We waited until the security feed showed the guys monitoring the lobby check their phones—a synchronized moment that meant replacements were on their way. That gave us our window.
We took the internal stairs to thirty-two, our footsteps echoing off concrete walls as we made our way down. Phee went first, checking corners, signaling all clear. We worked together the way we always had in the field—silent, efficient, trusting each other without question.
The service corridor was exactly where Iris said it would be. A heavy door marked MAINTENANCE ONLY, propped open with a wedge that looked freshly placed. Perhaps Iris’ work.
Beyond it, there was a narrow passage lined with pipes and electrical conduits. We went fast, staying low out of habit even though there were no cameras here.
The freight elevator was industrial—steel walls, exposed mechanics, loud enough to wake the dead. I hit the button for sub-basement, and the whole cage shuddered as it descended.
“If this thing breaks down—” Phee started.
“It won’t.” And thankfully, it didn’t.
The sub-basement was a maze of storage units and mechanical rooms. We navigated to the loading dock, where a generator hummed in the dimly lit area.
Another door was propped open with a brick, and beyond it, there was gray daylight and the sound of traffic.
I checked my watch, counting the seconds.
“Fifteen-second gap between camera sweeps,” I said. “We go on my mark.”
“Roger that.”
We pressed against the wall on either side of the exit, watching the camera mounted above the dock rotate away from us.
“Now.”
We raced through the door, across the loading bay, and past a delivery truck that provided cover for half the distance.
“Faster,” said Phee, motioning to the camera that was already swinging around.
We sprinted the last ten meters and rounded a corner into an alley just as the CCTV completed its arc. A black Audi idled at the curb with the passenger window rolled down.
Iris Beacham, with her bottle-blonde hair and red lipstick, smiled at me, then glared at Phee. “Get in,” she said. “Before someone notices you’re gone.”
Like the SUVthat delivered us to Kiernan’s place, Iris hit the accelerator as soon as we were inside.
“So,” she said. “Kiernan Lockhart. I have to say, Oliver, I didn’t see that coming. You’re usually so…conventional.”
“What else do you know about the Crucible?” I asked, ignoring the jab.
“Impatient as ever.” She changed lanes without signaling, cutting off a delivery van. “Not much. Underground club. Very exclusive. Very intense, from what I’ve heard. The kind of place where they check references before they let you in the door.”
“What kind of references?”
“The kind that prove you’re not going to call the police afterward. Or expose the other members.” She shrugged. “I’m not into that scene myself. All that leather and submission seems exhausting. Though I suppose some people need it.”
Beside me, Phee’s tension was palpable.
“Is that where you’re headed?” she asked.
“Not yet. We’ll need somewhere to land for a few hours at least.”
“I may know of a place.” Her eyes flicked to Phee in the rearview mirror. The appraisal was obvious. “So, are the two of you a package deal?”
“Drop it,” I seethed.
She smirked.
