Entangled in Darkness

CHAPTER ONE: RETURN OF DUTY

Sleek, shiny, and unnecessarily expensive shoes glided across the hardwood floor of the office. Drenched in mid-day sunbeams, it gave a cinematic glow—straight out of an interior designer's dream.

The air in the office held a peculiar scent, a mixture of polished wood, faint perfume, and the lingering memories of late-night strategy sessions. Noticing a group of people passing through the lounge area, all in their respective training outfits, brought a nostalgic feeling. Days from the academy. Memories of the good old days did not linger for too long; she couldn't ignore the group faltering away, all sporting wide eyes.

"I guess they did not expect to see me here," Maverick thought.

Her lips tugged into a satisfactory smirk, disturbing the dark facade of the unbothered person she tried to project in front of all. But she couldn't. The eyes followed her as if she were a celebrity of sorts. Close enough—not to brag. To a certain circle of people, Maverick Callahan was a celebrity. Years of accomplishment in the career she devoted her time and, well, her life, made her recognizable by the right set of people.

It was not for all to know the real story of her, how much she had to lose to achieve this status, but Maverick did not complain. She loved the privacy.

One of the many reasons why the grin faltered away, leaving a bittersweet expression pressed onto a stony cold face.

"Callahan," her shoulders tensed at the all-too-familiar voice.

With a tilt of her head, Maverick noticed an average-height man strutting down the spacious lobby towards her. A midnight blue suit neatly pressed against his athletic body—reprimanding the times when Maverick used to tease him for being a sophisticated jerk. Good times. The feeling of nostalgia was not permanent. With a vast coldness, it all washed itself away, and Maverick was left to feel nothing more than bitterness. Not now. Not here. She pushed her personal feelings away and feigned sweet politeness. Business casual as usual.

She flashed a grin. "Mark, long time no see. How've you been?"

Turmoil brewed behind the darkness of his eyes. Maverick could not exactly pinpoint the deeply rooted emotion that flared strongly between the two of them, but it made her skin crawl.

"Cut the crap, Maverick," his eyes flashed dangerously close to anger. "I'm not here to chit-chat. We need to talk."

Avoidance. Maverick was a Master of It. Always one step ahead when a problem arose and surrounded her personal matters. She was good at protecting others, but when the time comes, and she was the one to be the centre of attention, she hurried away like a scared cat, hiding beneath the asshole act.

"We don't have anything to talk about." She shot back harshly.

"Maverick," his tone rose, but with a side glare, Maverick was able to silence him. His voice wavered. "My office, now."

The closest person to becoming Maverick's best friend tugged her arm through the narrow hall, rushing past a few unseen recruits. Maverick didn't really have a choice but to comply. After all, she wasn't one to cause a ruckus.

The hallway, adorned with photographs capturing moments of success and camaraderie, felt like a walk-through time. Maverick's steps echoed, resonating with memories both cherished and haunting. The walls seemed to bear witness to her rise and fall, the pictures almost whispering secrets of the past. She wondered if her image from those early years stared back at her from one of those frames.

"I don't have time for this, Mark. What do you want?" She shook his strong grip away, fixing the wrinkled blazer while flopping down on the leathery chair.