“How do you know?” Jude asks.
“No cobwebs.”
“Smells like disinfectant and power trips,” I confirm.
When you spend a good portion of your life underground, fighting for everything, you get used to tunnels. The fights were in some old subway tunnels. And the boss had an office at the end of one. Old security station. It’s where I’d get paid.
We move more slowly now, cautious of another collapse. No one speaks. We all know if the ceiling comes down again, we might not make it out.
Eventually, the tunnel narrows into carved stone—reinforced. Custom.
I pause, running my hand along the wall. “We’re here.”
A steel panel blocks the way ahead, almost hidden in the rock, but I see the seams. Finger-smudged. Used recently. Alden’s escape route.
Seth helps me wedge it open. We brace, count to three—and shove.
It groans open with a burst of stale air and the faint, unmistakable scent of clove.
Alden’s office.
Rich wood. Bookshelves. An antique globe. A high-backed chair with velvet trim and a decanter half-full of bourbon. Creepy animal skulls line the walls. Circles painted onto the heads of each one. I remember the ruined circle Briella had on the back of her neck. Must be some ritualistic symbol for Easthaven.
Raphael steps inside like a predator entering another predator’s lair. Jude whistles low. “He really believes his own bullshit, huh?”
I don’t answer. I’m already moving.
Seth peels off toward the cabinets. And finds a safe. Interesting that it’s unlocked. “There’s a bag of gold bars in here.”
“Take it,” Raphael says.
Alden built this place on suffering. We’ll use the gold to rebuild our home.
I drop into the leather chair at Alden’s desk. No password. Narcissists don’t expect anyone else to ever sit in their seat. Just like the safe.
Raphael plants a hand on the desk on my left, leaning over to scan the screen.
Files. Videos. Emails.
Bribes. Schedules. Ritual plans. Names.
Evidence.
He hands me the thumb drive, and I upload everything damning. Anything more recent. The link flashes green.
Upload: 45%… 62%…
Seth finds a drawer with ceremonial knives and syringes. Jude pales. We’re all wondering if the Prophet used any of it on Briella. Raphael paces like he’s hearing voices in his head, calling for blood.
“Once this is done,” I say quietly, “we torch this place. Every file. Every relic. This whole fucked-up monument to his ego.”
“Rory will,” Raphael agrees, gesturing to his bag. “I have one grenade left. Briella will pull the pin. Rory will toss it. Easthaven will burn.”
The upload finalizes. We find uniforms in one of the nearby closets. We strap on masks and make our way outside the office. Quickly. Quietly.
Time to find our Queen.
75
