Roman
The car door slams behind me with enough force to make the old stone flinch.
The sound dies fast in the open air, swallowed by the cemetery and the wet, patient dark that always seems to gather around churches.
I don’t linger. I cut across the grass with the folder still tucked under my arm.
The wind tastes like damp earth and old leaves, and somewhere in the distance a fox screams like it’s being murdered.
I push through the wooden door of the church and the world shifts.
The building is empty, cold and faintly echoing.
Candle wax clings to the air even when there are no candles lit, and the stone under my boots is slick with centuries of footsteps.
I move past the pews without looking at them, past the altar that means nothing to me, and head straight for the panel set low in the wall behind the pulpit.
My hand finds the latch on instinct. It clicks and the wood gives.
A narrow stairwell breathes downward and the smell changes from polished religion to something older.
The descent is steep and uneven, and the steps force you to place your feet carefully.
A weak strip light flickers along the wall, welcoming me home.
Halfway down the hallway I hear Riggs before I see anyone else.
“If this place collapses on us, I want it on record that I said we should’ve picked literally any other meeting spot,” he says and someone laughs, Atlas I think, but it’s quiet and tired.
The tunnel opens into the chamber and the heat hits my face.
The fire pit in the centre is already going as flames lick high enough to cast moving shadows across the rough rock ceiling.
The whole room is carved out of stone; cushions line the benches, blankets are thrown around, and there are bottles everywhere clustered near the fire and on the stone ledge.
Victor sees me first. He doesn’t speak, just tips his head in a small nod.
Atlas is perched on the stone bench with his laptop balanced on his knees and the glow of the screen reflects off his face.
Felix is leaning forward with his forearms on his thighs, elbows wide with a bottle in one hand and a deck of cards in the other.
Riggs is sprawled across the bench like he owns the place as he turns and grins at me.
“You look like you’ve been dragged through a hedge backwards,” Riggs says, as if that’s a normal greeting and not an insult.
“I have,” I reply, and it’s not entirely a joke.
Felix’s gaze narrows as he measures the tension in my shoulders. He stands without rushing as he crosses the room and presses a glass into my hand. He must have poured it the moment he heard my footsteps.
“Drink,” he simply says.
I don’t argue. I knock it back in one swallow and it burns a line down my throat that feels like punishment and relief. Felix doesn’t comment, he just pours me another without asking and I lift it to my mouth, slower this time.
“You went to see him,” Felix says, and it isn’t a question.
“I did,” I reply, lowering the empty glass to my knee.
“See who?” Atlas asks, even though his tone suggests he already knows. The glow of his laptop makes his face look sharper.
“My dad,” I say, taking another sip of my whiskey.
Riggs pulls a face like he sucked on a lemon. “How did that go? Did he give you a pat on the head and tell you to stop murdering assets, or did he do the dramatic shouting thing with the desk?”
“He did the desk,” I answer, and I try to keep my mouth straight as Felix exhales a chuckle through his nose.
“And then?”
“And then I gave him the files,” I say, watching the fire flare as a log shifts and spits.
“What!?” Riggs barks. “Why the fuck did you do that?”
I turn my head slightly, meeting his stare without blinking. “Because I needed to know where he stood. I’m done operating on assumptions. Either he was involved and I’d see it in his face, or he wasn’t and can actually help in ways we can’t.”
Riggs shakes his head like he’s trying to dislodge the idea.
“For a genius that was fucking reckless and stupid, you know that right?”
“It was a calculated risk,” I snap back as heat rises in my chest at the implication that I’m reckless. “You don’t know my dad enough if you think I’m in danger from him. He’d rather kill himself than let his only heir die.”
“Yeah?” Riggs sneers. “Don’t flatter yourself, mate. We know you’ve got a dad who loves you. This isn’t about your life. It’s about the evidence and it’s about Fae. You fuck this up trusting the wrong person and we lose everything.”
“Fuck you, Riggs,” I bark. “You think there’s even a second that Fae isn’t at the forefront of my mind? The evidence is copied and scattered. Atlas has it, Felix has it, and the originals are locked where nobody can get them without taking a wall down. I didn’t hand him our leverage. I tested him.”
“And?” Atlas cuts in as Riggs glares at me. “What was the outcome?”
“He didn’t recognise any of it,” I say, glancing at Felix briefly before looking back at the fire. “He wasn’t acting like a man caught out, he was acting like a man who’d just realised his house was on fire and he’d been sleeping through the smoke.”
“So, he’s either genuinely blindsided,” Riggs mutters, “or he’s the best actor in England.”
“He’s a lot of things but he isn’t an actor. Get it through your head, Riggs, he’s on our side. Even more so after what I told him.”
“And what did you tell him?” Riggs asks.
“Enough to make him understand the scale.”
Felix studies me for a beat longer than necessary. I can feel it. Measuring what I’m not saying, but his shoulders relax as he lets it go.
For now, I think with a grimace. I’m not a coward but I’m not exactly looking forward to telling her brother I tried to purposely get her pregnant.
“Did he agree to help?” Felix sits back down, the cards seemingly forgotten for the moment.
