Chapter 4 - A Stranger Called Her “Little Bird”Union Station at noon contained enough strangers to hide an army.
Nadia stood beneath the Great Hall’s enormous skylight with Julian ten feet behind her.
That distance had been negotiated.
Julian wanted two armed men beside her.
Nadia wanted to arrive alone.
They compromised badly.
Rafael watched from the balcony.
Two more security men blended into the crowd.
Julian wore no visible weapon.
Nadia knew that meant nothing.
At exactly noon, a woman in a camel coat approached.
Late fifties.
Silver threaded through dark hair.
Thin.
Elegant.
Tired.
She stopped several feet away.
Her eyes filled with tears.
“Oh.”
Nadia stiffened.
The woman covered her mouth.
“You have her eyes.”
“Claire?”
She nodded.
Then she said two words.
“Little bird.”
Nadia’s knees nearly gave way.
A memory erupted.
A kitchen.
Sunlight.
A woman laughing.
Another woman lifting six-year-old Nadia onto a counter.
Come here, little bird.
Nadia stared.
“You called me that.”
Claire began crying.
“You remember?”
“Pieces.”
Claire stepped forward.
Julian moved.
Nadia lifted one hand.
He stopped.
Claire noticed.
“So that’s Julian.”
“Yes.”
“You grew up.”
Julian’s expression remained unreadable.
“So did you.”
Claire smiled sadly.
“Not everyone got the chance.”
Nadia cut through it.
“My mother.”
Claire’s smile disappeared.
“We need somewhere private.”
“No.”
“Nadia—”
“Every private room in this story ends with someone holding information over me.”
She pointed toward a bench.
“We talk there.”
They sat.
Julian remained standing nearby.
Claire looked at him.
“I told her to bring you because Sloane fears you.”
“He doesn’t.”
“No?”
“He understands me.”
“That’s worse.”
Nadia leaned forward.
“Is Evelyn alive?”
Claire closed her eyes.
“The last time I saw your mother was eighteen years ago.”
“Before the fire?”
“After.”
Nadia stopped.
“So she survived.”
“Yes.”
“Where did she go?”
“I don’t know.”
“Why did she leave me?”
“She didn’t want to.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“She believed staying would kill you.”
Nadia laughed bitterly.
“So everyone keeps saying.”
Claire looked down at her hands.
“Evelyn built the ledger while working for Adrian Voss.”
Julian’s father.
“She discovered that Adrian, Victor Sloane, the Callahans, and several legitimate businessmen were using freight routes for more than drugs and weapons.”
Nadia’s stomach tightened.
“What?”
“People.”
Julian looked away.
Claire continued.
“Girls. Runaways. Undocumented women. Children occasionally.”
Nadia’s face drained.
“Human trafficking.”
“Yes.”
“Was Julian involved?”
“No.”
Claire looked at him.
“He was twenty when Evelyn discovered it. Adrian kept his son away from that part of the organization.”
Julian’s jaw clenched.
“Not out of morality.”
“No,” Claire agreed. “Out of control.”
Nadia looked between them.
“Evelyn copied everything.”
“Names. Payments. Locations. Police protection. Judges. Customs officers.”
“Why didn’t she go to the FBI?”
“She tried.”
“What happened?”
“The agent she contacted worked for Sloane.”
Nadia swallowed.
“So she created her own insurance.”
Claire nodded.
“The Ashford Ledger.”
“Where is it?”
“Nobody knows.”
“And Sloane thinks I do.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
Claire looked directly at Nadia.
“Because Evelyn said she gave the key to her daughter.”
Nadia stared.
“I was six.”
“She trusted memory more than paper.”
“What does that mean?”
“I don’t know.”
Julian spoke.
“Songs. Stories. Numbers. Something Nadia could remember without understanding.”
Claire nodded.
Nadia tried to think.
Childhood was fragments.
Foster homes had swallowed most of it.
Then Claire reached into her handbag.
Julian moved instantly.
“Slowly.”
Claire gave him a tired look.
“Still dramatic.”
“Still alive.”
She removed a photograph.
Nadia took it.
A little girl sat on Evelyn’s lap.
Nadia.
Behind them was a mural of birds.
On the back, handwriting.
Seven birds fly east. Three return home.
Nadia read it twice.
“I remember this.”
“Where?”
“A train station.”
Claire nodded.
“An abandoned station near the Indiana border.”
Julian crouched beside Nadia.
“Can you remember which?”
“No.”
Claire whispered, “Blue Island.”
Nadia’s head snapped up.
A sound.
A melody.
Her mother humming.
Then—
Glass shattered.
Julian hit Nadia before she heard the gunshot.
They went down behind the bench.
People screamed.
Chaos erupted.
“Rafael!” Julian shouted.
Another shot struck marble.
Claire screamed.
Julian covered Nadia with his body.
“Stay down.”
“No!”
Nadia looked.
Claire was exposed.
She crawled.
Julian caught her coat.
“Nadia!”
“She’ll die!”
Another bullet hit the bench.
Nadia reached Claire.
Rafael appeared from the crowd and dragged both women behind a stone pillar.
Julian drew a concealed handgun.
The station became pandemonium.
People ran.
Security alarms screamed.
Rafael shouted into his radio.
“North balcony! Shooter moving!”
Julian disappeared into the crowd.
Nadia grabbed Claire.
“Are you hit?”
“No.”
Blood covered Claire’s hand.
“Yes, you are.”
A bullet had grazed her shoulder.
Rafael tore fabric and pressed it against the wound.
“Pressure.”
Claire grimaced.
“They found me.”
Nadia stared.
“Who?”
“Sloane.”
Across the station, Julian reached the upper corridor.
A man in a maintenance uniform ran through an emergency exit.
Julian followed.
The shooter reached the stairwell.
Turned.
Fired.
Julian moved behind concrete.
The bullet sparked against metal.
Then Rafael’s second man came from below.
The shooter was trapped.
He looked at Julian.
Smiled.
And put his own gun beneath his chin.
“Don’t—”
The shot echoed.
Julian stopped.
The man collapsed.
A phone slid from his pocket.
Julian picked it up.
One message glowed on the screen.
DON’T LET VOSS TAKE HIM ALIVE.
Julian stared.
Not Sloane.
Someone else.
He returned to Nadia twelve minutes later.
Police had flooded the station.
Claire was being treated.
Nadia stood beside her.
“You got him?”
“He’s dead.”
“Sloane?”
“I don’t think so.”
Nadia studied his face.
“What aren’t you saying?”
Julian handed her the phone.
She read the message.
“Who sent it?”
“Unknown.”
Claire saw the screen.
Her expression changed.
“What?”
Claire whispered, “That phrase.”
“What phrase?”
“Don’t let him take him alive.”
She looked at Julian.
“Adrian used to say that.”
Julian’s face hardened.
“My father has been dead fourteen years.”
Claire shook her head.
“I attended the funeral.”
“So did I.”
“Did you see the body?”
Julian did not answer.
Nadia looked at him.
“Julian?”
His eyes had gone distant.
May you like
“No.”
Claire whispered, “Then maybe Victor Sloane isn’t the dead man we should be worried about.”
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