Crows and Chains ️

Time: 8:17 a.m. 

Location: Navarro Estate, Atlanta 

Weather: Cloudy, 74°F

The morning smelled like ash and lemons. Burnt sage still lingered in the hallway outside Jayce Navarro’s room, but beneath it, something colder remained—the scent of wet blood drying into cotton.

Jayce stood shirtless at the tall window of his bedroom, watching the compound breathe. Men paced the outer fence with weapons holstered like second skins. The street was quiet, but too quiet. Like a mouth held shut in fear.

He lit a cigar and pulled the curtain wider.

Eli Mercer was in the courtyard, barefoot, wearing only joggers and a sleeveless tee. He moved like a shadow, steady, controlled. Not like someone recovering. Like someone preparing.

Jayce watched him for a long time.

It had been four days since Eli arrived. Four days since he bled on Jayce’s floor and didn’t flinch. Four days of silence, work, and wordless tension.

He didn’t ask questions. He didn’t make phone calls. And that? That unsettled Jayce more than a man with a gun.

---

"He still ain’t asked for a ride, a phone, a name," Keon said as he leaned against the SUV, arms crossed.

Jayce exhaled smoke through his nose. "You checking his shit?"

"He wiped the warehouse books clean. Found holes I ain’t even see. He straightened out two shell companies, reversed an embezzlement I been tryin’ to plug for six months."

Jayce raised a brow.

"He dangerous, boss. But I don’t think he reckless."

"Reckless don’t scare me. Intent does."

They both turned back toward the courtyard. Eli was now seated on a cinderblock, unwrapping gauze from his forearm.

Jayce’s eyes lingered on the ink that surfaced underneath—a black crow mid-flight, wings cut at the tips.

"That tattoo mean somethin’ to you?" Keon asked.

Jayce nodded once.

"Crows don’t forget where they buried their dead."

---

Time: 10:32 a.m.

The dining room smelled of ginger, citrus, and sharp money. Mama Inez had cooked soft yam, red stew, and fresh eggs. The table was full. Everyone was loud—except the ghost.

Eli sat near the end, silent, focused. He ate like he was born in a palace but raised on instinct. Every motion was precise. Every blink was measured.

"So," Big T said loudly from across the table, pointing his fork, "we lettin' strays eat with us now?"

The room quieted.

Jayce looked up slowly. "You say somethin'?"

"Just wonderin' if the policy changed, boss. Thought you had to earn your seat."

Eli set his spoon down.

"You want the seat?" he said calmly.

Big T laughed. "I’m talkin' 'bout you, white collar."

Eli looked at him—really looked—like a man checking for cracks in a wall.

"Good," Eli said. "Then you won’t be surprised when the legs break."

Jayce grinned.

Mama Inez cleared her throat. "This is a table for warriors. You don't like the new ghost in the room, find another plate."

Big T cursed under his breath.

Eli picked up his spoon. "Didn’t think so."

---

Time: 1:05 p.m.

Jayce led Eli down the back corridor. It was lined with photographs of fallen soldiers—men who bled for Navarro, men who never left the streets. The air was cool and heavy.

They stopped in front of a matte-black door.

"What’s this?" Eli asked.

"Show me how dangerous you really are."

Jayce punched in a code, unlocked it.

Inside was a war room—screens, ledgers, satellite feeds, blueprints, surveillance cams.

Jayce stepped aside.

"Fix what you see."

Eli studied it.

"Your east-side shell is exposed. That condo front? IRS flagged it three months ago. Warehouse 7 still registered under Keon's ex. Also, your supplier’s running a side hustle on your coke."

Jayce blinked.

Eli turned. "Want the rest? Or should I write it in blood?"

Jayce walked over slowly. Too slowly.

He stopped inches away.

"What’s your angle?"

Eli didn’t move.

"Survival. For now."

"And later?"

"Depends on how many kings die before they name the next."

Jayce looked at him, long and deep.

Then he smiled. "Welcome to the fire."

---

Time: 4:47 p.m.

Eli stood shirtless in the compound gym, bruised ribs taped. He threw strikes at the bag like he was fighting ghosts.

Jayce watched from the mezzanine.

Mama Inez approached.

"You sure about him?"

"No."

"Then why's he still breathin'?"

Jayce didn't answer at first.

"Because every time I look at him, I see a man who already buried his past. And only dead men can move like that."

She touched his arm.

"Just make sure you ain’t lettin' your heart do the diggin'."

---

Time: 7:32 p.m.

The estate was quiet. Too quiet.

Eli walked into the study. Jayce was already there, pouring two glasses of bourbon.

"Thought you didn’t drink," Eli said.

"I don’t. But you do."

Eli took the glass. Sat.

Jayce leaned against the desk, watching him.

"You got a tell."

"So do you."

"What’s mine?"

"You only pour when you're trying to read someone."

Jayce chuckled. "And yours?"

"You blink twice before you lie."

Jayce sipped. "Think you can survive here?"

"No."

"Then why stay?"

Eli stared at him.

"Because ghosts don’t belong anywhere. Might as well haunt the right place."