to blend in.

  Then she started watching.

  Who was relaxed. Who was performing. Who was scanning the room and who wasn’t.

  She spotted him within three minutes.

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  A tall man in his late twenties, dark suit, glass untouched in his hand. He wasn’t with anyone — just near enough to hear everything Cassie said. But his eyes weren’t on her.

  They were on the people she looked at.

  A handler, not a guest.

  And probably not the only one.

  Iris whispered, “There are levels here. Real guests, recruited hosts.”

  “Which are we?” Marcus asked from behind her.

  Iris smirked faintly. “Tonight? Bait.”

  They moved again — this time deeper into the house.

  A corridor lined with artwork, candles, and doors cracked just slightly open.

  Soft music played from hidden speakers in the walls. The atmosphere began to shift — less party, more maze.

  And that was when they heard it.

  A sharp voice. Male. Aggressive. From the room at the end of the hall.

  “No, I said she doesn’t belong here.”

  Mara stiffened. Iris raised a hand.

  Inside the room, someone replied — a girl’s voice. Nervous. Defensive.

  “She said she was invited—”

  A loud thud.

  Iris didn’t wait.

  She stepped forward, hand out. Mara moved beside her. Marcus and Darren flanked the rear.

  The door wasn’t locked.

  Iris opened it fast — no drama.

  Inside was a man in a black suit, hand gripping a girl’s arm. She looked barely older than them, shaking, trying to explain herself. The man’s face twisted toward them in irritation.

  “This area is private.”

  Iris stepped in like she owned the air between them.

  “She’s with us.”

  The man’s eyes narrowed. “You’re not—”

  That’s when Marcus moved.

  He didn’t speak.

  He just walked in, towering with calm.

  Darren closed the door behind them.

  “Let go,” Iris said, voice even.

  The man hesitated. Then his grip loosened.

  The girl stumbled back, breathing fast.

  “Are we going to have a problem?” Darren asked. Not loud. Just enough.

  The man’s face changed. He recalculated.

  Then he stepped back.

  “No problem,” he muttered.

  Mara wrapped her arm around the girl and guided her gently out of the room.

  As they exited, Iris whispered to Marcus, “He’s not security.”

  Kai’s voice buzzed softly in her earpiece.

  “I saw everything. That wasn’t a random guest either.”

  Iris glanced at the hallway as they moved.

  “Then we’re in the right place.”

  They moved quickly.

  Out of the private corridor.

  Back into the hushed din of the party — but not too quickly. The girl was shaken, and her heels wobbled slightly on the marble as Mara guided her past the glinting stairwell and back onto the outdoor balcony.

  The air was cooler here. The music softer. It felt like stepping out of a lie and into the silence between heartbeats.

  Marcus and Darren stood near the entrance like living statues. Iris and Mara sat with the girl at a secluded table in the corner, sheltered by potted ferns and hanging lights.

  No one bothered them.

  Everyone was too busy pretending not to notice.

  The girl clutched her hands in her lap. She had high cheekbones, dark curls pinned back with trembling fingers, and a voice that was barely holding together.

  “You’re safe,” Iris said gently. “He won’t touch you again.”

  The girl nodded once.

  Iris leaned forward. “What’s your name?”

  “Elsie,” she whispered.

  “You were going to be thrown out,” Mara said. “Why?”

  Elsie hesitated. Then she looked up.

  “I wasn’t on the list,” she said. “But I came anyway. I had to.”

  “Why?”

  “Because…” Her eyes shimmered slightly. “Because I think I’m next.”

  Iris didn’t blink.

  “Tell me why you believe that.”

  Elsie gripped the edge of the table. “Natalie… she was my roommate’s cousin. We were close. She told me something… something was wrong with the people running these parties. She said she was being followed, even outside the house. Black cars. Men watching her. At first, I thought she was being dramatic, but then…”

  “Then she vanished,” Iris finished.

  Elsie nodded.

  “Did she ever say who was following her?”

  “She didn’t know. But she kept mentioning a man. Someone she called The Quiet One. Said he never spoke. Never drank. But he always showed up. And he always… watched.”

  Iris felt the air go cold for a second.

  “Describe him.”

  Elsie’s lips parted like she was about to say she didn’t remember. But she did.

  “Black suit. Always pressed. Gloves — even indoors. And a scar right here.” She motioned across her jaw. “He looks like he doesn’t sleep. Or doesn’t blink.”

  Iris’s gaze flicked toward Marcus and Darren. Both were alert now.

  Kai’s voice crackled in her earpiece.

  “I’ve got him on the feed. He’s here. Not on the floor, though. Upper balcony. Watching through the glass.”

  Iris’s heart ticked faster — but her expression stayed calm.

  She turned back to Elsie. “Do you know where these parties are planned?”

