Page 199 of Damsel in Disguise

“With all due respect, I intend to.”

56. DILEMMA

alistair

The sun rises the same way it always does—soft at first, then slowly sets the darkened horizon on fire.

I keep my eyes fixed on the road leading back to the Triarch Dominion. Eventually, I decide to answer the calls, knowing damn well they have everything to do with me ditching the Dominion watch.

Now that Asher has the information and the location, I don’t particularly care what happens to me. If I end up dead the second I step into their territory, if someone decides to open crossfire, or if my body gets left on the side of this deserted stretch of the city like some roadkill—so be it.

Miraculously, none of it happens.

Everything is far too normal for my liking.

I reach the Dominion alive and in one piece, park my car in the usual spot, enter the PIN, and move through every security protocol almost too smoothly. The ease of it makes my skin crawl, but then again, I’ve never been here this early.

Organizations like these thrive in darkness. The deeper the night sinks its claws in, the more alive they become, only retreating when dawn begins swallowing the shadows.

This place is almost sober now.

Only a handful of workers move through the grounds, either cleaning up the remnants of the night or standing guard. Both are armed. Both are trained. Both would put a bullet through my skull without blinking if ordered to.

Even so, the silence unsettles me more than they do.

It carries the same hollow stillness as the day I last saw my mother. The day I walked into the kitchen and found her lying motionless on the floor, her body already too cold to touch.

I force the memory back where it belongs and continue toward my personal laboratory.

The guards greet me as they always do while I walk the corridors. Nothing unusual. Nothing out of place.

Until I stop in front of the door. Something tells me to be prepared for what I might encounter inside.

And that’s never a good sign.

My right hand slips behind my back, fingers closing around the suppressor tucked against my waistband, while my other hand slowly pushes the door open.

There’s only one man inside.

Dressed entirely in black, a cloak draped over his shoulders, he stands at the far end of the room, ahead of the decoy I strapped my Dominion watch to. Shit.

That’s when I notice the indentation of the shape of a door somewhere I never expected or didn’t notice before.

Figured.

I make the conscious decision to remove my hand from the suppressor and step inside, silently pulling the door shut behind me.

The second the lock clicks into place, his hand moves.

He presses a remote aimed at the massive television mounted above.

The opening notes of Phantom of the Opera flood the room.

Every muscle in my body locks. I hate that it happens—hearing just a handful of notes can still reach into my chest and squeeze.

“You seem to have made quite an impression at the Velmourne Club.”

The modulated voice is back in place, blending unnervingly well with the orchestra echoing through the laboratory.