Page 126 of Oathbreaker

“Fuck,” Leo snaps under his breath.

One heartbeat. Two. I stare down the Ukrainian.

“Whatever you say,” I reply.

I guide the crew up the remaining stairs and down the pathway to the office doors. When we’re thirty feet away, I point.

“Over there.” The stench is nearly unbearable now, and flies swarm past my head.

“Keep moving, Brigham,” Nameless Two says.

I turn to face the dark corridor, taking one step after the other. Scales of vermin coat the panels of the French doors and the surrounding walls. The buzzing of flying creatures resonates in my ears, crawling over my skin.

I wrench the door open and stumble back.

Because in a single beam of light from the expansive window overlooking the sea, the remains of a liquified body lay propped in the expensive leather chair. Behind the body, the office safe stands wide open.

Empty.

The entire room is empty.

From the body and under the oak desk, a river of biologic sludge courses toward the entrance of the office, and when I shift my flashlight to make sure my feet aren’t standing in human remains, my attention is taken by the glint of metal.

An unblinking onyx eye embedded in a gold ring.

Though black clouds of flies obscure my vision, I pick it up. Looking from the unrecognizable body and back to the ring in my hand, it’s easy to know who it is.

Father.

Sets of hands pull me back from the open office doors. I blink, and all of us are out on the veranda.

“H, you okay?” I focus back on Leo, trying to breathe in clean air to chase out the stench of death.

“Yea—” I get out before gagging. I rush to the stone barrier, leaning over the edge to puke out my stomach’s contents.

In contrast to my angry retching, the ocean laps at the shore, a soft sound.

Father.

Father is dead.

He’s dead.

Dragging in what feels like a gulf of air, I stand up more fully, still leaning on the stone for support.

“Who could it have been?” Leo asks. A glance to the side of his face lets me know he already has the answer.

The gold ring burns in my palm when I open it to show Leo.

“Shit,” he says, running both hands over his face and into his hair.

“Yeah,” I murmur.

Father is dead. I’m free.

“Yeah,” I repeat.

TWENTY-SIX

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