ChapterFourteen
Zander braced both hands against the underside of the hatch and pushed.
With a groan and a soft scrape of wood on stone, the square above us creaked open, revealing dusty beams and a floor warped from water damage. A shaft of golden morning light spilled into the catacombs, catching on the haze of dust that swirled in the still air.
He climbed up first, and I followed, hauling myself through the opening.
We stepped into a dim, rundown room. It had wooden floorboards buckled in places, and the windows clouded with grime. Silk curtains hung limp, moth-eaten, and delicate perfume clung to the air like a ghost of its former self. Velvet lounges sagged beneath years of neglect. Paint peeled from the walls in curling ribbons.
Zander turned, surveying the empty space with a wary eye. “Where are we?”
I blew a breath through my nose. “This is a… brothel.”
His brows lifted.
I shrugged. “Cyran owns it. And I highly doubt he knows the tunnel ends here.”
We both crouched, sliding the hatch doors back into place. The wood settled with a quiet thud, and within seconds, the floor looked exactly as it had before—dusty, warped, forgotten. Invisible.
Zander straightened, glancing around the room again. “How long has this been here?”
“The brothel?” I asked dryly.
He gave me a flat stare.
“The tunnel entrance,” he clarified.
I moved toward the center of the room, crouching again to study the hatch. There was no latch. No ring. No catch to pull it open from this side.
“There’s no way back in,” I said slowly.
Zander’s voice was quiet, thoughtful. “Unless someone lets you in.”
“Good point.”
We slipped through the half-collapsed archway into the narrow hall, weaving through the lower level of the house. The air smelled of dust and old perfume, but I knew the paths well. Cyran didn’t spend much time here. This was just one of his many shadows.
We turned a corner and froze.
Medira.
She stood in the threshold of a storage room, a box of linens in her arms, her eyes wide with confusion. “Ashe?” she blinked. “What are you doing here?”
“Hi, Medira,” I said with a small smile. “I’m looking for Cyran. I need a meeting. Immediately. Get word to Solei for me.”
Her gaze shifted to Zander, then back to me—but she didn’t question it. Just nodded. “Wait in Room One.”
I exhaled and nodded my thanks.
“This way,” I said to Zander, already leading him down the dim hallway.
Because if anyone could help us unravel the web we’d fallen into?—
It was the man who spun most of them.
* * *
The room Medira assigned us was small, barely wide enough for the narrow bed pressed into one corner and the single side table beside it. A chipped glass of water sat forgotten on the sill, and the air smelled faintly of clove and old perfume.
