Page 50 of Silent Dust
Flora chuckled, her eyes sparkling with affection. “You really are my hero, you know that?”
Stephan’s smile softened as he held Flora close, but the edge of concern never left his voice. “Hey,… I know today’s about having fun, but please—be careful, alright? Keep an eye on your surroundings. If anything feels off, don’t hesitate to let me or someone from the team know.”
She looked up at him, meeting his gaze with understanding. “I will. I promise.”
He brushed a stray lock of hair from her face, his fingers lingering a moment longer. “I just want you and the kids safe. No matter what, don’t take any chances. If you need to step away or call me, do it. We’ve got your back.”
Flora nodded, her voice steady but warm. “I know. And I trust you.”
Stephan’s jaw tightened slightly, the weight of the threat pressing down on him. “Good. Because I’m not letting anything happen to you. Not today. Not ever.”
32 - FLORA
Flora stoodby the garden gate, watching the day unfold around her with a mix of warmth and cautious hope. The sunlight spilled over the backyard, softening the edges of everything—children’s laughter weaving through the air, the smell of barbecue smoke curling upward, and the sight of familiar faces smiling, relaxed in the rare comfort of a shared afternoon.
Her eyes found Stephan across the yard. His broad frame looked calm, but she knew better than to mistake that for ease. His gaze flicked constantly over the crowd, sharp and alert beneath the surface. She admired his quiet vigilance—it was one of the many reasons she trusted him—but it also reminded her of the danger still lurking nearby.
The threat of Charlotte hung like a shadow over the entire gathering, invisible but ever- present. Every movement was measured, every smile carefully timed. Flora could feel the undercurrent of tension threading through the festivities, winding its way beneath the laughter and chatter like a coiled spring.
In the garage, Kujo, Hawk, and Link remained glued to a bank of monitors, eyes scanning live feeds with unblinking focus. The quiet hum of electronics contrasted sharply withthe buoyant noise outside. Both active and retired SEALs moved through the crowd with practiced vigilance, their instincts sharpening even in moments meant for relaxation. Some exchanged subtle nods, their hands never straying far from concealed holsters. Others whispered quietly in corners, discussing scenarios and contingencies, always hoping to spot Charlotte before she could slip into the shadows to strike.
Flora’s gaze drifted back towards the porch, where Lindsey leaned into conversation with Maria and Sadie, their laughter a fragile thread of normalcy. Nearby, Rhys animatedly explained his solar energy project to Samir, his enthusiasm a beacon in the uneasy atmosphere.
Off to the side, Amelia, Emma, and Kenzi were lost in their own world, constructing a tiny village of sticks and stones with an innocence at odds with the serious eyes watching over them.
Flora had been sitting on the porch with the other ladies, the warmth of their easy conversation a brief respite from her worries. But as the sun dipped lower, casting long shadows across the yard, a restlessness stirred within her. She rose quietly, slipping away toward the kitchen to brew a fresh pot of coffee. The rich aroma soon filled the air, grounding her in the moment even as her mind raced.
She paused by the kitchen window and peeked out again, steeling herself against the fragile happiness that clung to the afternoon like a thin veil. It was a rare gift and one everyone here knew could unravel in an instant. They were waiting—waiting for Charlotte, for the inevitable next move. For danger lurking just beyond the edge of this fleeting peace.
Flora couldn’t help but smile as she moved about the kitchen, pouring water into the coffee maker and listening to the gentle hum of conversation outside. As the day had worn on with no sign of Charlotte, a quiet calm settled over her, allowing her to relax and fully enjoy the time with friends and family. This waswhat life was about—friends, family, and the simple pleasures that made everything worthwhile. The warmth of the sun was giving way to the coolness of evening, and she felt a deep sense of contentment wash over her.
Steam curled up from the coffee pot, filling the kitchen with a comforting scent that settled her nerves. Flora leaned back against the counter briefly, savoring the momentary peace, her thoughts drifting from the laughter outside to the memories of gentler days.
But the quiet calm shattered in an instant.
A figure emerged from the laundry room, stepping into the kitchen with a suddenness that stole the air from the room.
Charlotte's movements were erratic, manic. Her lips trembled, forcing out a rapid, incoherent tirade—words spilling with desperate fury about destiny, power, and the betrayal she claimed to suffer. Her breath came in quick bursts as she pressed a knife dangerously close to Flora’s chest, backing her against the counter.
Flora’s breath caught as she took in the sight before her. Charlotte’s face was a shocking mask of chaos—skin blotchy and raw in places, streaked with smeared remnants of foundation and eyeliner that had long since run. It looked as though she’d clawed at her own skin, desperate to tear something away, but had only made things worse. Deep shadows circled her eyes, which blazed now with a wild, feral intensity—wide, fierce, and full of betrayal. Her hair was tangled and matted, leaves and twigs caught in the disarray, and her clothes hung loose and stained as if she’d been living rough for days, sleeves torn and collar askew. Flora’s mind raced, struggling to process this fractured, unrecognizable version of the woman she once knew. What the hell had happened to Charlotte?
Charlotte, her colleague and friend, was holding her at knifepoint. Why?
“What the hell?” Flora stammered, heart pounding.
“Shut up!” Charlotte growled. Her voice was low, venomous, thick with rage, filling the kitchen with a heavy tension. “You ruined everything for me!”
Flora steadied herself, fighting to keep panic from her voice. “Charlotte, put the knife down. We can talk.”
The blade gleamed threateningly in Charlotte’s trembling hand.
“Talk?” Charlotte spat. “What’s there to talk about? You pretend everything’s fine while I’m left to pick up the pieces. You don’t know what I’ve been through! You have your husband, your kids—your perfect little life. But where is he now? Can he protect you? No. Not here. Not from this.”
Flora’s throat tightened, but she kept a calm tone. “I’m here for you,” she said carefully. “Whatever’s happened, we can work through it. But this isn’t the way.” She stepped forward slowly, the knife still pressed against her chest.
Charlotte’s eyes flickered with doubt, then flared fiercely. “You think words fix this? You’ve always had it easy. You don’t know what it’s like to lose everything!”
Softening her voice, Flora said, “Maybe I don’t know exactly, but I want to help. You don’t have to face this alone.”
