Page 43 of When You're Alone

“Help him!” Finn barked at the others. But James and Charles froze, startled, while Theodore moved too slowly. Grunting, Finn put all his strength into hauling Mason back onto safe ground.

Mason collapsed against the wall, panting. “Th-thank you,” he stammered.

“What's down there?” Finn said, catching his breath.

"Old tunnels, sewers, things like that," Theodore answered.

James Rutherford’s attention swung to Finn. His face looked tense, but there was something else in his expression—suspicion. Finn noticed James fixating on his face, brow knit in confusion. “Devlin,” James said, voice trembling, “what’s that on your…?”

Finn brought a hand to his face, realizing his mustache—the false facial hair he’d used to hide his identity—was peeling off. Aflap of synthetic hair hung loose.Damn it.He looked up just in time to see Charles Blackwood recoil.

“He’s wearing a disguise!” Blackwood cried, stepping back. “It’s Terrance Mansfield, after all!”

James, Charles, and Mason’s eyes bulged as they stared at Finn. Panic erupted in their expressions, and they bolted in different directions along the corridor’s branching routes, their footsteps echoing wildly.

“No, wait—!” Finn called, but it was useless. They vanished into the darkness.

Theodore remained at Finn’s side, breathing hard. “So… your cover’s blown, Mr. Wright.”

Finn shrugged, ripping off the rest of the mustache and tossing it aside. “It was bound to happen sooner or later.” His gaze roamed the passages where James, Charles, and Mason had fled. “Though I doubt they’ll get far.”

Theodore wiped sweat from his brow, his hand trembling.

Finn noticed something sticking out of his wrist cuff.

Theodore sighed. “I told you this is dangerous. The place isn’t stable. Anyone could slip or—”

Finn fixed him with a piercing look. Images, thoughts, deductions—they all rushed through his mind. Theodore was a similar size to Jeremy’s killer. And he struggled with the lock in the door... A cold rush of dread washed over him as the realization made itself known.

“Teddy,” he began softly, “about this key… I had to help you turn it earlier. I felt your wrist and it had a support on it.”

Theodore’s jaw tightened. “My wrist support? I have carpal tunnel... Very common for people to have wrist injuries.”

“Yes, but we’ve got a killer who twists the knife in every victim. It’s a distinctive motion, likely from an old wrist injury.” Finn’s eyes fell to Theodore’s arm. “Who’s got more access to these secret passages than the manager himself?”

“You can't be serious! I've been helping!”

“Almost a littletoomuch,” Finn said, realization coursing through him. “And you have access toeverything. You could have even tampered with the sign-in sheet and removed it just to make us suspect the killer was a visitor from outside the club, rather than from within!”

A flush of alarm spread across Theodore’s features. “That proves nothing! I manage the building, that’s all. I am protecting The Monarch and its members. It's my duty.”

Finn’s heart pounded. “These corridors lead everywhere, don’t they? Sir Richard Doyle’s private study, the basement. How else could someone come and go undetected? You slit Jeremy Ford’s throat in the basement, then returned upstairs without anyone seeing— through a hidden route only you knew.”

“You can’t prove that,” Theodore insisted, his voice shaking.

Finn lifted his chin toward the dusty footprints. “You claimed no one’s been down here for years. Yet I see fresh footprints… yours, I’ll bet, if we compare them to your shoe print. But more to the point,” he said, stepping closer, “there must be some link to Terrance Mansfield that we'll soon uncover. The poker chips, the vengeance. Who are you really?”

“I...” Theodore began, but he looked like he was now resigned to the truth.

Theodore’s expression flickered from denial to something colder—almost controlled. “Terrance built himself from nothing. We were in a foster home together. Not blood brothers, but we were family. He looked after me. Then he called me after that rigged card game… told me how they destroyed him, took every last penny. He couldn’t bear it, said he’d end it all. I suspect he flung himself into the Thames on a quiet stretch. And just like that, a great man was gone.”

Finn’s stomach twisted. He recalled Jeremy’s claims about Mansfield disappearing. “So Terrance died… and you wanted retribution?”

Theodore nodded, eyes burning with long-nursed wrath. “It took me years to infiltrate The Monarch Club. Once I was manager, I learned who was there that night. Then I began…balancing the scales.”

He reached inside his coat and drew a slender knife, the same style that must have murdered three men already. “I’m sorry it’s come to this, Finn. I actually like you. But collateral damage can’t be helped.”

Finn barely had time to react as Theodore lunged. The corridor was tight, and he threw himself sideways to avoid the blade. Sparks flew as metal scraped stone. Theodore pressed forward, movements surprisingly agile despite the wrist brace.

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