24
MERCY
CALLAHAN
The evidence from the Black Archive spread across Adrian's desk like ammunition we still didn't know how to deploy.
I was cataloguing contacts when my phone rang. Bishop.
I answered immediately. “Tell me you're somewhere safe.”
“Define safe.” His voice was tight but controlled, not scared, just careful. “They came to my office an hour ago. They knew everything, Cal. Every deal I've brokered. Every file I've touched.”
My stomach dropped. “What did they want?”
“You. Where you were. What you'd taken. Who you were working with.” A pause. “I didn't tell them anything. But they didn't need me to. They already knew—they were just testing to see if I'd cooperate.”
“Are you all right?”
“Bruised. Nothing permanent. They made their point without breaking anything important.” He exhaled slowly. “Cal. Thank you. For getting me out. I can't imagine what it cost you,what you had to give up. But I'm alive because of you, and that matters.”
“You'd have done the same.”
“Maybe. But you actually did it.” Another pause. “Be careful. They're not playing games anymore.”
“I know.”
He hung up. I stared at the phone for a moment, then looked at Dom. “Bishop's been questioned. They know we have the files.”
Dom stood from where he'd been reading over a tablet. “How long before they make a move?”
Adrian entered without knocking, his expression carved from ice. “It's now. Judge Carolyn Reeves has issued warrants for both of you.” He placed a set of documents on the desk, official, stamped, and superficially legitimate. “Breaking and entering. Theft of government property. Obstruction of justice.”
I scanned the warrant. It was comprehensive and detailed, listing specific evidence we'd taken from the Black Archive with an accuracy that suggested someone had catalogued exactly what we'd grabbed.
“How did she know what we took?” I asked.
“Because Harrow told her.” Adrian's mouth curved slightly. “He's not hiding the corruption anymore. He's weaponising it.”
The sound of vehicles cut him off.
We moved to the window and looked down at Ravenswood's grounds.
Police vehicles. Tactical units. Government plates. At least thirty men, all armed, all moving with practised coordination.
And in the centre of it all was Harrow.
“Everyone to the main hall,” Adrian ordered. “Now.”
We moved fast. Dom, me, Viktor, Luka, Ash, Noah, Dmitri, and Troy, all of us converging in the entrance hall as the front doors swung open.
Adrian stood at the top of the stairs, alone and unhurried, every inch of him aristocratic control facing down a demonstration of state authority.
A man in tactical gear approached with papers. Adrian read them slowly, then said something quiet. The commander responded. Adrian's expression didn't change.
Then they flooded in—thirty men in tactical gear, professional and coordinated. But now that they were closer, I could see the details that didn't fit. No badge numbers visible. No proper identification on their vests. Their movements were too military, not police, and their eyes tracked us like hunters, not law enforcement.
“Dom,” I said quietly. “These aren't police officers.”
