By nightfall, the city felt like a trap pretending to be a haven. Neon lights hummed faintly against the drizzle, turning puddles into mirrors. Grey parked a few streets away from the old Thompson Holdings building — the one that still bore faint scars of the Foundation’s insignia beneath new paint.Lana stepped out first, scanning the street. “It’s quiet,” she murmured.“Too quiet,” Grey said, eyes flicking to the rooftops. “No guards, no lights on the upper floors. That’s not neglect — that’s control.”She followed his gaze. The building looked abandoned, but the air around it felt too watched, too deliberate. Someone wanted it to seem forgotten.Grey locked the car and started down the narrow lane beside the complex. A rusted side door stood half open, its hinges creaking softly in the wind. Inside, dust swirled in the beam of their flashlights, catching bits of plaster falling from the ceiling.They moved room to room in silence — desks overturned, papers half-burned, file drawers

The hotel room was dim, the curtains drawn tight against the morning light. A clock ticked faintly on the wall, counting down the silence. Grey stood by the window, his shirt half-buttoned, eyes fixed on the street below. Lana sat at the desk across the room, the wooden box open before her. She had spent the better part of an hour studying the photographs Seraphine had left behind, one by one, as though each image held a fragment of truth she had missed.Most were faded black-and-white shots—Foundation gatherings, nondescript buildings, a few faces she barely recognized. But one photo stood out: a young woman with storm-dark eyes and the same slant of cheekbones as Lana herself. She stood beside Seraphine, her arm around her shoulder. On the back, a single name was written in slanted ink: Marin.Grey turned when he heard Lana exhale sharply. “You found something?”She handed him the photograph. “Her name’s Marin. Seraphine wrote about her in the journal—said if they found her before s

The train cut through the countryside like a whisper, its rhythm steady, almost hypnotic. Outside, dawn thinned into daylight, spilling over the fog-draped fields and long, empty stretches of rail. Inside, everything smelled faintly of metal, dust, and coffee gone cold.Lana sat by the window, her reflection fractured by the glass, the passing landscape sliding across her face like pieces of a half-forgotten dream. The folder Lormont had given them lay open on the small table between her and Grey — maps, coded instructions, and the black envelope with the red-etched seal. She hadn’t opened that yet. Not because she was afraid, but because she already knew whatever was inside would shift the ground beneath her again.Grey, seated opposite her, read through a copy of the passenger manifest he’d pulled from the train attendant. “You realize this car’s practically empty,” he said quietly. “Only five others on board. Too few for a morning departure.”Lana didn’t look up. “Then it’s either

The alarm lights stuttered across the walls, bathing everything in crimson flashes that made it hard to tell where one shadow ended and another began. Lana moved first, pressing herself against the wall as Grey covered their flank. The air smelled of rust and cold metal — the scent of something long buried that should have stayed that way.Dr. Weiss led them through a narrow service corridor lined with broken conduits and peeling paint. Every few steps, the floor shook from distant impacts. Heavy boots echoed from above — measured, precise, not in panic but in pursuit. Whoever was coming wasn’t rushing; they already knew their prey had nowhere to run.“Faster,” Weiss hissed.Lana turned a corner and nearly slipped on the wet concrete. Her hand found the railing, fingers brushing over flaked paint. “Where does this lead?”“The sub-vaults,” Weiss said. “They were meant to hold overflow records when the main chambers filled. But Seraphine used them differently.”Grey’s voice was low. “Di

The stairwell was narrow and steep, the metal steps slick with rainwater dripping through cracks in the ceiling. Lana gripped the railing, her breath sharp in her chest as she followed Grey and Raines down into the shadows. Behind them, the sound of gunfire echoed through the warehouse, muffled by distance but growing closer, angrier. “Keep moving,” Raines urged, his limp slowing him but not stopping him. “They’ll sweep the floor in less than two minutes.” The stairwell opened into a vast underground passage—an old service corridor running parallel to the rail yard. The stench of rust and oil filled the air. Shafts of weak daylight filtered through the broken vents above, illuminating streaks of graffiti and long-forgotten warning signs. Grey scanned ahead, pistol raised. “Where does this lead?” Raines pointed with his good hand. “Old maintenance tunnel. Ends near the canal tracks. If we can reach the service office, I can trigger the secondary exit gate.” Lana looked around at