I look back at the rows of empty beds. The trunks. The silence so thick it presses against my eardrums.
“Transit to where?” I ask, even though I already know the answer is ugly.
Hunter doesn’t say it out loud. He doesn’t have to.
Someone built this place to hold kids.
Someone connected it to the tunnels so they could move them without ever stepping foot on the surface. Someone made sure no one upstairs would hear them. I turn back to the cots. One mattress has a small, faded stain near the head—dark brown, old blood maybe.
No. The reports are for missingwomen. College age. But maybe no one ever made a report on these kids. Fuck.
“We need to get back,” I say. “The guys are probably getting claustrophobic.”
Hunter moves to the hatch that leads back to the tunnels. I drop in after him, taking one last look around the room. Just when I think Forsyth can’t get any more rotten, something like this is unearthed.
“Mayfield,”Timothy says. He leans back in the heavy desk chair, the leather creaking under his weight. It’s late, past two a.m., and we’re both filthy, streaked with tunnel grime and damp from the underground chill that seems to have burrowed into my bones.
I feel the anger surge hot in my chest before I can stop it. “You knew?”
“Not until the other night when she told me.” His voice is calm, but there’s a weight behind it. The other night, when the King stopped wearing his mask around her. It's obvious that for him to reveal his true self a bond had to have developed between them. This may be what forged it. When Arianette walked in the room wearing his gray button-down shirt the morning after, two things ran through my mind. First, she'd spent the night with the Baron King and survived. And second, she looked seriously well-fucked. Hair messy, body relaxed in a way that made my brain short-circuit. She lookedclaimed.
And when she smiled at all of us in the sitting room the next morning, I knew something had shifted between them–something deep enough that he let her see the real face underneath the crown.
“I’m looking into it,” he continues, fingers drumming once on the desk. “And good work on discovering the connection to the tunnels. I don’t want to downplay the severity of whatever this ‘program’ was, or still is, but our priority right now is the women who are actively missing. They’re in immediate danger.”
Hunter nods in agreement. “We found an abandoned work shed near the east quad that leads straight down into the old utility tunnels. The barrier under Strong Manor, the one that was supposed to be sealed, was already breached. From the look of it, someone smashed through it a while ago. Once we got past the manor basement, the tunnels split in too many directions. We couldn’t map them all tonight. We’ll need another team, a bigger one, and we’ll start systematically clearing every branch.”
Timothy nods once. “Anything else?”
Hunter pulls the small plastic evidence bag from his jacket pocket and tosses it onto the desk. It lands with a soft slap.
Timothy picks it up, holds it to the lamplight. The dirty hair tie inside looks small and innocent—cheap elastic, a little frayed at one end. He studies it for a long second, jaw tight.
“I’ll see if we can get this tested,” he says quietly. “DNA, fibers, anything.”
“There was also this.” He holds up the small container with the beetle. It’s still at the bottom.
A soft knock at the door.
We all turn.
Arianette slips inside, barefoot, wearing one of Hunter’s oversized black hoodies now, sleeves bunched at her wrists. Her hair is loose, still a little messy from sleep–or maybe from earlier when she was “making final preparations.” She smiles when she sees us, all of us, bright and real, like the sight of her two dirty, exhausted Barons and the unmasked King makes everything feel right.
Timothy’s expression softens instantly. “It’s late. I thought you’d gone to bed.”
“Just making some final preparations for the solstice.” She shrugs one shoulder, casually, but there’s a nervous edge to it.
Hunter and I share a quick look. Fuck.
“I’m sure everything will be fine,” Timothy assures her, voice low and steady. “Graves and the cook will do the heavy lifting.”
“I don’t mind. I like preparing the ceremonies for you.”
He reaches for her hand, rubbing his thumb over her knuckles. “You may want to sleep with your Barons tonight. I’m going to be up for a while.”
“Okay.” Her hand cups the side of his face with a gentle familiarity, and she kisses him. It’s open-mouthed and deep. Their tongues tangle visibly for a second, soft and hungry, and it’s hot enough that my cock twitches despite how bone-tired I am. They part with a quiet sound. She brushes her thumb over his lower lip. “See you in the morning.”
She turns, gives us each a small, private smile–first Hunter, then me–then slips back out. The door clicks shut behind her. All three of us watch her go. I shift in my seat, discreetly adjusting myself.
