Silent Agreement

Black glanced at the time on the screen, then at the single entry about Levine. An idea came to mind—but he dismissed it. If Jack found out, he'd charge in blind. And that? That was a disaster waiting to happen.

Black exhaled, staring at the laptop screen one last time. The name Levine Lorn glared back at him. A dozen plans ran through his mind, but none felt right—not yet.

"Looks like we're doing this, huh?" he muttered, rubbing his temples before pushing himself toward the bed.

The moment his head hit the pillow, the world twisted.

___________________________

Inside Jack's mindscape, two figures sat in a room with a round table. The world around them was wrong, unlike before.

Jack's subconscious had twisted into something sinister—floating fragments of broken memories, shifting like cracked glass suspended in space. Dim light poured in from an unknown source, casting long, distorted shadows.

The air crackled with an unnatural hum, like static trapped between radio signals."

Black stood at the center of it all, arms crossed, watching as Boris emerged from the darkness.

Boris adjusted his trench coat, his sharp gaze locking onto Black. "I assume you found something."

Black smirked. "Oh, more than something." He tapped the side of his head. "We have a name."

Boris's expression didn't change. "Name?"

"Levine. Fucking. Lorn." Black let each syllable sink in, his smile widening. "Rich little corporate brat. Looks like he didn't take too kindly to our dear Jack and decided to have him wiped off the map."

Boris hummed. "Lorn, huh? Makes sense."

"Oh?" Black tilted his head.

Boris stuffed his hands into his coat pockets, glancing around at the warped mindscape. "The kid doesn't know it, but he's always been caught in the orbit of powerful people. His bad luck isn't luck. It's blood in water...and when sharks smell it they come running."

Black's smirk faltered slightly. "You think it's deeper than just a rich asshole throwing a tantrum?"

Boris nodded. "This isn't just about a grudge. A Lorn doesn't order a hit for nothing." He exhaled, his breath turning to mist in the cold air of their shared mind.

After a pause, he continued, "Then again, it could just be a grudge. But with Gervaine and Lorn Industries now involved, things are about to get messy."

Black let out a slow sigh, tilting his head. "Fantastic. And here I was hoping for an easy job."

Boris let out a short laugh. "You? Easy? Don't make me laugh."

Black chuckled, but the amusement didn't reach his eyes. He turned back to the floating fragments of memories, brushing his fingers against one. A distorted image flickered—a vision of Jack, staring blankly into a mirror, whispering:

"I'm not alone in my own body, am I?"

Black's eyes narrowed. The kid was catching on too fast. If Jack put the pieces together too soon, he'd do something reckless. Something stupid.

"We can't let him find out about Lorn yet," Black muttered. "If he does, he'll run straight to him, fists swinging, no plan. And I'd rather not clean up that mess."

Boris smiled sinisterly. "You want me to handle it?"

Black shot him a look. "Hell no. If you show up, we'll have bodies to deal with."

Boris shrugged. "Not my fault people don't survive when I negotiate.'"

Black let out a frustrated sigh. "We'll handle this my way first. We dig deeper. We find out why Levine wants Jack dead and if we can't, we pay dear old dad a little visit."

Boris gazed up. "Fine. Your way first." He paused, turning his gaze back down then added with a smirk, "But if the kid screws this up, I will handle it my way."

Black's smirk returned. "Deal."

The mindscape flickered, distorting as reality started pulling them back. The ticking of the clock in the hotel room resumed, growing louder.

___________________________

The ticking of the clock in the hotel room grew louder. Then—

Jack's coughed lightly as his eyes snapped open. For a moment, he lay still, staring at the ceiling, his heart pounding in his chest.

The room was exactly as he had left it. The laptop sat untouched on the desk. The empty coffee cup still rested on the nightstand. Yet, a sinking feeling clawed at his gut—like he had just woken up from a conversation he wasn't supposed to remember.

He groaned, rubbing his temples as a dull headache pulsed behind his eyes.

"Shit… what time is it?"

Jack reached for his watch, blinking at the bright display. 07:42 AM.

Wait I never kept the coffee cup on the nightstand

As the thought crossed his mind, the haziness and tiredness cleared from his eyes, he glanced across the room searching for any other anomaly, but he found none.

Standing up cautiously, he walked to the desk. A note was tucked beneath the laptop. "Take the card, rent a house, and stay out of this." At the bottom the card's pin was written clearly, 407203.

Staring at the words Jack staggered backwards slightly, "This just confirmed my suspicions" he muttered.

Jack hesitated before reaching for the note, his fingers hovering over it. His heartbeat quickened.

Something felt…wrong. Familiar, but wrong.

Slowly, he turned it over. The numbers felt eerily familiar, then it dawned on him, that's the year and month he was born.

Snatching the debit card from the desk, trembling as he holds it in his hands, afraid it might disappear. He sat down, facing the laptop, searching the web for the address or transaction linked to the card, desperation creeping into his movements.

His search showed the card had been registered three years ago.

Credited at random intervals, without a single debit.

Until yesterday.

Closing his eyes, he leaned back on the chair.