Page 26 of Wings of Torment
When Ananiel makes a sound, this deep, almost thoughtful rumble from his chest, I stop.Shit!
I wait a beat before advancing, and when I get a few steps closer, his head falls forward, chin resting on his chest. The idiot is fucking sleeping. I laugh silently, confidence rising in my steps as I hurry out of the room and down the hall.
Luckily, I don’t run into anyone by the time I reach the hallway I need to turn down. If I continue straight, I’ll make it to the Lieutenant wing, but if I hook a right, I’ll find the very room I’ve been waiting all day to access.
My steps sound loud to my own ears as I approach the door markedStorage. I’ve never come down this way before, even with a lieutenant. Interns might be allowed to tag along on missions and log details, but we sure as hell don’t know everything. They keep us in the dark on a lot of shit, but I can understand why. We have to prove ourselves first.
I try the door, but the handle doesn’t budge. There’s no keyhole like I expected. Instead, on the wall to the right of the door sits a little box with a red light. Fuck. I should have known I’d need a keycard to access it, since that’s what all the other sections in this damn fortress have. Looking down, I eye the card attached to the belt loop of my uniform, considering my options.
I could try mine, but that has the potential to land me in hot water. I could try to steal Ananiel’s card, but if he woke up, I’d be screwed. There has to be another way.
Heading back down the hall, I turn right toward the Lieutenant wing, not entirely sure what I’m searching for. It’s not like I could ask any of them to let me into the file room. The whole point of this is to keep my investigation a secret. For whatever reason, they want to hide the information about that attack, and I want to know why. Does it have anything to do with what happened at SCU? There must be a connection, but why aren’t they looking for one?
I pass a few locked doors, the hope that once blossomed in my chest like a delicate flower now fading. Peeking inside the on-duty lieutenant’s office, I find it empty, but just as I’m about to turn away and give up, I spot something. A keycard.
Jackpot! No one would suspect a thing if a lieutenant accessed the file room.
On silent feet, I enter the room and grab the card without allowing myself to consider whose it is. Warning sounds ring in my head, but I push them aside and creep toward the door. Voices erupt down the hall, and for a split second, fear immobilizes me. I snap out of it quickly, holding tight to the inner wall while I pretend to look at some award propped up on the bookshelf. My palms turn clammy as the voices get louder, but to my ever-fucking-relief, they keep going.
I wait another beat, then race back to the file room, scanning the card and sneaking inside. The lights flicker on automatically,illuminating the space and causing me to suck in a breath. How the hell am I going to find anything in here? There are seemingly endless rows of filing cabinets and shelves that hold boxes piled on top of each other. If I have any hope of finding what I need, I have to be smart.
I decide to take the room in sections, starting with the first row of cabinets along the wall to my left. Each drawer holds a date, and it doesn’t take long for me to realize that the files near the door are the oldest. Heading deeper into the room, I scan the date on the cabinets until I’m almost back to the front of the room and still haven’t found what I’m searching for. Shit. I hurry down the rows of shelving that make up the center of the long room, noting the boxes have similar dates on them, and these appear to be much newer.Getting warmer.
There, near the end of an almost empty shelf, is a new box of files. I empty its contents, shuffling through the papers until I find the one I’m looking for, then glance at my slate, noting the time. Fucking shit. I’ve been gone far longer than I intended to. Whoever’s keycard I have will surely notice it’s missing soon. I have to hurry.
I flip open the folder and promptly shut it again. This can’t be the attack I’m looking for, can it? But when I recheck the date on the front of the folder, I see it is.By the Archangels.
Demons attacked one of the Guild armories? But how? Those are locked up tight and protected for a reason. The more I read, the more I worry until it feels like I’ve swallowed a pail of rocks. From the file, along with some angel blades, there were at least a handful of sun blades reported missing. Our greatest weapon against them, the ones we have so very few of and can’t afford to lose. And they’ve taken some away from us.
Maybe that’s why so many angels reported seeing demons. The Guild has several armories throughout Silver City, both real and fake, in order to throw off anyone who may watch us tooclosely. So how did the demons know which one to attack? And how did they just happen to know which armory would be the least protected? Something doesn’t add up.
When I came looking, I never expectedthiswould be what they were hiding. It’s no wonder they’ve kept this quiet. If word got out, the entire city would be in a panic, and that’s the last thing we need. Though I still don’t understand why Azrael kept this from me, of all angels. He has me on fucking desk duty when I could be investigating.
I look through the photos, flipping over runic symbols and empty weapon racks, bypassing the bloody carnage of our slain Guild members until I land on a photo that piques my interest. It’s from one of our security cameras at the armory, and whoever it is must not have known it was there. The photo is almost too blurry to make out any details, but the black wings are hard to miss. He’s a Fallen. One of his wings looks off, and I don’t think it’s the grainy photo. A scar, perhaps?
There’s no name on the photo or anywhere in the report. Only this picture. Who is he? My first thought is that maybe he’s a Guild member who survived, but the report states that everyone on duty at the armory died in the attack. Curious.
I put everything back in its place on the shelf and head toward the exit. I’ve already spent far too long in here, but this was necessary. We, the Guild, need to know what’s happening. We need to be kept in the loop on this if we have any hope of doing our job and protecting Silver City.
I came in here looking for answers, but all I’ve found are more questions.
The hallway is quiet as I shut the door to the file room and make my way toward the main hall that connects to the Lieutenant wing. I need to get rid of this keycard before someone notices. As I reach the end of the intersection, I peer right and then left. There’s a woman coming from the intern bullpen.
She isn’t wearing a uniform, but her T-shirt sports the Guild logo. Something about her shoulder-length, merlot-colored hair and jade-green eyes is familiar. Is she an intern, perhaps?
“As if that doesn’t look suspicious,” she says, looking down the hall I just came from and then back at me. I watch as her gaze travels down my uniform, catching on the keycard in my fist.Shit.
“What are you doing over here?”
I wait a beat, then two, before slipping the stolen keycard into my pocket. “I could ask you the same thing.”
Her smile grows, but it doesn’t soothe the nervous energy racing through me. If she tells anyone that she saw me here, I’m fucked.
“I’m looking for my father. Lieutenant Atlas. I thought maybe he was here.”
I try not to let the shock show on my face. Not that it’s some big feat to have a father in the Guild — there are a lot of us who do. But with the way Atlas acts with the interns, I just assumed he didn’t have any kids. If it’s his card I just used, I can’t say that I’m unhappy about it because fuck that guy.
Ignoring what I assume is her attempt to brag, I say, “I came to report to my lieutenant, but I must have made a wrong turn. Unfortunately, I haven’t seen your father yet today. Good luck.”
