CHAPTER 89: BRIGHTVALE PD

The distant echo of gunfire faded as Lukas stepped closer, his voice steady but light."Would you like to try flying targets, sir?"

Miles gave a slight nod, eyes still on the Desert Eagle in his hand."I would love to."

With a swipe across his tablet, Lukas activated the mechanism.A high-pitched whirr filled the air. A disc launched into the sky—Bang. One down.Another. Bang. Two down.Then five.Then nine.Ten.

The onlookers behind the range had stopped firing.Murmurs rippled across the space."That guy hit all ten flying targets...""Who the hell is he? Some kind of shooting athlete?"

Lukas blinked in disbelief but quickly composed himself."You are exceptionally good at it, sir. We’ll need to load more disks."

Miles tilted his head slightly, his voice calm."It’s fine, Major. Just bring me more rounds for the Desert Eagle. I’ll practice on the far targets."

Lukas gave a small nod and turned."Okay, sir."

As he walked away, a new voice floated in from behind."That was quite an aim."

Miles turned left.A woman in her late twenties stood there, pulling down her headphones around her neck. She removed her safety glasses, revealing sharp amber eyes. Her hair was tied back in a sleek ponytail, a few wisps escaping to frame her strong features. Athletic build, sun-kissed skin, and an air of quiet confidence. She wore the base training uniform, but her posture was anything but casual.

She stepped forward, extending a hand with a slight smile."Hello. I’m Jemma."

Miles met her handshake firmly, steady eyes meeting hers."Miles. Nice to meet you, Jemma. How can I help you?"

For a second, Jemma didn’t answer. Her expression changed subtly as she felt the strength in his grip.Not a regular hand. These were calloused, precise—hands that had seen war.

She raised a brow, still holding his gaze."You’re a soldier or what?"

Miles smiled faintly, casually resting the weight of the Desert Eagle in his hand.

"Not really. I’m a businessman," he said with a calm tone. "Why, did you already find blood on my hands?"

Jemma chuckled, her eyes narrowing slightly with curiosity.

"No," she replied, "I just felt like it. You must have so much experience to be that precise with a target."

Miles glanced at the distant boards, riddled with centered holes.

"Oh, you could say I’ve practiced enough. It’s just my hobby."

"Really?" Jemma asked with playful skepticism. "You look young though. Do you even have a firearms license?"

Miles raised an eyebrow with a smirk.

"You a cop or something?"

Jemma raised both her hands, feigning innocence.

"Oops, my apologies. You’re right though. I’m a cop. Brightvale PD. Sorry if it felt like I was interrogating you. It’s just... I’ve never seen you around."

Miles nodded casually.

"I’m new to the city. Just came for some business-related things."

"Alright," she said, backing off a little, "nice to meet you, Miles."

With that, Jemma turned and walked away toward the locker zone near the side of the range.

As she moved behind a pillar, she pulled out her phone and snapped a discreet picture of Miles.

She dialed a number.

"Hey, I’ve sent you a picture," she said in a quiet tone. "Can you run a face recognition?"

The voice on the other end answered almost instantly.

"What case is this for?"

"No case," Jemma replied. "Just a little query. No registered complaint. Just tell me who he is."

"Alright. Hold on."

A few clicks echoed over the phone. Then silence.

Suddenly, the voice changed.

"Uh... something’s not right."

"What do you mean?"

"The moment I put his image in, the screen turned red. The system flagged it immediately."

Jemma leaned against the wall, frowning.

"What does it say?"

"It says... ’Classified. No clearance.’ And it’s flashing. I think it just triggered some kind of alert protocol. A higher authority might reach out soon."

Jemma exhaled through her nose, now even more intrigued.

"Thanks. If anyone contacts you, forward them to me. I want to hear it myself."

"Alright, but... you should be careful, ma’am."

Jemma didn’t respond. Her eyes drifted back across the range.

Miles stood near the far lane, calmly unloading a full magazine with brutal precision. Each shot rang sharp and exact.

She watched him through narrowed eyes.

"Who are you, Miles?" she whispered to herself."I’m going to find out."

Miles enjoyed the rest of his time at the shooting range, firing calmly, reloading with practiced hands, and adjusting his aim with surgical precision. The sun dipped lower behind the hills, casting a golden hue over the open terrain.

As he packed up, Major Lukas approached with a smile.

"Thank you, Major Lukas, for an amazing day," said Miles as he shook the retired officer’s hand.

"Glad you liked the facilities," Lukas replied proudly. "You’re welcome here anytime, General."

Lukas escorted him toward the exit with a salute. Miles returned it with equal respect before stepping into his car and driving off.

The road was quiet, the air warm. As Miles cruised through the edge of Brightvale City, his phone buzzed.

A message from Monica appeared on the screen.

Boss, Brightvale PD tried to run you on face rec.

Miles glanced at the message, then smiled faintly.

"Seriously," he muttered to himself, "I hope the President doesn’t make any trouble for them."

He kept driving, but something felt off. His instincts whispered. A quick glance in the rearview mirror confirmed it — a black car with tinted windows, tailing him.

Miles turned at the next corner and parked calmly.

The car behind followed... and stopped.

Miles stepped out without hurry and walked toward it. The vehicle remained still.

He knocked twice on the driver’s side window.

It rolled down slowly.

Inside, Officer Jemma sat behind the wheel, clearly startled.

