Page 98 of Playing with Fire

"I know," I said, unable to articulate more through the open channel where others could hear. "I know."

The night air carried the metallic tang of an impending thunderstorm as I stepped from the vehicle. Overhead, clouds gathered, dark and heavy with electricity, occluding stars and moon alike. In the distance, lightning flickered, briefly illuminating the skeletal structure of the mill against the horizon. Perfect conditions for what was to come. Darkness provided cover, thunder would mask sounds, and rain would limit visibility further. Tactically advantageous, if I needed to make a quick escape.

Reid approached, face grim in the dim light. "Alpha team confirms no movement around the perimeter. Too quiet."

"That's how I'd set it up," I agreed. "Maximum focus on the primary entrance. The illusion of security."

"This whole thing stinks," Reid muttered, checking his weapon one final time. "You sure you won't reconsider wearing body armor?"

"Felix would detect it immediately. Can't risk it." I adjusted my jacket, ensuring easy access to the tools concealed within. "Stick to the plan. Thirty minutes. If I'm not out, initiate extraction protocol."

He nodded once. “Understood.”

Maxime stepped forward unexpectedly, his professional mask slipping just enough to reveal genuine concern. "Play the hand you're dealt, but remember who's shuffling the deck," he said quietly, the words carrying the weight of ritual. "That's what he always says before a dangerous mission."

I nodded, recognizing the phrase as something personal between him and Algerone. A shared mantra. A wish for luck disguised as tactical advice. "I'll bring him back."

I moved toward the mill's main gate. The metal gate stood partially open, an invitation that couldn't possibly be more obvious.

"I'm heading in," I said softly, knowing Leo would hear through the comms.

"Be safe," came his immediate response.

I paused at the threshold, allowing my eyes to adjust to the deeper darkness within. The mill's interior loomed vast and cavernous before me, machinery frozen in time like mechanical skeletons. Catwalks crisscrossed overhead, leading to offices and control rooms that overlooked the production floor. Steel beams supported a roof punctuated by skylights, most broken, allowing fingers of moonlight to penetrate the gloom.

The perfect place for an ambush.

I stepped inside, boots echoing against the concrete. The air inside was stale with the expected notes of rust and decay. But something else lingered beneath those scents. Something chemical. Industrial.

"Xavier Laskin." Felix's voice carried from somewhere above, amplified by the mill's natural acoustics. "Right on time. I appreciate punctuality."

I turned slowly, locating him on a catwalk about twenty feet overhead. He stood with casual confidence, hands in the pockets of an expensive hoodie that seemed jarringly out of place in these surroundings.

"Where's Algerone?" I called up, keeping my tone neutral, businesslike.

Felix gestured toward a door at the far end of the production floor. "Safe. For now."

I took another step forward, eyes scanning the shadows for the guards Leo's thermal imaging had detected. "I held up my end of the bargain. I'm here, alone, unarmed. Time for you to do the same."

A smile spread across Felix's face, too sharp to be genuine, too controlled to be spontaneous. "About that. There's been a slight change of plans."

My muscles tensed. "You said Algerone would be released once I arrived. That was our agreement."

"Yes, well." He shrugged, the gesture deliberately casual. "Agreements are based on mutual trust, aren't they? And I'm finding it difficult to trust the man who tortured my father to death."

There it was. The raw wound at the center of everything. Richard Thackery's death. The fire that had set everything else in motion.

"Your father let fourteen people die," I said, moving slowly to position myself for better sightlines across the factory floor. "Children. Families. He knew the wiring was faulty, knew the smoke detectors were missing, knew the fire escapes were inadequate. He chose profit over human lives."

"And you appointed yourself judge, jury, and executioner." Felix's voice remained conversational, but his eyes had hardened, glittering with something dangerous in the dim light. "You broke into his home. Tortured him. Burned him alive. Did you enjoy it? The power? The control?"

"This isn't about enjoyment," I countered, continuing my slow circuit of the room. "Never was. It's about balance. It's about justice the system fails to provide."

"Ah, justice." Felix's smile widened, revealing teeth that gleamed white in the darkness. "My favorite topic. Tell me, Xavier, do you think what I'm doing is justice? Do you recognize yourself in my methods?"

The question hit closer to home than I wanted to admit. I had seen the similarities from the beginning—the meticulous planning, the symbolic messaging, the use of fire as both tool and statement. Felix Burns was executing a vendetta with the same cold care I applied to my own hunts.

"The difference," I said carefully, "is that your father was guilty. He caused real deaths through deliberate negligence. I haven't."

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