Chapter 19 The Evidence Room Fire #5
The man in black gloves took one step forward. “Seconds are all I need.”
A second figure emerged at the far end of the hallway - taller, dressed in dark fabric without the gloves. He kept his hands down, but Enzo saw the faint glint at his wrist: a tool designed to disable locks or cut power without leaving obvious damage.
The third presence behind the evidence room door shifted. Enzo could tell because the door’s frame vibrated slightly, as if someone pressed weight against it from the inside.
Valentina’s voice went tight. “He’s barricading.”
“Or stealing,” Enzo corrected.
The man in black gloves lifted his hand, and Enzo saw the movement weren’t for a gun. It was a signal. The taller figure moved - fast - toward the evidence room door, not the stairwell.
Enzo didn’t wait.
He grabbed Valentina’s wrist - not roughly, not to control her, but to anchor her in motion. “Now.”
Valentina’s eyes flashed with anger and trust at once. She let him pull her, but her body stayed ready to fight. That was the difference between her and the people who’d tried to weaponize her.
She didn’t break when someone grabbed her. She sharpened.
They surged forward past the stairwell landing, smoke thickening around them. The air tasted like burnt paper even though they hadn’t reached the archive rooms yet.
Enzo’s mind tracked distances: two doors down. Chain locks. Evidence room annex. Then - if they were lucky - what remained of the agreement’s proof.
They reached the first door - archive corridor access - and Enzo yanked the handle. It resisted, then gave with a metallic groan. The lock had been primed to delay, but the delay wasn’t enough to stop him.
Valentina leaned close, voice barely audible. “How did you know which door?”
“I didn’t,” he said. “I guessed based on where they’d need to hide the binder entries.”
Her eyes cut to him. “You’ve been studying this place.”
Enzo didn’t answer. He shoved the door open wider and guided Valentina through, then slammed it behind them.
The hallway inside was brighter, but the brightness felt wrong - too white, too harsh. Smoke alarms had been silenced, but the building still tried to warn them through other systems: emergency lighting flickered in frantic pulses.
They ran.
Enzo’s shoes hit the tile and echoed, the sound swallowed by the thicker air ahead. Valentina’s heels clicked faster than his, and he felt the heat rising behind them like a threat with a schedule.
They hit the evidence room annex door. Chain locks hung across it like a tired joke - chains heavy enough to slow anyone without the right tools.
The taller figure was already there. He was kneeling near the lock, fingers moving with practiced efficiency.
Enzo stepped in front of Valentina again, because he couldn’t help it. Because instinct had always been the closest thing he had to prayer.
“Back,” Valentina hissed, trying to push around him.
Enzo shook his head. “You’re not going to get hurt because of my stubbornness.”
Her breath came sharp. “This isn’t stubbornness. This is my life.”
Enzo’s chest tightened. He wanted to tell her that he understood. He wanted to tell her that he’d been terrified since the moment she said Matteo’s name in the shower - terrified that her secrets would drag him into the kind of love that made men ruin themselves.
But he didn’t have time for confession. Confession made people pause.
And paused people died.
The taller figure looked up. His face was partially obscured by smoke, but the expression was clear: impatience. “Move.”
Enzo’s gaze flicked to the tool in the man’s hand. He recognized it from the way it sat in his grip - something that could cut through chain and then seal the ends with heat so it looked like a natural break.
Enzo didn’t have a weapon out. Not yet. He’d come in with the resin cradle and the determination to save what mattered, not to shoot his way through a room.
But sometimes violence was a language the enemy understood.
He reached into his jacket and pulled out a small, heavy keyring he’d taken from his own bag earlier. Not to unlock the chain. To jam it. To buy a few seconds longer than the enemy expected.
Valentina watched his hands, her eyes narrowing. “You planned this.”
“I planned to survive,” he said. “There’s a difference.”
The taller figure stood. “Survival doesn’t matter if the page burns.”
Enzo’s jaw tightened. “Then don’t let it burn.”
He drove the keyring into the chain lock gap and twisted hard. Metal resisted, then shifted with a gritty snap.
The taller figure swore under his breath and lunged for the tool. Enzo met him with his shoulder, shoving him back into the hallway wall. The wall felt cold through his jacket - cement sweating with heat.
Valentina stepped forward, finally moving around Enzo to grab the chain itself. Her hands weren’t gloved. Her bare fingers gripped iron like she’d done it before.
Enzo’s throat went tight at the sight. She should’ve been soft. She should’ve been protected.
Instead she was gripping a fire trap because it was the only way to hold onto answers.
“Pull,” Enzo demanded.
Valentina y