Page 82 of Shadowed Vows: Ghost
"I didn't—" she starts, then sighs. "Fine. I got a little too eager and went for the first entry point I spotted. Didn't bother checking if the doors would open." She returns to the lock, muttering, "Rookie mistake."
I bite back a smile. "For someone with lock picks, yeah, pretty fucking amateur."
The lock surrenders with a soft click. Despite myself, I'm impressed. We slip silently into the pitch-black interior. Our flashlight beams cut through the darkness, revealing rusted equipment and piles of junk scattered throughout the space.
"Look," Alina whispers, pointing to a weathered ledger partially hidden under a fallen beam.
I crouch down, carefully extracting the book. As I flip through the pages, a familiar name jumps out.Steele.
"Good eye," I murmur, tucking the ledger into my pack. "This could be the connection we're looking for."
We continue our sweep, tension coiling in my gut. Something about this place feels off, like we're being watched. I keep Alina close, alert to any movement or sound.
Suddenly, Damian's voice comes through the comm. "Ghost, you need to see this. Northwest corner of the main warehouse."
My heart rate spikes. "Copy. On our way."
I grab Alina's hand, pulling her along as we navigate the maze of abandoned structures. The rest of the team converges on our location, faces grim.
As we approach, I can see Damian standing stock-still, his usually impassive face etched with concern. He meets my eyes, a silent warning passing between us.
"What is it?" I ask, though a part of me already knows the answer.
Damian steps aside, revealing what lies beyond. My breath catches in my throat, the world narrowing to a singular, horrifying point.
"Oh God," Alina gasps beside me.
There, in the rubble, lies the unmistakable form of a body. Male, approximately Roman's build, face unrecognizable—a pulpy mass of tissue and bone where distinguishing features should be. My stomach lurches at the sight, but I force myself to look, to assess.
"Saint, get over here now," I bark into the comm, my voice cracking despite my efforts to remain in control.
Alina takes a step closer, her face pale. "Is that...?"
I can't answer. Can't form the words. The body's wearing clothes similar to what Roman favors—dark tactical pants, a black jacket. But it's the wrist that draws my attention. A glint of silver beneath the blood spatters.
I kneel beside the body, my hands trembling slightly as I wipe away the blood from the watch face. The custom timepiece Roman and I commissioned when we founded Nightfall Syndicate stares back at me—identical to the one currently strapped to my own wrist.
"It's him," I choke out, bile rising in my throat. "It's Shadow."
Saint arrives, his usually easygoing demeanor replaced by grim professionalism. He kneels beside the body, his practiced hands moving swiftly.
"Multiple stab wounds," he reports. "Looks like it happened recently." He examines the watch. "Stopped at 15:17."
I check my own watch: 17:45. We're early for the scheduled 21:00 meeting.
"That's impossible," I mutter. "We got the intel about the meeting at 15:30. Meeting was scheduled for 21:00. We arrived at 17:30 to secure the location."
Remy frowns. "If this watch is accurate, he was already here two hours ago."
The implication hits me like a physical blow. "The meeting time changed. He came early and walked into a trap."
My chest constricts, each breath becoming more difficult than the last. I lean closer, catching the familiar scent of Roman's signature cologne mingled with the copper tang of blood. It's unmistakable—the same clove and cedar notes he's worn since I've known him.
I reach out, my fingers brushing against the watch band. My vision blurs, and suddenly I'm drowning in memories.
Roman sliding the watch across his desk to me.
"To new beginnings," he showed me the identical timepiece on his wrist. "The official start of Nightfall Syndicate."
