Chapter 5 - THE CATACOMB CONVENTIONSThe holding cells beneath the Blackwood facility didn't smell like a hospital. They smelled like damp stone, ozone, and old iron—a medieval dungeon retrofitted with state-of-the-art biometric security.
The guards shoved us roughly into a blindingly white, sterile holding cube enclosed by a thick wall of reinforced glass. The door hissed shut behind us, locking with an electromagnetic clatter that rattled my teeth.
Leo collapsed onto the cold floor, shivering violently. His skin was burning hot to the touch—a clear sign of infection setting into his fractured wrist and the trauma of his concussion.
"Leo, stay with me," I begged, sliding down beside him and pulling his head onto my lap. I tore a strip of fabric from the hem of my shirt and tried to wipe the cold sweat from his forehead. "Come on, buddy. You're so strong. Just hold on a little longer."
"Claire..." he whispered, his eyes barely flickering open. "I'm cold. Where's mom?"
"She's here. I know she is," I lied, my voice cracking as hot tears finally spilled over my lashes.
Before I could say anything else, the electronic speaker mounted in the corner of the cell crackled to life with a burst of static.
"Well, well, well. If it isn't the loyal sidekick," a voice purred over the intercom.
It wasn't Marcus. It was a voice older, smoother, and infinitely more terrifying—a voice I had only ever heard on recorded board meeting tapes Sarah had played for me in our college dorm room.
Arthur Vance.
"Mr. Vance," I shouted up at the security camera in the corner, rising to my feet and pressing my palms flat against the glass. "You're dead! The coroner's report from Zurich five years ago—"
"Was an exquisitely crafted fiction, my dear," Arthur’s voice replied smoothly, echoing off the concrete walls. "One must occasionally die to keep the family business running smoothly. But let’s not dwell on old ghost stories. You have something that belongs to me. Or rather, the boy does."
"We don't have anything!" I yelled. "The ledger is just a notebook of nonsense!"
"Is it?" The speaker clicked, and a moment later, a side panel of our glass cell hissed open.
Two guards dragged a familiar figure between them. Her hair was matted with blood, her clothes torn and stained with dirt, her face bruised and pale. But those dark, piercing green eyes—the exact same eyes Leo possessed—lifted slowly to meet mine.
"Sarah..." I gasped, pressing my hands against the glass as if I could somehow push through it.
Sarah raised her head, her lips curling into a weak, defiant smile. She looked past me, straight at Leo, who was crying softly on the floor.
"Don't... don't give it to them, Claire," Sarah rasped, her voice ruined from days of screaming or interrogation. "The encryption... it’s a dead man's switch. If they force the key without the master override phrase, the entire network drops every single encrypted file directly to every news outlet on the planet."
"Shut her up!" Arthur’s voice barked over the intercom, sharper now, stripped of its grandfatherly charm.
One of the guards struck Sarah across the face with the heavy butt of his sidearm, sending her crashing to the concrete floor.
"SARAH!" I screamed, slamming my fists against the glass until my knuckles split and bled.
"You have ten seconds to make a choice, Ms. Sterling," Arthur’s voice droned calmly. "Either the boy interfaces with the neural-link, or I let my men finish breaking your best friend right in front of you piece by piece."
Suddenly, the heavy steel door behind the guards creaked open.
May you like
Marcus stepped into the observation corridor, holding a sleek, silver neural-interface headset wired to a blinking console. But he wasn't looking at Sarah. He was looking at his father’s intercom camera with a terrifying, unreadable expression.
"Dad," Marcus said, his voice echoing cleanly through the open cell doors. "You forgot one crucial detail about the ledger."
