Eric Quiet Place: Day One Novels & Stories

Safe, but only in the way a hiding place can ever feel safe. Eric dropped the duffel bag on the floor and sank onto the couch. His hands shook as he ran them through his hair, a low sigh slipping through his lips. “We should be okay here,” he said. “No one knows about this place except me.” She didn’t answer. Her mind was still back in that room at Daxton, the gun cooling in her hand. The look in that man’s eyes when he realized he was dying. She couldn’t wash it away, no matter how hard she tried.

POV Millie X is parked in the front of the apartment building in a nice-looking black car. I open the door and he’s got an earpiece in talking to someone. I stay quiet and try not to eavesdrop but it’s literally impossible because I’m right next to him. I grab my phone for distraction, I got a text from Steph about an hour ago.

As we walked together quite slowly, I opened the door to the room from the inside and poked my head out, making sure that no one was currently watching our movements. "Hurry up, but don't walk towards the back, you better go out towards the living room," I whispered still trying to look right and left. Adam seemed to understand. He started to walk out of my room after he was also sure that no one was watching. My breath caught in my throat as I watched him move, but at least I was on the verge of getting Adam out from behind the closet. "Adam... Mahira... what are you doing?" suddenly came someone's voice.

Jason I choose my moment the way some people choose their words with restraint, with foresight, and with an instinctive understanding of consequence. The building must empty to a certain degree, noise thinning until footsteps become rare and voices fall away. He listens for the quiet corridor, the kind that hums faintly with fluorescent lights and distant ventilation, the kind that offers no witnesses and no interruptions. I position myself just outside the closed office door, not directly in front of it but slightly to the side, where I won’t be seen through the narrow pane of glass.

Turning to one of the spies, she inquired, "How much longer until we arrive at the special location?" Jerrica, one of the spies, answered her phone as it rang, and Mara's attention shifted to the conversation. She could only catch bits and pieces, but the mention of her name caught her ear. Jerrica's voice reassured the person on the other end that Mara was indeed with them. Once the call ended, Jerrica looked at another one of the spies, a silent understanding passing between them. Mara noticed the exchange and felt a mixture of anticipation and uncertainty. What was happening? What were they planning?

And outside, at the edge of the cliffs, a shadow moved. A man dressed in black crouched near the stone wall, camera lens glinting faintly under moonlight. He adjusted his headset. “Target in sight. Both secure.” A voice crackled through the earpiece. > “Good. Phase two begins tomorrow. The couple returns to New York in forty-eight hours. Make sure the footage is ready for release.” The man nodded once, lowering his camera. Through the lens, he zoomed in—and the image sharpened: Maya’s sleeping face resting peacefully against Ethan’s chest.

On one side is a life full of expectation, and on the other was a life built alone. Demitri took a look at the peaceful, void-like scenery. He didn't understand it at first, then he saw the look in Becca's eye as she took it in for the millionth time. He recognized immediately, this is where she feels safe; this is her library. "Sorry if this is a boring reward." Becca said to fill the silence. "It's not boring." Demitri half lied. There was another long stretch of silence before Becca sat on ground and patted the ground next to her. Demitri took the spot she patted and sat as well.

Jack ordered. They roped fast. The sand took them with a dull hush and a tick of settling pebbles. One by one the silhouettes detached, coiling rope and moving to cover like ink bleeding into paper. The Black Hawk lifted, banked, and vanished into the horizon, nothing but a fading tremor in the bones. Silence reclaimed the desert. Real silence. Not the city kind—this was the planetary kind, the predator’s kind, old and patient. Jack took a knee, swept the ridge with his NVGs. Heat rippled, dunes breathing in long glacial rhythms. “Raptor One in position,” he murmured. “Moving to breach.”

The old docks smelled of rust, diesel, and low tide. Fog rolled in thick from the Hudson, turning the skeletal cranes into gray ghosts. Aiden and Silas moved through it like predators black coats, suppressed pistols holstered under tactical vests, boots silent on cracked concrete. Sofia Rossi had chosen neutral ground well: abandoned pier, no cameras, no witnesses, only the lap of water against rotting pilings.

He hands me one of the rifles, lightweight, short-barreled, suppressor already threaded. “Familiar?” I nod. “Range day. Same model.” “Good.” He clips a radio to my collar, right beside the O-ring. “Channel three. Stay on comms. If anything feels wrong, you call it. No heroics.” I meet his eyes. “No heroics.” He kisses me, quick, hard. Then we wait. 23:41. The radio crackles. “Eagle One. Target vehicle entering garage. Single occupant. Male, mid-fifties. Matches photo.”