CHAPTER 6: THE GUEST ANNOUNCEMENT

POV: Callum Miller

The storm outside had turned into a steady, persistent drizzle by the time I pulled my sedan into our paved driveway. The house stood towering and grey against the darkening sky, its clean, sharp architectural lines feeling more like a fortress than a home.

I cut the engine, sitting in the quiet cabin for a few seconds. My headphones were tucked securely into my jacket pocket, still warm from hours of continuous use. Ever since the library basement, my mind had been completely consumed by Commander's last voice note.

“You belong to me now. Every whisper, every tear, every inch of that soft body.”

Every time I closed my eyes, those words echoed in my ears, sending a prickle of static down my spine and making my chest ache with a dangerous, intoxicating warmth.

I took a deep, steadying breath, forced my face into a neutral expression, and stepped out into the damp chill.

Inside, the house was unusually lively. The heavy scent of roasted garlic and seared steak drifted from the kitchen…a stark contrast to the basic, bare-bones meal prep my dad usually forced us through. I set my keys on the entryway table and kicked off my boots, hearing the heavy clinking of glass coming from Harlan’s home office.

“Callum?” Harlan’s voice called out. It wasn't the usual harsh bark; it held a rare, unmistakable edge of satisfaction. “Get in here.”

I smoothed down my damp t-shirt, pulling my shoulders back into a straight line before stepping into the doorframe.

Harlan stood near his bookshelf, holding a half-empty crystal tumbler of scotch. The top buttons of his dress shirt were undone, and his face lacked the usual pinched scowl. He looked... expectant. presque triumphant.

“Hey, Dad,” I said, keeping my posture rigid. “Smells good in here.”

“It should. I had catering drop off dinner from the steakhouse downtown,” Harlan said, taking a slow sip from his glass. He set the tumbler down with a firm click against the mahogany wood and gestured for me to enter fully. “Sit. We need to discuss the house arrangements for the coming months.”

I pulled out one of the leather armchairs opposite his desk, sitting on the edge of the seat. “House arrangements?”

“I received a call this afternoon,” Harlan began, his eyes gleaming with a strange, dark reverence. “An old brother-in-arms—the man who ran our tactical unit overseas…is transitioning back to private contracting work in the state. He’s taking over a major regional security contract, but his permanent residence up north isn't ready yet.”

I nodded slowly, trying to sound politely interested. “Okay. So he’s visiting?”

“He’s staying here,” Harlan corrected firmly, pointing toward the ceiling. “In the attic guest suite. He’s moving in tonight.”

A strange, quiet coldness settled in my stomach. The attic suite occupied the entire third floor directly above my bedroom. The floorboards were old hardwood, and the acoustic setup meant every heavy footstep up there carried straight down into my space.

“How long is he staying?” I asked.

“As long as he needs,” Harlan stated without room for argument. “And I expect you to be on your absolute best behavior, Callum. No slacking. No dragging your feet around the house. The man moving into our attic is Gideon Sterling.”

The name hung in the quiet office, heavy and unfamiliar.

“Gideon Sterling,” I repeated, testing the syllables.

“Captain Gideon Sterling,” Harlan refined, his tone sharpening into pure admiration. “He was my team leader in the contractor unit. I have never met a more uncompromising, formidable force of nature in my life. Gideon is a man who demands total order, flawless discipline, and absolute respect from everyone in his orbit. When he speaks, people shut their mouths and listen.”

My pulse gave a sudden, erratic flutter against my ribs.

Uncompromising. Total order. Flawless discipline.

The words sounded unnervingly familiar. They felt like carbon copies of the bio lines typed on The Command Post profile page.

Former military contractor... experienced dominant... enforces strict discipline...

I swallowed hard, forcing myself to maintain eye contact with my father. “How old is he?”

“Forty-two,” Harlan answered offhandedly, taking another drink. “Same age as me, though he’s kept himself in far better tactical shape. He’s a broad, imposing bastard…looks like he could snap a man’s neck with his bare hands and not lose a second of sleep over it. The kind of leader who doesn't tolerate weakness or indecision in any form.”

A violent surge of heat shot straight down into my gut, making my thighs go tight.

Forty-two.

My throat felt bone-dry. My heart began to hammer against my ribs like a trapped bird.

No. Don't be absurd, Callum.

There were thousands of former military contractors in the country. Thousands of forty-two-year-old men with tactical backgrounds and stern personalities. It was a massive, statistically impossible coincidence. Gideon Sterling was just my father’s strict, terrifying old buddy coming to stay in our attic. He wasn't the man in my headphones. He couldn't be.

“Are you listening to me?” Harlan’s voice cracked through my spiraling thoughts like a whip.

I jumped slightly, pulling my eyes back to my dad’s face. “Yes, Dad. Forty-two. Formidable.”

Harlan’s jaw tightened in annoyance. “He’ll be arriving around nine tonight. I’ve already moved his primary gear up to the attic. I want you home, dressed sharply, and ready to greet him at the door like a man. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Dad. Understood.”

“Good. Dismissed. Go wash up for dinner.”

I didn't wait for him to repeat the order. I stood up, turned on my heel, and walked out of the office, my legs feeling strangely numb beneath me.

I hurried up the stairs, my heart pounding so loudly in my ears it drowned out the quiet hum of the house. I darted into my bedroom, locked the heavy wooden door behind me, and collapsed against the frame, pressing my forehead against the cool paneling.

My breath came in short, ragged hitches.

It’s just a coincidence. A stupid, paranoid coincidence.

With trembling fingers, I pulled my phone out of my jacket pocket and unlocked the screen. My hands were shaking so badly I almost dropped the glass.

I opened the encrypted node for Echo.

I tapped open the profile for The Command Post.

I scrolled straight down to the bottom of the handle screen, staring at the small, crimson location tag updating in real-time.

Location Tag: 12 km away.

My breath caught violently in my throat. My eyes went wide, staring at the digits glowing on the glass.

12 km away.

This morning at breakfast, Commander was forty-eight kilometers away. An hour ago, he was still nearly thirty miles out.

Now, he was twelve kilometers away. Moving closer. Heading directly toward this side of the county.

A cold, electric shock of pure adrenaline coursed through my veins, making my knees buckle. I slid down the locked door until I was sitting flat on the floor, staring blankly at the screen in my hands.

He’s coming closer.

Was Commander just traveling for work? Was he heading toward a hotel in the city? Or was the man driving toward my house right now the exact same man my father had just described downstairs?

My phone vibrated sharply against my palm, the sudden buzz making me gasp aloud.

A single new private message from Commander lit up the encrypted thread.

Commander: [Text]

In transit tonight, sweet boy. Heading into your neck of the woods for a new contract. Be a good boy and think about your Commander tonight.

My chest heaved, my mind reeling in total, breathless terror and filthy, forbidden excitement.

I pressed my phone against my chest, staring up at the dark wooden ceiling beams above my head. Up into the empty, waiting darkness of the attic suite.