Miles leaned down slightly, his voice calm.

"Hey, Officer Jemma. Can I help you?"

Jemma blinked, trying to mask her surprise.

"Miles... what a coincidence. How did you know it was me?"

"Brightvale PD is a little amusing, it seems," Miles said with a faint smirk. "Stop following me. Believe me, you don’t want to do this."

Jemma laughed nervously. "What are you talking about, Miles? It’s a misunderstanding. I just happened to be going the same way."

Miles gave a short sigh, almost disappointed.

"Really," he said. "Why don’t you call the person who tried to run my face through the database?"

Jemma froze.

Her expression changed.

"You... how did you..." she stammered.

"Just call them," Miles repeated, his voice lower now.

She hesitated, then pulled out her phone and dialed.

The call was picked up quickly.

"Ma’am," came the shaky voice from the other end, "Secret Service is here... and they want to meet you."

Jemma’s heart skipped a beat.

"Secret Service?" she asked slowly. "You mean... the President’s secret service?"

"Yes, ma’am," the voice replied. "It’s about the face recognition I ran today."

Jemma looked up at the man standing calmly in front of her. He seemed relaxed, casual even, but now there was a chill in her spine.

What is his status, she wondered, if even the President’s men were reacting?

Miles straightened.

"Officer Jemma," he said softly, "I’m just a businessman visiting this city. I’ll be good. But please... don’t make it hard for yourself."

He leaned a little closer.

"I don’t like being followed. And you should know, I’m not the one they work for. They act on their own. At the end of the day... they report to the big boss, not me."

Jemma sat frozen, unsure what to say.

Miles tapped the edge of her window lightly.

"Go back. Clear things out. Before it gets ugly."

He turned and walked away, the quiet of his footsteps echoing louder than any shout.

Jemma sat still, hand trembling slightly on the steering wheel.

"Ma’am... can you hear me?" the voice on the phone repeated.

She blinked, coming back to her senses.

"Yes..." she said slowly. "I’m coming."

Miles stepped into his car and drove off into the dimming city, his expression unreadable.

Behind him, Officer Jemma stared into nothing... her world shaken by the mystery standing before her.

Miles drove quietly through the late evening traffic, his eyes scanning every corner, every turn. He wasn’t worried. He was careful. The reason he confronted Jemma so directly was simple — he didn’t want her following him back to the safe house. Some places needed to stay off the grid.

The city lights faded behind as he entered a quieter neighborhood, the familiar route to his temporary hideout.

As he pulled into the garage, his phone rang.

Miles answered with a calm voice.

"Yes, June. The old jeweler came back, right?"

June’s voice came through, warm and efficient.

"Yes, boss. He called you for breakfast in the morning. I’m sending you the address now."

A ping followed, the location dropping onto his screen.

Miles nodded to himself.

"Alright. Is my return ready?"

"Yes, boss," June confirmed. "Everything is prepared."

The call ended with a soft beep.

Miles stepped inside the quiet of the safe house, kicked off his shoes, and dropped his keys into the bowl by the door. The evening air felt still, peaceful — the kind of peace that only comes before a storm.

He sat down, opened the paper bag, and pulled out his takeaway salad. Nothing fancy, just enough to keep his body in check.

He took a bite, leaned back, and looked around at the clean but lifeless room.

His voice was barely above a whisper.

"Mom... I miss your cooking already."

A tired smile crossed his face as he chewed slowly, the city beyond the walls still moving — but for now, in this moment, Miles Sterling allowed himself to simply exist.

Meanwhile

Brightvale PD – Police HeadquartersConference Room – Late Evening

The lights above buzzed faintly. A thick file lay unopened on the polished glass table. Inside the quiet room, four chairs were filled — two by government agents in dark suits, and two by members of the local force — Officer Jemma and her superior.

One of the secret service agents leaned forward, his tone firm but not aggressive.

"I hope you understood the situation. That man’s identity... it’s not just confidential, it’s a matter of national security. His presence in this city is sensitive. We trust you’ll maintain his privacy."

Jemma sat upright, composed but visibly unsettled. She gave a single nod.

The second agent adjusted his cuffs, speaking more frankly.

"We know this feels like a blockade. But we’re not here to stop you from doing your job. The truth is, his designation in the grid... is higher than yours. Higher than ours."

He gave her a steady look.

"If someone like him asks you to do something — you’ll find that you won’t even be able to say no. Because the system itself won’t let you."

Jemma breathed out slowly.

"I understood, sir. I won’t bother him again."

The first agent smiled faintly, satisfied.

"Thank you for understanding. Officers like you, we need more of them in the system."

Without waiting for a response, the agents stood, nodded to the senior officer, and exited the room — briefcases in hand, presence like shadows.

The door clicked shut behind them.

Silence returned.

Jemma stared at the table, lost in thought. She murmured under her breath.

"What did they mean by his designation anyway..."

Her senior, seated beside her, replied calmly.

"Isn’t it obvious? He’s definitely part of the Provincial Army. And not just anyone — he’s someone high up."

Jemma blinked slowly.

It all started to fall into place.

The shooting range.The way he moved.His composure under pressure.And the warning... not as a threat, but as a courtesy.

She looked down at her notes, then quietly closed the file.

"Who are you really, Miles?" she whispered. "And what are you doing here in Brightvale?"

Outside, the night deepened. But inside Jemma’s mind, the questions only multiplied.