  Elsie nodded shakily. “There’s an app. It’s not in the stores. You get it from someone who’s already ‘in.’ It changes names every week. Natalie got hers from someone named…”

  Her voice trailed.

  Iris leaned closer.

  “…name?” she asked softly.

  Elsie swallowed.

  “…Finnegan.”

  Mara blinked. “Finnegan?”

  “I don’t know if it’s real,” Elsie said quickly. “Could be a codename.”

  Kai’s voice buzzed again. “We’re pulling records. Stay calm.”

  That was when the glass behind them shimmered — and a shadow shifted on the upper balcony.

  Iris stood slowly.

  The Quiet One was gone.

  They found a quiet spot in the shadows of the rooftop lounge, tucked beneath a row of sculpted hedges and glass lanterns. From here, the music still thumped from the floor below — velvet bass and laughter masked in wealth — but it sounded distant, like it belonged to another world.

  Elsie gripped the edge of the firepit table, breath still uneven, eyes darting to every movement beyond the balcony rail.

  Mara sat beside her, a steady presence.

  Iris stood opposite her, calm, focused, watching without pressure.

  “You’re safe for now,” Iris said gently. “But we need to understand what you’ve seen.”

  Elsie hesitated. Her hands trembled slightly. “If they find out I told you anything…”

  “They won’t,” Iris said.

  Darren and Marcus stood near the entrance to the rooftop, posing like party security — arms crossed, backs straight, eyes sharp. It wasn’t just for show. They were watching everything now. Every glance. Every shadow.

  Elsie swallowed. “Natalie… she saw something. That’s why she disappeared.”

  Iris didn’t blink. “What did she see?”

  Elsie looked down at her lap, voice tight.

  “She told me… the party isn’t just a party. It’s a front. There’s something going on behind it. Something… chemical.”

  Iris’s eyes narrowed slightly.

  “Drugs?”

  “Yes. But not the usual kind. Not pills. Not powder. It’s… clear. Liquid. Packaged in tiny black vials, no labels. They say it makes you dream with your eyes open. Some people call it a focus. Others say it’s like time slows down.”

  Mara’s eyes flicked to Iris.

  “They only offer it to certain people,” Elsie continued. “Ones with influence. Kids from old money. Families tied to corporations. It’s not just a party. It’s… recruitment.”

  Iris’s tone lowered. “Recruitment for what?”

  Elsie looked terrified. “I don’t know. But Natalie said she saw one of them — someone from the upper floor — inject a guy at the last party. In the neck. It wasn’t a party trick. It wasn’t recreational. The guy barely moved.”

  Iris leaned forward.

  “And she told you this?”

  “She didn’t mean to. It just slipped out. She was scared. She said she wanted to report it. I told her to stay quiet.”

  “Then she vanished,” Iris said.

  Elsie nodded. “Two days later.”

  Darren shifted slightly at the door, scanning a group of men that had stepped onto the balcony nearby. They were laughing. But one of them looked too calm. His eyes flicked toward their corner, just for a second.

  Then away.

  “I think they’re keeping her somewhere,” Elsie said quietly. “I don’t think they killed her.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because she knows too much. But she didn’t tell anyone else. So they’re trying to keep her contained. Out of sight. Until… I don’t know.”

  “Until no one asks anymore,” Iris answered instead.

  There was silence for a moment.

  Iris glanced up at the stars, letting it all settle.

  Natalie had seen something. Not just a crime — but a system. Something organized, intentional, and hidden behind glitter and money.

  Darren shifted again at the far side of the balcony.

  “Iris,” he murmured, his voice just loud enough for her earpiece. “We’ve got eyes. That man from before — the one who grabbed Elsie — he’s back. And he’s not alone this time.”

  Iris stood slowly.

  “Time to leave?” Mara asked.

  “No,” Iris said.

  “I need you to trust me,” Iris said quietly. “Don’t resist. Let them take us.”

  Darren opened his mouth to argue, but Marcus laid a hand on his shoulder and nodded. “She has a plan.”

  The men approaching weren’t just bouncers — they were armed, silent, trained. Three came from the balcony. Two more from the lounge exit.

  No words were exchanged.

  The lead stepped forward and gestured with the barrel of his gun.

  Iris raised both hands, calm. “We’re coming.”

  Mara moved next. Then Elsie.

  Darren and Marcus followed, tension crackling under their skin, but holding it back like a dam waiting to rupture.

  They were marched through the house — not through the front, not through the guest floors, but toward the back hallway. A hidden elevator waited behind what looked like a wine cabinet. With a keycard swipe and a faint mechanical hum, it opened.

  All five of them were herded inside.

  No talking.

  Just the hum of machinery as they descended.

  It felt like sinking into the bones of the house.

  When the doors opened, it was colder. Cement floor. Exposed pipes. A corridor lined with security cameras and red emergency lights.

