The Next Line ( The Lineage Series #2)

Joshuan

My room is dark.

Not dim. Not quiet.

Dark.

The kind of dark that feels like it's swallowing everything whole.

I sit at the edge of my bed, elbows on my knees, hoodie still clinging to my skin like it's been sewn into me. My hands are shaking—not from fear, not from exhaustion.

From restraint.

The black folder lies open in front of me on the floor. Scattered across the wood are photos, transcripts, old receipts, printed maps, and a surveillance log so thick it looks like a goddamn novel.

I've gone through every page three times.

And yet I'm still sitting here.

Staring.

Because none of it feels real.

A name. A face. A trigger. That's all it took to almost lose her.

Aurora.

Seven days. I didn't leave that fucking hospital for seven goddamn days. I watched her chest rise and fall through tubes and machines. I held her hand even when she didn't hold mine back.

And now she's awake.

But I'm not okay.

I'm nowhere close to okay.

I pick up the photo of the SUV. Sleek. Black. No plates on the front. The timestamp puts it three blocks from the arena exactly 15 minutes before the fight ended.

I flip to the next image—zoomed in on a man standing near the driver's side. Grainy. Tall. A blur of a hood pulled low. But there's the tattoo on his wrist.

The fucking snake.

I've seen it before. On the neck of a dead man years ago when I was thirteen, watching my father settle debts in cold blood. I'll never forget it.

Snake coiled around a dagger.

It's the Santori family's mark.

But something doesn't fit.

If it was the Santoris... why target her? Why not me? Why not during weigh-in? Why wait until she was outside alone?

Unless it wasn't just business.

I dig through the pile again, shoving aside receipts and blurry street footage. Then I freeze.

A single sheet of paper—half folded beneath another.

A printed transcript.

Time-stamped.

Intercepted call, two weeks before the fight.

The voices are tagged: UNKNOWN MALE and SECOND MALE.

I scan the dialogue quickly.

UNKNOWN: "We'll make it clean. Quick. She won't know what hit her."
SECOND MALE: "Just make sure it happens where he'll see it. I want him to know."
UNKNOWN: "You sure about this? She's not involved."
SECOND MALE: "She's involved because he loves her. And he took what was mine."

My heart stops.

No.

No way.

I flip the page.

There's an audio file number. A digital ID log from a burner.

Then another note.

Trace report: SECOND MALE cross-referenced with prior activity. Name match: Preston Harrington III