Loyal opened a cupboard. Empty. Whoever had been here had taken what mattered. Left the rest as a decoy.
I moved forward. Toward the executive wing. The glass doors to our suite were open. That never happened. The corridor breathed around us. Not with air. Withattention.
Every motion sensor watched. Every light flicker whispered. This building didn’t just contain us. It had beenwaitingfor us. The lights in the office were wrong. Too bright. Too even. Every bulb replaced. Every panel humming.
Then I smelled it.
Copper.
Acid.
Decay.
Not just death.
Somethingintentional.
Then we saw Mason.
He wasn’t slumped.
He wasnailedto the back wall.
Arms stretched wide. Palms pierced. Feet together, bolt through the ankle. His torso had been opened. Ribs cracked. Skin peeled back.
Words were carved into the meat of his chest:
TOO LATE.
His eyes—only one left—stared past us.
Wide open. Frozen.
His mouth had been torn open. Tongue missing. Cheeks cut into a forced smile. Royal cursed. Loud. Real. Loyal took a step back. “They staged him.”
“This is a message,” Barron growled.
“No,” I said. “This is a monument.”
Royal stepped back and slammed his fist into the glass. It spiderwebbed but didn’t break.
Loyal turned his face away. Barron drew his gun—not to aim it. Just toholdsomething. No one said it, but we were all thinking it. If Mason could die here,so could we.
I walked forward. Took Mason’s phone. The screen was still on. One draft. Unsent.
It’s not her.
It’s a?—
Then nothing. Glitched characters. A blank line. The signal cut. I looked back. The hallway behind us was dark now. Lights out. Doors sealed.
“Move,” I said.
We entered the main suite. I stepped into the boardroom and rested my hand on the table. It was warm. Not ambient.Wired.I looked down and saw it then?—
The edge of a cable. Taped to the underside. Painted black.
Hidden in plain sight.
