They led me somewhere inside. Down stairs. Underground. The air grew cooler. Damp. It smelled like mold and concrete and something else—something old and stale.
A dungeon.
Fuck.
What had I gotten into now?
They shoved me into a chair and tied me to it. Hands. Feet. Chest.
I couldn't move. Couldn't see. I listened.
Footsteps. Murmured voices. The creak of a door opening and closing.
Then silence.
I don't know how long I sat there. Could've been minutes. Could've been an hour.
Time had a way of stretching when you couldn't see or move.
Finally, I heard footsteps again. Closer this time. A door opened. Hinges groaned. Someone walked into the room.
"Mr. Dane," the woman's voice said. The same one from the window. "I apologize for the rough treatment. But you did kill three of my men."
I didn't respond.
She moved closer. I could hear the soft click of her shoes on the concrete floor.
"Do you know who I am?" she asked.
"No," I said. "But I'm guessing you're about to tell me."
A soft laugh. "You're right. I am."
She paused, like she was savoring the moment.
"My name is irrelevant," she said. "But the organization I represent is not. You may have heard of us."
My blood went cold. “The Vanguard.”
"Ah," she said, clearly pleased. "You have. Your father does have a naughty mouth."
"What do you want?" I asked.
"What we've always wanted," she said. "Control. Order. The ability to shape the world in ways that benefit those who understand how power truly works. Keep everything in its place."
"And what does that have to do with me?"
She moved closer. I could feel her presence now, standing just in front of me.
"Your father," she said, "was one of ours. For a time. He did good work. Important work. But then he decided he knew better. Decided to go his own way. Build his own little empire."
"Dominion Hall," I said.
"Precisely. And we allowed it. For a time. Because it served our purposes. But things have changed, Mr. Dane. Your father has become ... inconvenient. And his sons—well, they're becoming a problem, too."
"So what?" I said. "You're going to kill us?"
Another soft laugh. "Kill you? No. That would be wasteful. We're going to use you."
