Page 49 of When 're Silent

The room was a relic of anotherera, with peeling wallpaper and a porthole window that offered a glimpse of therestless sea beyond. A single bulb dangled from the ceiling, casting moreshadows than light. Finn felt the weightlessness of being so high up, thelighthouse like a needle piercing the sky.

“Careful now,” he said.

They checked behind the sparsefurniture—a rickety table, a couple of chairs that had seen better days. Nosign of Hastings or his captive. But there was another door, slightly ajar, onthe far side of the room. Finn approached it, every sense alert, aware ofAmelia covering his back.

Finn pointed to it. Amelia nodded.

Finn pushed the door open, and asit swung inward, they were met with another staircase.

Inside, they cautiously ascend thewinding staircase, each creaking step amplifying their anticipation of whatawaits.

Finn’s hand hovered near where hisservice weapon used to have been, an old habit from his days as a SpecialAgent. The spiral stairs twisted upwards like a helix, and with every step, thesea’s roar grew fainter, replaced by the sinister symphony of groaning metaland his own thudding heartbeat. His eyes, meanwhile, traced the graffiti-ladenwalls, reading them like tea leaves for any hint of danger. Amelia, just behindhim, moved with equal care, her presence a silent reassurance at his back.

“Ever feel like we’re in one ofthose classic Gothic novels?” she whispered, her breath warm on his ear despitethe chill that clung to the air.

“More like a trashy paperback,” hereplied without looking back. “One where the protagonists make questionablelife choices.”

“Like climbing a lighthouse after amadman?”

“Exactly.”

They shared a smirk, but Finn couldsee the tightness around her eyes. It wasn’t fear—he doubted anything couldtruly scare Amelia—it was focus, the kind that honed her instincts to a finepoint.

As they neared the top, thestaircase narrowed, forcing them to move even more carefully. Finn paused,listening. There was movement above: soft but deliberate. He signaled toAmelia, two fingers pointing upwards, and received a nod in response.

“Time to crash the party,” hemurmured. They ascended the last few steps in silence, every muscle tensed forthe confrontation ahead.

At the top level, Finn breathed asigh of relief.

Amelia rushed over to theunconscious Sarah Beaufort tied to a chair, her face pale but unharmed.

Then, something stirred from theshadows. Stepping forward, a tall, powerfully built man with piercing eyes andsharp features came, a cold smile playing on his lips.

“Looks like Sleeping Beauty’s had arough night,” Finn quipped quietly, though his gaze never left Hastings.

The room was sparse, stripped downto bare wood and echoes. Sarah Beaufort, the missing cousin of the king,slumped in a wooden chair, her head lolling to one side. The ropes binding herwere almost delicate, a mockery of restraint against the violence that hadbrought her here.

“Except our prince charming is moreof a toad,” Amelia added, her voice steady as she assessed the situation.

Hastings stood a few paces away, asilhouette framed by the weak light filtering from the stairwell. His posturewas relaxed, too relaxed for someone with nowhere left to run. The smile on hisface wasn’t one of happiness; it was the one people wore when they believedthey held all the cards.

“Detectives Wright and Winters,nice to see you again,” Hastings said, his voice holding an edge of theatricalflair. “I very much enjoyed bumping into you the other day at the library. Howlovely of you to join us for tonight’s performance.”

“Wouldn’t miss it for the world,”Finn replied, keeping his tone even. “Especially since you’ve been leaving suchheartfelt invitations.”

“Indeed,” Hastings said, his eyesflickering with something dark. “History is being written tonight.”

“By a librarian with delusions ofgrandeur,” Amelia retorted.

“History often favors the bold,”Hastings shot back, his cold smile unwavering.

“Sure,” Finn said, stepping forwardslowly, trying to gauge Hastings’s intent. “But how does history treat thedelusional?”

A tense standoff ensued between thedetectives and Victor Hastings. His gaze flickering from Finn to Amelia,showing no signs of fear or remorse.

“Let’s not pretend this will endwell for you,” Finn said, his voice calm but firm as he locked eyes withHastings. “You took something precious from these families. And you might havekept going as The Secret Hand, if you hadn’t had that need to be seen. A needfor flair and dramatics. A flair that only an actor could possess. That wasyour undoing.”

“Ah, but you see,” Hastings repliedcoolly, “I’ve already walked so far. What’s a few more steps?”

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