Opening Gambit

The sun sagged low over Montevideo, bathing the city in burnt amber and deep violet hues. The streets had begun to empty, shadows stretching long across the cobbled roads. The sea, restless and dark, licked against the harbor with rhythmic intent, as if whispering secrets to those who knew how to listen.

Jessica turned the white wooden pawn between her fingers. It was smooth, unblemished, a simple object. But it felt heavier than it should have. Weighted with something unseen. Something calculated.

She set it down on the café table, the hollow tap against the wood making Olivia flinch.

Leanna leaned forward, elbows on the table, her gaze sharp. “So, do we talk about the fact that he was close enough to touch you?”

Jessica didn’t answer. Her fingers hovered over the pawn. It didn’t matter that the café had been full, that they'd watched the exits, that they were trained. He’d still gotten close—close enough to plant a piece of himself on her like a signature.

It wasn’t a threat. It was a message. I see you. I always have.

Her jaw tightened. The idea of it, the intimacy of it, made her stomach twist. Not quite from fear, but from something a little more corrosive. It was more like shame or inevitability.

Olivia exhaled, the sound loud in the stillness. It wasn’t just concern in her voice—it was frustration. Worry. Maybe even fear. “Jess—”

Jessica slid the folded note across the table like a weapon. Her hand lingered for a beat too long, as if releasing it cost her something. “No. We talk about this.”

Leanna picked it up, brow furrowed, and read aloud. “Follow the tide.”

The words lay between them like bait—simple, precise, laced with intent. A challenge dressed as poetry.

Jessica leaned back, the chair creaking beneath her. Her shoulders were tense, her eyes distant. The muscles in her jaw flexed as she ground her teeth, silently willing herself to hold together.

“We’re being played,” she said at last, her voice like cracked stone. Not afraid. But something close.

—

The safe house was a small, utilitarian apartment overlooking the industrial docks. The scent of brine and diesel seeped through the cracked window, mixing with the dry, musty air inside. The walls were bare, the furniture sparse—a place meant to be left behind.

Jessica placed the pawn on the coffee table. It stood perfectly still despite the subtle draft that crept through the room.

Leanna had a map spread out across the kitchen counter, Montevideo’s coastline illuminated by the flickering light overhead. “If this is literal, it could mean something along the waterline. A shipping yard, a port, maybe—”

“A tide gauge,” Olivia interrupted.

Jessica turned to her.

Olivia’s fingers danced over her laptop keyboard. “Solís Biotechnica’s main distribution hub is right next to one. It monitors water levels along the coastline.” She pulled up a grainy satellite image, the layout of a sprawling warehouse appearing on screen.

Leanna’s brows furrowed. “This feels too easy.”

Jessica smirked. “Of course it does. It’s a game. And he just made his next move.”

—

By nightfall, the industrial sector had quieted. The air had thickened with moisture, the distant scent of rain lurking beneath the tang of salt and rust.

Jessica, Leanna, and Olivia crouched behind a rusted cargo container two streets away from the Solís Biotechnica distribution hub. The warehouse loomed in the near distance, skeletal cranes standing silent against the black sky.

Leanna shifted, her voice low. “Tell me again why we’re walking into something he clearly wants us to find?”

Jessica checked the 1911 at her hip. “Because we don’t have a choice.”

Olivia kept her eyes on the blueprint. “Main office is on the east side. Limited security presence—at least on paper.”

Jessica studied the structure. Too quiet. Too still. A storm was coming. And it wasn’t just in the sky.

She exhaled. “Let’s move.”

---

The inside of the warehouse was cavernous, the air thick with the scent of damp wood, old metal, and oil. The silence was oppressive, broken only by the occasional groan of shifting crates and the distant lapping of waves outside.

Jessica moved forward cautiously, her boots making little sound against the concrete. The others followed, their presence mere shadows in the dim glow of emergency lighting.

A desk sat at the far end of the room, a single lamp flickering to life above it.

Jessica froze. The bulb swung gently, casting restless shadows along the walls. Beneath its pool of light sat an envelope. It was pristine and deliberately placed like a lure on the dust-covered surface.

Someone had been here—recently. The air still carried the trace of movement, a presence just out of reach. Leanna’s hand went instinctively to her gun. Behind her, Olivia’s breath caught, sharp and quiet.

Jessica stepped forward. Every instinct screamed that this was a trap, but she moved anyway—steady, deliberate. Traps meant intention. Traps meant someone had built them. And she’d stopped running from ghosts a long time ago.

She reached the desk and stared at the envelope. It wasn’t just the contrast against the grime that unsettled her—it was the precision. The control.

She picked it up, felt the weight of it. It was handmade of expensive paper and felt familiar. A chill threaded down her spine as she broke the seal and unfolded the note inside. The note was written in the same elegant handwriting as the one in the cafe.

"You’re learning. Good."
"You were never looking for Vanguard. You were looking for us."
"Follow the tide, and you’ll find the current."
"If you’re still standing after that, we’ll talk."

—

There was a small shift in the air. Jessica’s instincts screamed move. She turned, gun raised.

She saw the glowing ember of the cigarette first. Then the figure emerged—a silhouette in the dark, just beyond the lamplight. There was no mistaking it. Mr. Black was here.

Jessica’s grip tightened on her 1911.

Mr. Black stood with the ease of someone who had seen too much to be threatened by a gun. The cigarette burned low in his fingers, a slow exhale of smoke curling into the shadows.

He watched her, calm and unblinking, as if waiting for a decision she hadn’t made yet.

Jessica’s finger hovered over the trigger, breath tight in her chest.

He smiled—just enough to unnerve. “Not yet,” he murmured. “You’re not ready for that conversation.”

She stepped forward, heart pounding—but he was already gone, vanished into the dark like he’d never been there at all. Jessica lowered the gun, slowly, deliberately. Her hand wouldn’t stop shaking.

—

They drove in silence. The letter sat on Jessica’s lap, the pawn still in her coat pocket.

Leanna stared ahead, knuckles tight on the steering wheel. “He’s leading us somewhere.”

Jessica watched the ocean in the distance, the tide moving in and out, relentless. “I know.”

Olivia shook her head. “You’re really going to keep letting him lead?”

Jessica traced the edge of the pawn with her thumb, gaze locked on the waves breaking against the shore. It was warm from her hand now—just a piece, never the player.

"What choice do we have?"