Page 98 of Seeking Shadows

Charlie lets out a sound that’salmost a laugh.

"As if you needed to ask."

The call ends, and the silence of the makeshift lab weighs heavily in the air. The smell of poorly stored solvents and chemicals hits me first—a sure sign this shit was put together by amateurs, or at least people who didn’t have the same refinement as the Society.

I step out of the room where I just finished talking to Charlie. It's become my favorite hideaway here—soundproof, no cameras. They must use it as an experimentation chamber or something like that. Whatever the hell it’s meant for, it’s perfect for slipping away and making calls without anyone eavesdropping.

As I move down the hall, I can’t shake the unease crawling under my skin. This place... it doesn’t have the polish of the Society. It’s rough around the edges, thrown together. Not like the meticulous precision I’m used to. But it’ll do—for now.

The equipment’s rudimentary. The distillation flasks are precariously connected, and the condensation’s poorly done, wasting material. The compressed gas cylinders aren’tproperly secured—this place is a time bomb waiting to go off.

This isn’t a lab. It’san alley with expensive glassware.

I pretend I’m just evaluating someone else’s work. Nico believes one of the men Charlie selected is the chemist helping with drug production. But I’m the one doing all the work since they’re not real chemists. Luckily, Nico rarelycomes here, and everyone just sees me as the hands-on boss. I start fiddling with the vials, evaluating the substances with an experienced eye, pretending to look busy while I think about how to destroy this without drawing attention.

That’swhen I hear footsteps behind me.

"Mr. Mitchell, right?"

The voice’s slurred, oily. When I turn, I see a man in his fifties, wearing an immaculate lab coat that doesn’tmatch the filth around us. He smiles, and everything about him disgusts me.

"Dr. Icaza," he introduces himself, tilting his head like he’sstudying me. "I’m responsible for keeping my dear boss’s… employees healthy."

My eyes narrow, but he continues before I can speak.

"I was caring for Mia before you came along. It’sa shame she was taken from my care. She has a delicate condition. It requires care, patience… a specialized touch."

The malice in his voice is obvious. The way he says her name—dragging out each syllable—makes me want to break every bone in his body.

I connect the dots.

The fucking scar on her arm. The terror she felt of certain touches. The way she flinched when someone mentioned "treatment."

Icaza.

The bastard was one of the ones who hurt her.

My vision goes dark.

The next moment is a blur. My fist meets his face with a dull crack, and he crumples before he can even process what’shappened.

I didn’t take him to the shed.

I took him to one of the rooms in the lab—one of the ones without cameras. The kind we pretend don’t exist. No windows, no recordings, just concrete walls and a bolted chair in the center of the room. It smells like rust and bleach, like too many secrets soaked into the floor.

Icaza’s slumped over, tied to the chair, blood trailing from his mouth to his chin. His head hangs low, shoulders twitching like he’s only half-conscious.

I lean against the wall, watching him.

This isn’t for show. No one's coming to stop me.

I’m silent, waiting for him to wake up.

When he finally lifts his face, his bleary eyes blink a few times before focusing on me.

"What…"

I grip the pliers in my hand, feeling the weight of them. The sight of his blood-streaked face makes my stomach churn, but I shove the nausea down.

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