Page 83 of Playing with Fire

Algerone was already moving around the perimeter of the room, his attention focused not on the servers but on the walls themselves. "The dimensions are wrong. This room is smaller than it should be based on the exterior walls."

I joined him at the wall he was examining, running my hands along the surface. "False wall," I agreed. "But how do we—"

My words cut off as my fingers encountered a slight depression in the seemingly solid surface. Not obvious enough to be noticed without deliberate searching, but distinct once found. I pressed it experimentally, feeling something give beneath my touch.

A seam appeared in the wall, widening into a doorway as a hidden panel slid silently aside. Beyond lay another room, this one dimly lit with the same emergency lighting as the rest of the facility.

"Leo," I called quietly. "We've found a hidden section of the building. Checking it now."

"Be careful," Leo replied, his voice tight with tension. "Reid's team is still engaged but holding. Burns' forces seem more focused on containment than elimination."

"Almost like they're buying time," Algerone observed grimly as we moved through the hidden doorway.

The space beyond was nothing like the sterile server room we'd just left. This was a personal domain, filled with evidence of long habitation. A desk dominated one wall, covered in multiple computer monitors and technical equipment I didn't immediately recognize. Bookshelves lined another wall, filled with technical manuals and what appeared to be journals.

But it was the third wall that immediately captured my attention. It was covered entirely in photographs, documents, and maps, all connected by red string in a complex web of relationships. At the center of this disturbing display was a large photo of me, taken without my knowledge as I worked at my computer. Around it were dozens of other images—Leo at the Junkyard Dogs compound, Annie and Yuri outside the funeral home, my brothers in various locations around town.

"He's been watching all of us," I breathed, a cold fury building in my chest. "For months. Maybe years."

"Not just watching," Algerone said, examining a different section of the display. "Planning. Look at these." He indicated a series of photos showing various properties around southeast Ohio. Each had dates and notes attached, detailing security systems, access points, and what appeared to be patrol schedules.

"Targets," I realized. "Future targets. The Laskin funeral home is here. And the Junkyard Dogs compound. Even the mental health clinic War's building."

The implications sent ice through my veins. It was one thing to theorize that Felix Burns had been methodically preparing to dismantle my entire life, piece by painful piece, and another to see the evidence of it firsthand. The fire at Leo's trailer, the attack on the funeral home... those had just been the opening moves in a much larger game.

"Burns isn't here," I concluded, scanning the room for any sign of recent occupation. "This was all staged. He wanted us to find this."

My eyes caught on a small object sitting on the desk amidst the chaos of papers and surveillance photos. A simple black cube, about the size of a paperweight, with a delicate silver phoenix etched into its surface. Innocuous at first glance, but something about it felt wrong.

I reached to pick it up, but frowned when I felt resistance. Not thinking, I yanked. Something metallic pulled free. Algerone's body suddenly slammed into mine with unexpected force. The cube fell back to the desk. Before I could process what was happening, the world exploded into blinding light and deafening sound.

The blast threw us across the room. My back hit the wall with bone-jarring force, head snapping back to connect with concrete. For one disorienting moment, all I could register was pressure and pain, my ears ringing so loudly I couldn't hear anything else.

When my vision finally cleared, dust filled the air, thick enough to choke on. Emergency lighting flickered erratically, casting the destruction in sporadic bursts of illumination. Where the desk had stood was now a crater, debris scattered across what remained of the room.

"Algerone?" I called, my voice sounding distant and wrong through the persistent ringing in my ears.

A hand emerged from beneath a fallen section of ceiling. I scrambled over, ignoring the sudden flare of pain in my ribs, and began clearing away chunks of concrete and twisted metal.

Algerone lay pinned beneath a support beam, blood trickling from a gash on his forehead. His legs were completely hidden beneath the rubble, but his eyes were alert, scanning the room even as he assessed his own injuries.

"It was rigged," he said, voice strained but calm.

"Shit." I tore off my tactical gloves and pressed them against the wound on his head. "Hold this. I'm going to get you out."

His hand caught my wrist with surprising strength. "No time. The explosion will bring them running."

"I'm not leaving you here," I growled, already testing the weight of the beam across his torso.

"Xavier," Leo's panicked voice cut through the static in my comm unit. "Reid's team is falling back. Burns' security forces have stopped pursuit and are returning to the compound. ETA three minutes, maybe less."

"Told you," Algerone said, a ghost of a smile touching his bloodied lips. "Always listen to the tactical analyst."

I ignored them both, wedging my shoulder under the beam and straining to lift it. The metal groaned but barely moved, too firmly settled into the debris that trapped Algerone's lower body.

"Even if you move it, I won't be walking out of here," Algerone said, his tone matter-of-fact. "There's a piece of rebar in my hip. I can feel it somewhere near my spine. My legs are completely numb."

"Shut up," I snarled, searching for another angle, another approach. "I'm not leaving you for Burns."

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