  They were forced into a holding room — bare walls, metal table, reinforced door. Ropes. Duct tape. Restraints tied around their arms and ankles like prisoners from a forgotten war.

  The guards left without a word.

  And then… he arrived.

  The Quiet One.

  Same dark suit. Same gloves. Scar slicing down his jaw like a warning. He didn’t sit. He simply stood at the end of the room, eyes locked on Iris.

  “Who sent you?”

  His voice was gravel. Deeper than expected. Slow and exact.

  No one answered.

  He took a step forward.

  “Who are you working for?”

  Still, silence.

  Then one of the guards leaned in from behind him and pointed toward Elsie.

  “I’ve seen her before,” he muttered. “She was with the other girl. The one we took earlier.”

  The Quiet One turned slightly, his expression never changing. “So that’s what this is.”

  He looked at Iris again.

  “You came for your friend.”

  Iris blinked once. “Where is she?”

  The Quiet One’s lip curled.

  “Don’t worry,” he said. “You’ll see her soon. Because none of you are leaving.”

  He turned to go.

  But Iris’s voice slipped into the air, cool and clinical.

  “Where is she?” Iris repeated.

  The Quiet One paused.

  Then he left the room, the door hissing shut behind him.

  Upstairs, the party roared on — laughter spilling like wine across marble floors, while down below, in a hidden room beneath the illusion, only silence.

  Back at HQ, Kai watched through the hidden feed.

  The camera hidden in Iris’s jacket showed every detail — dim light, thick shadows, and the door sealing shut after The Quiet One’s exit.

  Kai’s fingers hovered over the control panel.

  He pressed a single button.

  “Iris,” he said through her earpiece. “Are you hurt?”

  “No,” she whispered.

  “Mara?”

  “I’m good.”

  “Elsie?”

  “She’s terrified but breathing.”

  Kai’s voice sharpened.

  “Darren. Marcus. It’s your turn.”

  Marcus looked at Darren across the room, expression unreadable.

  “I mean it,” Kai said. “No hesitating. We’re out of time.”

  Outside the cell, faint footsteps approached.

  Three guards.

  Talking low. One of them laughed — too casually.

  Inside, Darren exhaled slowly. He could feel the blood rushing through his arms. His body was tense, but calm.

  The guards entered.

  One of them turned to speak into his radio. Another crossed the room to check Marcus’s restraints.

  That was all it took.

  Marcus said one word, soft as thunder.

  “Now.”

  The ropes snapped.

  Not cut. Snapped.

  Marcus’s shoulders flexed as he launched upward, hand cracking into the guard’s jaw with bone-breaking force. The man didn’t even grunt — he just dropped.

  Darren surged up next, slamming his elbow into another’s throat and twisting the rifle from his hands with impossible speed. The last guard tried to raise his gun, but Darren was already there — one hand gripping the barrel, the other crushing the man’s wrist before tossing him across the table like a ragdoll.

  The whole fight lasted four seconds.

  Four.

  When the last guard hit the wall and slumped unconscious, the room went still.

  Mara was already free, having ripped her own bindings. She moved to untie Iris and Elsie.

  Iris looked over at the downed guards.

  “Anyone twitching?”

  “Nope,” Marcus said, checking the nearest one’s pulse. “Still breathing.”

  “Shame,” Darren muttered.

  Kai’s voice returned.

  “Felix’s blurring all of you on the footage before sending it to the police. The moment you’re out of the house, police will get everything.”

  “Understood,” Iris said. “We’re moving.”

  She stepped over to one of the groaning guards.

  “Where’s the girl?” she asked.

  No answer.

  Darren crouched beside him and lifted him by the collar — one hand, with terrifying calm. “You heard her.”

  The guard’s eyes widened. “S-second hall. Left. Metal door. No code.”

  They moved fast.

  Darren took point. Marcus stayed close behind.

  The corridor led to a side wing of the underground level — a series of old storage rooms, dimly lit and cold. The metal door was rusted around the edges. Marcus kicked it open.

  Inside were three figures.

  Natalie — curled against the wall, blinking against the sudden light.

  A young man, shirtless and bruised, his eyes wide in disbelief.

  And another girl, barely sixteen, whispering to herself in a corner.

  Iris stepped inside and knelt in front of Natalie. “You’re okay. We’re taking you home.”

  Natalie’s breath caught. Then she nodded, slowly.

  No screams.

  Just pure relief.

  Darren lifted the bruised man. Marcus took the second girl gently in his arms.

  And then, like shadows pulled from the dark, they left.

  As Mara sped down the winding road, the party house shrinking in the rearview mirror, red and blue lights flashed across the windshield. Three police cars raced past them, sirens silent but urgency clear.

  Mara let out a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding.

  “We did it,” she said, her voice quiet.

  In the backseat, Natalie looked out the window, tears in her eyes — but finally free.

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