They moved through the corridors of The Preserve, past tapestries depicting hunting scenes frozen in eternal pursuit. The security wing occupied the eastern corner of The Preserve, accessible only through a series of reinforced doors that responded to biometric scans. Stone aligned his face with the camera and the door unlocked with an airtight, mechanical shift.
With each locked entry point, the structure shifted more from Gothic grandeur to modern efficiency. “Once we get a scan of your eyes, we’ll set you up with access.”
“I’m sure my computer will work just fine.”
“Damn, you’re a private fuck, J. Let us show off our cool new toys.”
“Fine.” He didn’t mean to offend. But he knew himself. Once things were properly underway, he preferred to stay out of the chaos.
Stone led him through another biometrically sealed door, this one leading to the heart of the security wing.
Hunter looked up from the monitors filling the wall, his massive frame silhouetted against the blue glow. “J.” His scarred face remained impassive.
Jack gave a firm nod. “Hunter.”
“Ready to walk through the upgrades?”
Jack moved closer, taking in the wall of monitors with practiced assessment. The feeds shifted and flickered, each one offering a different view of the grounds, clearly displaying the gardens, the hedgerows, and the many winding paths that would soon be filled.
“Six hundred cameras,” Hunter said, voice low and rumbling like distant thunder. “All motion-sensing. If a feed goes black, it means nothing’s moving. The second there’s activity, it kicks on. No blind spots. No dead zones. And we have the ability to override the sensory locks at any time.”
“Impressive.” Jack studied the crisp clarity of the images. “The resolution’s remarkable.”
“We just installed new updates last month. They’re always improving.” Hunter pulled a tablet from the desk, used his finger to unlock the screen, and handed it to Jack. “Scan this QR code with your phone then download the monitoring app. There’s only one limitation. Family quarters are locked for internal use only.”
“Of course.” Jack waited for the app to load on his screen. “I can view from anywhere?”
“Anywhere on the grounds. You’ll get up to six feeds at once on a single screen. And here—” Hunter tapped a menu on the tablet. “You can set personal notifications for specific zones. If you want to keep an eye on a particular area, the app will alert you whenever there’s movement.”
“The grotto,” Jack said immediately. “The northwest quadrant. And the hedge maze.”
“Done.” Hunter made the adjustments with surprising dexterity for a man with hands the size of bear paws.
The door behind them opened, admitting a man who moved with the coiled precision of special ops training.
“J, you remember Cole, our security director.”
“Of course. Good to see you again, Cole.”
Cole gave a subtle nod, his militant posture boasting hard-earned discipline as his sharp eyes swept the room.
“All yours,” Hunter said, standing with a stretch.
Cole settled into the abandoned seat and a blue screen flashed as he pressed several buttons. A woman—not Marigold—appeared on CAMERA 2, curled up with a book and a glass of wine.
Jack didn’t want to pry, but he believed the woman was Katya, sister to the three bears. “Little Bird is secure in her suite,” Cole said. “I did a physical sweep of her wing ten minutes ago.”
“Good. Marigold’s with Ash. Their feeds are dark for the next hour.”
“Understood.”
Hunter clapped Cole on the shoulder—a gesture that would have staggered a lesser man. “We’ll be in the dining hall if you need us. Radio if anything comes up.”
They left the security wing, their footsteps echoing against stone floors worn smooth by centuries of use. The Preserve had been many things over the years—a monastery, a fortress, a hunting lodge for minor royalty—but the Volkovs had transformed it into a unique sanctuary for sin. A temple of pleasure, where the wealthy could shed their civilized skin in favor of their more primal nature.
“I spoke to Vanessa this afternoon. Everything’s on schedule for the Wrecking Ball.” Stone said. “The tributes will be presented at eight tomorrow evening—masked, numbered, dressed to stun.”
“Good. The doctors should be wrapping up soon. Once we have the final numbers, we’ll know where we stand.”
