A Snake In A Hoodie.

                                        

                                              
CHAPTER: 29

Angel.
Finally gathering the courage to get out of my car, I walked into the Bureau. 
The department was buzzing louder than usual this morning, and I didn't even need to ask why. 
The case of the missing files had spread like wildfire through the Bureau. Whispers erupted around corners, eyes followed me longer than necessary, and no one looked directly at me for too long.
The silent question on everyone's mind was the same one screaming in my own head.
How the hell did this happen?
Thankfully, the forensics and lab reports were retrievable from the servers. 
But as for the rest? All those hand-drawn link charts, witness statements, and suspect observations that I had written and pondered for the past few days were gone. They disappeared into thin air, just like that, without a trace.
I tried recreating them from memory, and while I got close, I knew it wasn't enough. Some details were gone forever. 
When I finally finished the files, I walked them straight to Cyrus' office. The door was already open, like he'd been expecting me.
And I stepped in, handed the reports over and turned to leave, but his voice stopped me cold.
"Sit down."
I didn't argue with him, I already knew it was coming, so I just sank into the seat across from his desk and waited for the blow.
Cyrus was watching me too closely. He clasped his hands on the desk and looked me dead in the eye.
"Angel," he said slowly, like he was trying to give me time to brace myself for what was to come. "You've been working here for years. And in all that time, I've never seen you this careless."
I stiffened, but didn't speak. Because he was right.
He continued, "Ever since the masked ball operation, you've been off. Missing pieces, late reports, unexplained absences." He held up the recreated files. "And now, this."
"I know how bad it looks," I said, voice low.
"Do you?" he asked, brows arching slightly. "Because if those reports weren't backed up, if the forensic data hadn't been recoverable, this wouldn't just be a slap on the wrist. This would be an internal investigation."
His words sliced into my chest and I grimaced.
"You know how thin the line is between misplacing files and tampering with evidence, Agent Di Cartina?"
I nodded, jaw clenched. "Yes, sir. I understand."
Cyrus leaned back in his chair, watching me with a gaze that felt heavier than judgment.
"Is there something going on I should know about?"
My throat dried. I wanted to scream yes. I wanted to tell him everything—the fingers in the box, the blood-stained card, the way I felt like I was being stalked, the fact that I was being followed. Everything. 
But instead, I said:
"No. I'm fine."
He didn't believe me. It was written all over his face but he nodded.
"Dismissed," he said after a beat.
I stood up and left the office, every step heavier than the last.
And still, my blood simmered as anger boiled in my veins, because none of this was accidental.
Mask wasn't just targeting me emotionally anymore. He was going after my career, my credibility, and my life.
And the worst part of it was that, what if it wasn't just Mask? What if he had someone inside the FBI?
The thought hit me like a freight train.
If Mask had someone feeding him access to restricted drives, watching my movements from within the Bureau, then I had nowhere left to hide. No job. No backup. No haven.
And this job was everything to me. After my father died, the badge became my lifeline. 
Cyrus was the only person I had left that resembled anything close to family, and now even he was looking at me like a liability.
I stepped out into the hallway, feeling like I was suffocating. It felt like there was a noose around my neck, and I knew I had to get out of there.
And I had to find the bastard behind this before they finished the job.
Because if I didn't, everything I had left would go up in flames.
***
I left the office.
I didn't tell Cyrus, didn't give a heads-up to anyone on the floor. I just grabbed my jacket and walked out like my feet were on fire.
The moment I hit the driver's seat, I locked the doors and pulled away from the Bureau like I was fleeing a crime scene.
My hands were tight on the wheel as my eyes darted to the rearview mirror every few seconds, wanting to make sure I wasn't being tailed. I even took three unnecessary turns, just to be sure.
Paranoia or instinct, call it whatever you want, I didn't care. It had kept me alive this long.
My first stop was the auto shop I trusted. The guy who owned it, Reggie, was ex-military and didn't ask too many questions. He got to work without a word as I told him I wanted my car checked.
Thirty minutes later, he came out wiping his hands on a grease-stained rag.
"Clean," he said. "Not even a crumb of tech in there."
"Thanks." I nodded, but I wasn't relieved. 
I tipped him twice what he asked for and got back in my car.
I drove aimlessly for a bit before ending up in a quieter part of town—less eyes and less familiarity. 
A diner caught my attention: it was a small corner lot that looked like it hadn't been updated since the '80s, but there was something comforting about that. 
I pulled in and parked two spots away from the entrance, scanned the lot again, and then went inside.
A bell chimed above the door as I entered.
It smelled like grease, overcooked bacon, and cinnamon. The booths were cracked leather, and the air-conditioning groaned.
I ordered a steak sandwich, fries, and black coffee and took a seat by the window where I could see my car.
The food came fast, and I ate like I hadn't seen a meal in days. Each bite grounded me and quieted the thoughts in my head. 
But that sense of peace didn't last. Because just as I was finishing the last bite of my sandwich, I saw a man across the street, walking with a slight hunch, with a hoodie pulled low over his head. 
But the design on the back was a silver snake against the black color of the hoodie, curled with its head poised as if it was ready to strike.
The same one described by Judge Mendez's housekeeper. 
My heart stuttered and I dropped the sandwich, slapped a handful of bills onto the table and bolted for the door.
The bell chimed again as I pushed through it, my eyes locked on the hoodie slipping into the alley.
Maybe all the hell I'd been dragged through was about to make sense.
Because when everything in your life is unraveling, sometimes all you need is a snake in a hoodie to remind you that the hunt isn't over.