Chapter 227

Iris

“There,” the detective says, pointing to the screen. “That’s Silas Creed’s car turning onto his street.”

I lean forward, squinting at the grainy traffic camera footage. Sure enough, the black SUV we’ve been tracking through the city’s surveillance system turns smoothly onto the tree-lined street. The timestamp reads 2:17 PM—less than thirty minutes after Miles was taken from our building.

“So he took our son straight to his home,” I say hollowly. “He didn’t even try to hide where he was going.”

Arthur’s face darkens so much that it’s nearly black by now. “I think he wanted to be found,” he mutters bitterly. “Like stealing my son is some kind of fucking message.”

A message. A message for what, exactly? Just to prove that he could do it? To try and make Arthur look even worse to the media? Or does he have an even more sinister motive behind his actions?

We’re in the police station’s surveillance room, surrounded by monitors and tired-looking officers who have been working nonstop since Miles was taken four hours ago. Outside, the winter sun has already set, leaving the city in darkness. The lack of sunlight just makes the entire situation feel even more dire.

“What do we do now?” I ask, so frantic by now that my hair is wild from ripping at it and my face is tracked with tears. “We know where Miles is. We need to get him back, no matter what.”

“We will,” the detective says in a level voice that’s probably supposed to be calming but just makes me feel more frustrated, “but we need to be careful. If we go in guns blazing, your son could get hurt. But rest assured that we’ve already sent plainclothes officers to set up surveillance around Silas’ house. Once we hear back from them regarding potential threats, we’ll make our next moves.”

“And how long, exactly, is that supposed to take?” Arthur demands. “My son is in there with that psychopath right now. I can’t sit around all night waiting for bureaucracy—”

“I understand your frustration, Mr. President” the detective interrupts, “but rushing in without proper intel could put Miles in more danger. You must understand how precarious this situation could be.”

Arthur looks like he wants to bite this guy’s head off, but he controls himself and just nods tightly.

Thankfully, the surveillance doesn’t take as long as we feared. Within the hour, it comes to our attention that Silas is unarmed and alone. He is also willing to negotiate, which is a good sign.

And so we begin the next steps, and the detective explains everything in detail; police vehicles will surround Silas’ house, keeping a safe distance to avoid escalating the situation. We’ll wait outside, observing everything, while the negotiator will attempt to make contact and open a dialogue. SWAT teams will be on standby, but they’ll only move in as a last resort.

I sit in the back of an unmarked police car with Arthur as we approach Silas’ neighborhood. It’s located in an affluent area on the outskirts of Ordan. Silas’ house, a sleek modern two-storey, is at the end of the dead end street, set back from the road and surrounded by tall hedges. There’s a large wrought iron fence all around it with an even larger and more imposing gate at the front of the driveway.

“We have eyes on the house,” one of the officers reports as we park outside, just a little ways down the street. “There is no movement visible from the windows. The car is parked in the driveway.”

“Any sign of my son?” Arthur asks immediately.

“Not yet, sir. But we have thermal imaging coming online now.”

We watch as one of the screens in the police van flickers to life, showing a heat map of Silas’ house. A signature in the shape of a tall man, Silas, is moving around inside. He appears to be by himself, and seems surprisingly casual for someone who just kidnapped the Alpha President’s son. In fact, he almost seems to be making himself something to eat in the kitchen, moving around from the stove to the fridge.

The officers confirm this, then point out a small, unmoving shape on the second floor, which must be Miles. Judging from the heat signature and Silas’ casual movements, he’s likely alive—just sleeping. Thank the Goddess.

“The negotiator is in position,” the detective then announces. “We’re making contact now.”

We watch on another monitor as a woman in plain clothes approaches Silas’ front gate. She’s carrying a handheld radio. She presses the intercom button beside the gate.

For a long moment, nothing happens. Then, a crackly voice emerges from the speakers in our van.

“Yes?”

“Mr. Creed? This is Lieutenant Morrow with the Ordan Police Department. I’d like to speak with you about the situation.”

A pause, then: “What situation would that be, Lieutenant?”

“We know you have the Alpha President’s son inside, Mr. Creed. We’d like to discuss terms for his safe return.”

Another, longer pause. I hold my breath, my hand finding Arthur’s.

“Very well. You may come in, Lieutenant. Alone. And leave your radio and wires at the gate, or I won’t negotiate.”

The negotiator sighs, but the detective confirms for her to remove her wires. She carefully does so and places them on the pavement. Once she’s finished, we watch as the gate swings open and the lieutenant walks up the long driveway to Silas’ front door. It opens before she reaches it, and she disappears inside.

And then we wait.

It feels like hours. Days, even. Perhaps an eternity.

But really, it’s mere minutes that the lieutenant is inside Silas’ house—less than fifteen, to be exact. In that amount of time, Arthur has worked himself into a near-frenzy, his fingernails turning bloody from chewing them. I just feel numb as I stare at the heat map, watching as the two adult figures pace in the midst of their conversation.

The conversation doesn’t appear to be too heated, judging from body language. At one point, I see Miles’ sleeping form roll over wherever he’s laying, which fills me with hope. So he is alive, and probably unharmed. That’s a good thing.

I wonder, though, why he felt the need to take Miles. It makes no sense; if he and Leonard do somehow know about Miles’ abilities and intended to take him and turn him into their little prophetic weapon of mass destruction, then why make himself so easy to catch? Why negotiate?

I’m not sure if I even want to know the answer.

Finally, when I’m certain Arthur is going to chew clean through his finger, the negotiator emerges from the house. She’s unharmed and calm as she approaches the vehicle, although her face is grim.

“Well?” Arthur practically barks. “Is he going to give me back my son?”

The negotiator’s face darkens. “Yes,” she says, and I nearly cry with relief. But then she adds: “But under certain terms.”

“Such as?” Arthur leans forward, clearly willing to accept whatever it will take to get Miles back.

“You must willingly hand over your presidency,” she says. “Otherwise Mr. Creed will claim Alpha Swap rights, Miles will be killed, and Arthur and Iris will become rogues.”