Page 1 of Shadowed Vows: Ghost
one
Alina
"If I'm risking trespassing charges for a dead end, I swear to God..."
I squeeze through a gap halfway up the chain-link fence surrounding the abandoned Chimera Tech warehouse. My jeans snag on a jagged edge, and I pause to free myself before dropping to the gravel on the other side.
The fading daylight casts long shadows across the property as fog rolls in from the bay, wrapping the three-story concrete structure in a ghostly shroud. Perfect timing—just enough visibility to work, but dim enough to provide cover.
I pull my camera from my messenger bag, snapping a few shots of the exterior. Professional habits die hard, and documentation is everything in my line of work.
The place looks abandoned at first glance—broken windows, graffiti-marked walls, overgrown landscaping—but something catches my trained eye. The loading dock area shows subtle signs of recent use. The concrete is swept clean despite surrounding debris, and the tire tracks in the gravel look fresh.
Walking the perimeter, I note other inconsistencies. The chain on the front door isn't rusted like it should be after years of exposure. Several security cameras hang at strategic points, their casings newer than the building's weathered exterior.
This place is trying too hard to look forgotten.
"What were you onto, Jenny?" I whisper, my chest tightening as I remember her funeral. The closed casket. Her mother's hollow eyes. The official story about a carjacking gone wrong that never sat right with anyone who knew her.
I check my phone, pulling up the encrypted files I recovered from Jenny's cloud backup. Her last investigation had focused on Paradise Elite Escorts, but buried in her financial notes were quarterly payments from Chimera Tech to offshore accounts. Payments that started three months before their public bankruptcy filing.
Moving closer to the building, I spot boot prints in the mud near a side entrance. Recent.
Someone's maintaining their abandoned status a little too carefully.
I duck under a window, staying in shadow as I continue my circuit. Sticking to the tall weeds provides cover, though my hiking boots sink slightly in the damp soil. The smell of salt water mingles with industrial chemicals and something else—a cleaning agent? In an abandoned building?
A laugh bubbles up in my throat, though there's nothing funny about this situation.
Of course, criminal enterprises use industrial-grade cleaners. Can't have evidence lying around.
The east side of the building reveals more discrepancies. A section of fence recently repaired. An air conditioning unit humming quietly nearby despite the "power shut off" signs plastered across the front entrance. A loading dock door with gleaming hinges.
I'm not imagining it. This place is operational.
My foot catches on something, and I stumble, barely catching myself before face-planting into a thorny bush.
"Shit," I hiss, rubbing my ankle. "Real professional, Bennett."
The near-fall reveals something I might have missed otherwise—a sleek electrical box partially hidden behind overgrown bushes. It's newer than everything else around it, with a digital keypad glowing faintly in the gathering darkness.
Crouching down, I study the setup. Not your standard power distribution box. This is high-end security equipment, the kind used to monitor perimeters and control access points.
Why would an abandoned warehouse need state-of-the-art security?
I pull back branches, wincing as thorns scratch my arms. The tetanus shot in my medical record better be up to date.
"Time to see if this hunch is worth the tetanus risk."
I snap a few pictures of the security box, then stare at the warehouse with renewed interest. I need to get inside.
Moving along the perimeter, I find what I'm looking for—a first-floor window with loose boards. Unfortunately, it's about nine feet off the ground. Inconvenient for nosy reporters, but probably not part of the security system.
I scan the area and spot several wooden crates stacked haphazardly nearby. Most look rotted, but they might support my weight long enough to reach the window.
Dragging the sturdiest-looking crates beneath the window, I arrange them in a precarious tower. The wood creaks ominously as I test the bottom crate with one foot.
"This is a terrible idea," I mutter, but climb anyway.
