The fourth month began with quiet pressure hanging over the entire team. The last and largest batch for the supermarket chain was scheduled to be delivered today, and the factory had been running at full capacity for days to meet quality standards. Workers checked loading lists repeatedly, vehicles were lined up inside the yard, and supervisors moved around with sharp voices and fast steps.
Ashburn arrived early, scanning the scene. The cool morning breeze carried the smell of dust and diesel, and the sun had just started to climb. He walked toward the pallets, allowing his mind to settle as he activated the skill he relied on most during deliveries: a calm, instinctive form of risk awareness he trusted deeply.
He examined the first truck, then the second. Everything looked normal. But when his gaze lingered on the third container his Risk Mapping skill warned him that something is wrong abd the delivery would stop not just interruption ir minor issues would not be delivered it did not give him reasons just cold hard risk of 90% failure in his mind.
He exhaled slowly, pretending to check a label on a box to hide the sudden tension on his face.
The workers nearby continued chatting casually, unaware of his inner turmoil.
Ashburn stepped aside for a moment, leaning against the wall. The risk wasn't related to the goods. It wasn't mechanical. It wasn't internal. It was external—someone or something interfering with the delivery route. But he had no way to explain that to anyone without sounding insane.
He made a quick decision.
"Load these two trucks last," he instructed to the yard supervisor, pointing to the two that gave him the strongest unease. "I want to double-check the paperwork and routing."
The supervisor nodded without suspicion. Ashburn walked fast toward his office, called Faraz, and instructed him to gather six factory workers who knew how to handle the cargo. Then he went to the parking area and took two company cars.
By the time the trucks were ready, he had assembled a small convoy of workers and vehicles to accompany them.
"Sir, is everything okay?" Faraz asked with a hint of concern.
"Just want to ensure the final delivery is smooth," Ashburn replied calmly, giving no further explanation.
They set off soon after. The route toward the supermarket chain's warehouse passed through several small towns and distribution-heavy areas. It was a familiar road—Ashburn had traveled it at least ten times in the past three months. But today, after the first twenty minutes, he noticed something unsettling.
Two major intersections that were always cleared in the morning were partially blocked. Not completely—just enough to force vehicles to slow down and maneuver awkwardly. A few concrete pieces were scattered at odd angles, as if someone had recently moved barriers aside but hadn't finished. Workers who usually managed the area were nowhere in sight.
His chest tightened slightly.
He said nothing, simply signaling the convoy to keep moving.
Another five minutes passed. A third road had debris on one lane, forcing their vehicles to shift position. The truck drivers glanced back repeatedly, confused. Even the workers in Ashburn's car exchanged uneasy looks.
Ashburn kept his eyes forward, pretending to study the road conditions. Inside, the warning grew louder. Whatever would have happened if the trucks traveled alone… they had likely avoided it by coming together.
When they finally reached the chain's warehouse, the staff greeted them warmly. Workers unloaded the products one section at a time while the quality control officer inspected everything carefully. Ashburn kept observing everyone's expressions, movements, and tone. Everything seemed normal here—safe, professional, efficient.
The warehouse manager walked up to him with a satisfied smile.
"Congratulations, Ashburn. You did well. This completes the first phase perfectly."
Ashburn returned the smile. "Thank you. We'll continue maintaining this quality."
They signed the acknowledgment of receipt, stamped the last page, and shook hands.
The atmosphere was friendly. Professional. Completely ordinary.
And yet, Ashburn couldn't shake the sense of something unseen brushing close to him, like a cold draft passing through a warm room.
After the trucks were unloaded, his team ate a quick meal and began preparing for the return. The workers talked softly about the future—more shops opening, more deliveries, more growth.
The ride back was quiet. The route had been cleared again as if nothing had ever happened. Traffic flowed normally. Shops were open. A few children played near the roadside. Everything appeared ordinary, almost suspiciously so.
As the convoy entered the edge of his district, Ashburn's phone vibrated. He unlocked it casually—and froze.
A message appeared from an unknown number. No name. No profile picture. Just a single line:
"You escaped today by chance. Luck won't save you next time."
His breath stopped for a moment. He read the sentence again, slower this time. The tone was unmistakable—calm, confident, mocking. Someone who wasn't in a hurry. Someone who had been watching silently.
Someone who knew his patterns.
Someone who had tried something today.
The convoy continued on the road, unaware of the change in Ashburn's expression. He turned off the screen and shifted in his seat, trying to hide the tension spreading through him.
This wasn't a random warning. It wasn't a prank. It wasn't a misunderstanding.
The timing was too perfect. Too precise.
He had enemies. Long-term ones. Hidden ones. And although they had gone quiet for months, they clearly hadn't forgotten him.
Today wasn't a coincidence.
Today was a reminder.
By the time they reached the factory again, the sun had started to set. Workers greeted him happily, thinking the last batch meant a new milestone. Faraz rushed up to him with a bright face, talking about upcoming plans for the fifth and sixth shop.
Ashburn nodded to everything, but part of his mind was far away.
He understood one thing clearly:
If he didn't act soon, the next warning wouldn't be a message.
It would be something far worse.
He walked toward his office slowly, the evening light stretching long shadows across the yard.
Whatever enemy he had… had just awakened.
And Ashburn now knew he had to prepare—quietly, quickly, and without alerting anyone.
The growth of his business would continue, but so would something else:
A silent war he had no choice but to face.