The Theater of Power

Jessica adjusted the cuff of her blazer as she and Leanna stepped into the grand interior of Ford’s Theater. The place had been restored to perfection, its ornate balconies and red velvet drapery evoking the past in a way that felt almost staged.

They weren’t here for history, but history was here for them.

Leanna leaned in as they took their seats. "You ever notice how Black has a flair for the dramatic?"

Jessica smirked. "Wouldn’t expect anything less."

They scanned the audience, searching for a familiar face, a hidden message, anything that might explain why Mr. Black had brought them here. But as the play began, nothing happened.

For the next two hours, they sat through a historical drama about power and betrayal, all while waiting for a ghost who never appeared.

When the final act ended and the audience applauded, Jessica remained still, watching the shadows along the balconies. No movement. No signal.

Leanna sighed. "Either this was a waste of time, or Black’s making a point."

Jessica rose. "Either way, I doubt he’s done with us yet."

* * *

Outside, a line of black carriages waited along the curb. The crisp night air settled over the city, cool against Jessica’s skin.

As they stepped onto the sidewalk, a uniformed driver approached. "Miss Sanchez. Miss Torres. A ride has been arranged for you."

Jessica’s gaze flicked to Leanna.

Leanna exhaled. "I suppose we shouldn’t be surprised."

They stepped into the carriage, the interior lit by a dim overhead lamp. The city rolled past in shadows and gold-lit monuments. The rhythmic clatter of hooves against pavement set an eerie calm.

Jessica checked the door. Locked from the outside. They weren’t in control of this ride.

Leanna folded her arms. "I hate being chauffeured without knowing the destination."

Jessica peered through the window. "I think we’re about to find out."

* * *

The carriage stopped near the base of the Lincoln Memorial. Jessica and Leanna stepped out onto the marble steps, the vast, towering statue of Lincoln watching over them in quiet judgment.

Footsteps echoed. And then he was there. Mr. Black. Dressed in his usual dark suit, cigarette in hand, he emerged from the shadows like a specter. His face was still unreadable, the kind of expressionless calm that belonged to a man who had seen too much.

Jessica felt a quiet unease settle over her. He didn’t move like a man with secrets. He moved like someone who had become one. A presence more than a person, built from silence, dressed in influence.

Jessica crossed her arms. "A theater, then here? You have a sense of irony."

Leanna exhaled. "Ford’s Theater. Lincoln’s assassination. And now we’re here, standing beneath him. What are you trying to tell us?"

Mr. Black took a slow drag from his cigarette. "I would’ve thought that was obvious."

Jessica’s jaw tightened. "Enlighten us."

A pause. Then he flicked the cigarette to the ground, crushing it under his heel.

"You’re standing in the right place. You’re still watching the actors. But the script was written long before this administration. Before Vanguard. The ones behind this don’t play the game, Jessica. They built the stage. But you’re still looking at the wrong enemy."

Jessica didn’t flinch. "Then point us in the right direction."

Black smiled, but there was no warmth in it. "You already know where to go next. Langley. But don’t make the mistake of thinking the CIA is your ally."

Leanna frowned. "Who are we really dealing with?"

Black exhaled. "A war that never ended. And if you think you’re the first to stumble into it, you haven’t been paying attention."

Jessica’s pulse quickened. "What are they planning?"

Black’s expression darkened. "Something worse than Vanguard. Something global. And if you push too far, too fast…" He stepped closer. "You won’t come back."

Jessica met his gaze. "That a threat?"

Black tilted his head. "It’s a fact."

Silence settled between them, heavy with meaning. Then, before Jessica could press him further, he turned and disappeared into the shadows, swallowed by the night as if he had never been there.

* * *

Jessica stared after him, fists clenched.

Leanna let out a slow breath. "So, what do we take from that?"

Jessica turned back toward Lincoln, his stone face cold in the moonlight. “We go to Langley,” she said.

The statue didn’t answer. But somewhere behind those eyes, she imagined the war never ended.

Leanna nodded. "And we watch our backs."