Page 77 of Crown of Lies

ATLAS

I leanagainst the grimy wall, watching as Nico and Killian inspect the dingy space. It’s a far cry from our old clubhouse—a run-down warehouse with cracked windows and graffiti-covered walls. There’s a faint smell of mold and the not-so-faint smell of stale cigarettes.

Nico reaches out toward a rusted metal shelf, then shoves his hand into his pocket instead, his lip curling in disgust. “This place is a shithole.”

“It’s what we’ve got,” Killian grunts, kicking aside an empty beer bottle. “Unless you’ve got a better option hidden up your sleeve.”

I push off the wall, joining them in the center of the room. “It’s not ideal, but it’ll do for now. We need somewhere to regroup, plan our next move.”

Our contact, a weaselly little man who, aptly, goes by Rat, looks half-nervous, half-annoyed. “It’s the best I could find on short notice. Real estate ain’t exactly booming in this part of town.”

Nico fixes him with a hard stare. “And you’re sure it’s clean? No one’s gonna come knocking?”

Rat nods emphatically. “Clean as a whistle. Previous owners cleared out months ago. It’s all yours.”

I take another look around the space, making a mental list of what we’ll need to get it at least semi-habitable. “We can make it work. Clean it up, reinforce the doors and windows. It’s not much, but it’ll send a message.”

Killian raises an eyebrow. “What message is that? That we’ve hit rock bottom?”

I shake my head. “That we’re still here. Still claiming our territory. The Princes aren’t going anywhere.”

Nico nods slowly, a hint of approval in his eyes. “Atlas is right. We need to make our presence known, now more than ever.”

I watch as Nico and Killian continue their inspection of our potential new base. Rat hovers nearby, fidgeting with the hem of his threadbare jacket.

“What about utilities?” Killian asks, flicking a light switch that predictably does nothing.

Rat shrugs. “Water’s still on, I think. Electricity might need some… creative solutions.”

I’m about to suggest we look into generators when Nico’s phone pings. He glances down at the screen, and I catch the slight tightening of his jaw, the way his eyes narrow almost imperceptibly.

“Everything okay?” I ask, trying to keep my tone casual.

Nico looks up, frowning. “Yeah, fine.” But there’s a tension in his shoulders that wasn’t there before.

Killian, oblivious to the change, continues grilling Rat about the warehouse’s features. I keep my eyes on Nico, who’s typing out a response, his fingers moving quickly over the screen.

“So, what’s the deal with the roof access?” Killian asks, pointing upward.

Rat starts to answer, but I’m not listening. I’m watching Nico, who’s staring at his phone like it might bite him. Whatever message he received, it’s got him rattled. And that’s not like Nico at all.

“Nico?” I say quietly, moving closer to him. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing. Just some business I need to take care of later.”

I don’t buy it for a second. Nico doesn’t get distracted during deals, and he certainly doesn’t look spooked over “some business.” Whatever that message was about, it’s big. And probably bad.

Nico turns to Rat, cutting off the man’s rambling explanation about the warehouse’s quirks. “I need a minute.”

I know from experience that there’s no point in arguing with that tone, but Rat’s face scrunches up in obvious annoyance. “Hey, I ain’t got all day here. You want the place or not?”

Nico ignores him, jerking his head toward the exit. “Atlas, Killian. Outside. Now.”

I exchange a quick glance with Killian, who looks as confused as I feel. We follow Nico out of the warehouse, leaving a sputtering Rat behind.

He leads us a few paces away from the building, then turns to face us. His normally stony expression has been replaced by pure anger.

“It’s from the Young Killers,” he says, holding up his phone. “Harlan, or whatever the fuck his name is.”

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