“He agreed to help,” I say and I look at Felix. “He also tried to take it off my hands.”
“Of course he did,” Riggs snorts. “Where do you think you got it from?”
“Anything else?” Victor asks, leaning forward as the firelight carves hard lines across his face.
“He told me why we only have one male heir,” I say.
The room shifts almost imperceptibly. Even Riggs straightens, which is rare enough to be concerning. Atlas slides his laptop aside, giving me his full attention. The way he tilts his head would almost be eager if it didn’t look so analytical.
“Well?” Victor prompts.
“Decades ago,” I begin, keeping my tone level, “after the war, the founders authorised a biological intervention. The intention was to increase the probability of male heirs. They were worried about succession and bloodlines within The Company.”
Felix’s jaw twitches
“It didn’t work,” I continue. “In fact, it did the complete opposite. According to my father, the intervention not only altered the men born after it but every one that followed.”
There’s a beat of silence where the fire pops and everyone processes what I just said.
“So, they tried to rig nature,” Riggs lets out a low whistle as he leans back, “and nature did what it always does and laughed in their faces.”
“It explains why everyone loses their mind over a potential heir,” Victor says.
The flames catch in Felix’s expression as his eyes drop to the floor.
I can almost see him rearranging the board in his head, shifting pieces, redrawing threat lines and factoring in variables we didn’t have yesterday.
Atlas goes still in that particular way he does when he’s processing something as his fingers hover over nothing.
Victor’s eyes harden as tension threads through his posture like he’s physically holding himself in place.
The fire crackles between us again.
“You think it’s connected to the sex trafficking ring?” Victor asks after a beat.
I draw breath to answer, but Atlas beats me to it.
“Yes.”
The certainty in his voice makes my head snap toward him. Atlas doesn’t deal in absolutes. Hearing him commit like that is enough to make my heart skip a beat.
“I’ve managed to decode more of Fisher’s work,” Atlas continues. “He doesn’t have a male heir. It’s not hard to see him trying to figure out how to get one.” He shifts slightly and the firelight catches his glasses.
“Maybe through his daughters. Or maybe…” His eyes cut to me. “Through Fae.”
“Well, that’s horrifying,” Riggs says, dragging a hand down his face before lifting his beer. “Cheers to the founders. I hope they all rot.”
“Isn’t your dad a founder?” I glance at him.
“Yes,” he replies without missing a beat. “My toast still stands. Now clink my fucking glass.”
He thrusts the bottle toward the centre like we’re at a wedding instead of dissecting engineered bloodlines in a cave beneath a church.
None of us move. Then Victor huffs under his breath and knocks his bottle lightly against Riggs’.
Felix does the same, slower. I follow, the dull tap of glass cutting through the heaviness in the room.
Riggs takes a long swallow and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand.
A laugh slips out of me as Felix reaches for the cards and starts shuffling them.
“How’s Hazel and Emily?” Felix asks after he deals the deck to play president.
“They’re doing their best. My sister is with them. She offered a bedroom for Emily and she’s got my niece in with her, so she doesn’t wake up alone,” Victor shrugs but it looks guarded.
Not in a bad way, but possessive, as if he’s taken on the responsibility for the both of them. Riggs catches it too and raises his eyebrows at me. I give him a small nod to say I see it before looking back to my hand of cards.
“Good,” Felix nods.
“Alright,” Victor says after a beat. “We can sit in here and drink like we’re on a stag do in hell, or we can decide what we’re doing next.”
“We’re doing both,” Riggs says immediately, holding up his cards like they’re evidence. “This is strategic thinking. No actually, this is therapy… but cheaper.”
“That’s not what therapy is,” Atlas rolls his eyes.
“Therapy is a waste of money,” Riggs counters. “Also, therapy doesn’t come with a fire pit.”
I sit back, letting the heat soak into my body as I hold my glass of whiskey and watch the flames eat the logs until they glow as embers.
We fall into the rhythm of the cards. Felix plays with the kind of focus he applies to everything.
Riggs cheats badly and openly, and Victor calls him out every time with the same flat tone that somehow makes it funnier.
My phone vibrates in my pocket and the sound cuts through the room like a blade.
Felix’s gaze snaps up immediately as Atlas’ hand stills mid-reach for his drink and I pull the phone out.
Mr Longstaff:
where are you
I quickly type back.
Roman:
the underground, why?
Mr Longstaff:
I have someone for you. Meet me at the top.
Somewhere near me I hear water dripping steadily down stone as my pulse tightens. I look up slowly, meeting each of their eyes in turn.
“Looks like our night has just started,” I say with a steady voice.
Riggs grins like a man who shouldn’t be trusted with sharp objects as Felix stands abruptly. Victor’s expression doesn’t change, but his body does like it’s muscle memory, and Atlas reaches for his laptop whilst his fingers fly across the keyboard already pulling up whatever he thinks we’ll need.
I pocket my phone and rise, the warmth of the fire already fading from my skin as the next thing takes its place. If my father has found a thread, I’ll pull it until the whole thing unravels.
For her.