Silent tension

The rain hit hard, spitting off the blacktop and hammering against the windshield of Agent Riley Kane’s unmarked Ford. She flicked the wipers once, twice, and then cursed softly under her breath. Her gut told her something wasn’t right, not about the storm, not about the streets, not about anything.

She’d been following breadcrumbs for six months, all leading to the disappearance of Alex Mercer, a young investigative journalist chasing a story so dangerous it had vanished him. Her bosses called it a “cold case,” but Riley had a habit of ignoring labels. Cold, hot, lukewarm, none of that mattered. Facts mattered. And facts were whispering in her ear that the billionaire he’d been chasing, Victor Kellan, wasn’t just corrupt. He was untouchable, lethal, and smarter than anyone in law enforcement wanted to admit.

Riley parked two blocks away from the last known address of Mercer, in a neighborhood so quiet it made the hair on her neck stand up. She stepped out, feeling the sting of rain against her leather jacket. Her boots hit puddles with deliberate force, splashing into the reflection of the city lights.

“You’re late,” a voice said from the shadows.

Riley spun, hand brushing the Glock at her hip. A man stepped forward, soaked, face obscured by the hood of a drenched hoodie. “You Riley Kane?”

“That depends on who’s asking,” she said, scanning the street.

“Name’s Ortega. Alex Mercer’s friend. I’ve been waiting… watching.” He hesitated, shivering. “I think they’re onto you.”

“Who?” Riley asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Victor Kellan. The guy Mercer was digging into. You don’t want him angry.”

Riley’s jaw tightened. “You don’t know me if you think I’m afraid of him.”

Ortega laughed dryly. “You will be.”

Before she could respond, the faint hum of a vehicle engine cut through the rain. Riley’s instincts screamed. She yanked Ortega behind a dumpster. Lights cut across the street—a black SUV, tinted windows, tires slicing through puddles like knives.

“They’re coming,” Riley whispered.

The SUV screeched to a stop. Doors opened. Men in black tactical gear poured out, moving like trained predators. Riley didn’t wait. She sprinted, Ortega stumbling to keep up.

A shot rang out. Bullets ricocheted off metal dumpsters. Riley returned fire, kneeling, pushing Ortega down. She counted three, maybe four attackers before ducking into a narrow alley, heart hammering.

“You’ve got a plan?” Ortega gasped.

“Always,” Riley said, smirking despite herself. She grabbed a fire escape ladder and started climbing. The rain slicked metal screamed under her weight, but she didn’t care. Survival was a feeling she liked.

From above, she vaulted to a rooftop, dragging Ortega with her. They moved like ghosts across wet tiles, shadows blending with the night. Below, the attackers searched, but Riley had the height advantage. She watched them scatter, waiting for one to slip.

Seconds later, a figure appeared on a lower roof, a man in a hood, but not one of the attackers. He waved frantically.

“Riley Kane?”

“That’s me,” she called back.

“Alex… it’s me,” Mercer’s voice trembled. Riley’s stomach twisted. He was alive—but barely. Bruises marred his face, his clothes torn, eyes wide with fear.

“Move,” Riley barked. She hoisted him up, dragging him toward the next rooftop. “Talk later, survive now.”

They leapt across rooftops until a sudden crash beneath them shook the tiles. The SUV had returned, men clambering after them with frenzied determination. Riley pulled a small device from her pocket, a mini EMP generator she’d stolen from a cyber-crime unit months ago. One click, and the SUV’s electronics died. The engine coughed, lights dimmed, and the men cursed, scrambling in confusion.

Riley didn’t pause. She and Mercer ran, finally dropping into a narrow, deserted street. They ducked into an abandoned storefront. Riley slammed the door, bolting it behind them. Mercer leaned against the wall, gasping.

“You… you shouldn’t be here,” he whispered. “They’ll kill you.”

“They already tried,” Riley said, checking the Glock. “And failed. I don’t do failure.”

Mercer swallowed hard. “Victor… he knows everything. About me, about the story… he has people everywhere. He’s… he’s not just a billionaire. He’s… something else.”

Riley’s eyes narrowed. “Something else?”

“He’s… untouchable. He controls police, media, even politicians. He’s… untouchable,” Mercer repeated, shivering.

Riley knelt beside him, gripping his shoulders. “Listen. Untouchable is just a word. We’re going to make him touchable. But first, you tell me everything. No secrets.”

Mercer nodded, lips trembling. “The files… the evidence… Kellan’s projects… he’s developing...”

A window shattered. Shadows crept in. Men. Too many to fight straight.

Riley shoved Mercer behind a counter, drawing a deep breath. “Okay… improvisation time,” she muttered. Her mind raced. She grabbed wires, tubing, anything she could find. She rigged an impromptu trap with a propane tank and a metal beam.

The first attacker entered. Riley yanked the beam. It swung, knocking him unconscious. She kicked him into the propane. Sparks flew. The rest froze.

“Run!” Riley shouted. She grabbed Mercer’s arm, sprinting into the alley behind the storefront. They vanished into the night.

By dawn, Riley had him safe in a small motel room far from the city center. Mercer’s fingers shook as he handed her a flash drive. “All of it,” he whispered. “Every file. Every email. Every account.”

Riley looked at him, her expression flat but deadly. “Good. You’re alive. That’s step one. Step two… we expose Kellan. And step three… he goes down.”

Mercer swallowed, hope flickering in his eyes. “We can do that?”

Riley smirked, holster clicking. “We’re going to do it. He thinks he’s untouchable? I’ve got news for him. Untouchable doesn’t exist.”

And for the first time in months, Mercer smiled.

Riley’s eyes flicked to the window. Rain had stopped. The city below was waking, unaware of the storm that had just passed, unaware of the predator that had been challenged. Riley Kane didn’t care. She liked it that way.

Because she wasn’t here to play nice. She was here to finish the job.

The files were in her hands, the target was clear, and one unorthodox FBI agent was about to make a billionaire very, very uncomfortable.

Riley slumped into the chair, exhausted but alive. She loaded her Glock, checked her phone, and muttered:

“Let’s ruin his morning.”

Outside, the city breathed. But Riley Kane? She didn’t sleep. Not tonight. Not ever for this.

The storm was over, but the war had just begun.

END