Chapter fifty-five
Roxy
Ihated Nadia’s garage almost as much as I hated hospitals, even though they were polar opposites. One smelled like antiseptic, the other like car grease. Both places smelled like grief now.
The garage was quieter than I imagined it would be tonight.
No music blasting from the speakers in the corner.
No stolen moments between her and Riven.
No sound of tools clanging against metal while she rebuilt engines like she was trying to stitch herself back together through violence and machinery.
Just rain. Rain hammering the roof hard enough to drown out the rest of Stonebridge.
It had been a constant downpour since the accident.
I sat cross-legged on the concrete floor surrounded by maps, laptops, cold coffee, and stacks of stolen Kingsmen records while my eyes burned from staring at screens too long.
Nothing made sense separately. Together? Everything made too much sense. Shipment routes. Tunnel systems. Missing persons. Property transfers. Stonebridge wasn’t broken; it was designed this way. Olympus built a town rotten enough to feed itself back into their hands over and over again.
The garage door creaked open behind me. I automatically grabbed the gun beside the laptop.
“Jesus fucking Christ.” Deck muttered, freezing with both hands halfway raised.
“Warn people before you do that.”
“Don’t sneak up on me then.”
“You’re in a locked garage.”
“And?” He sighed heavily before stepping inside. Everybody looked exhausted lately. Like sleep itself stopped working in this town. Deck leaned against Nadia’s workbench while I turned back toward the screen.
“You find anything useful?”
“Depends.”
“On?”
“How much emotional devastation can you handle right now?”
“Not much.”
“Then no.”
That earned the smallest snort from him. Tiny and gone instantly. The past few weeks killed humor around here. Nadia in a coma. Then kidnapped. The tunnels. Olympus. Every answer just created three worse questions. Deck crossed his arms, watching the maps spread across the floor.
“You still think the tunnels connect outside Stonebridge?”
“They have to.” I pointed toward the old mining routes highlighted on screen.
“These tracks were never just for coal transport. Look how far they branch.”
Old railway lines stretched far beyond Stonebridge into neighboring counties and abandoned industrial zones.
They acted as escape routes. Transport systems. Infrastructure.
Olympus didn’t build itself overnight. The garage door opened again before Deck could answer.
Dion walked inside, soaked from the rain and looking deeply irritated with existence itself.
“No sign of Riven.” Deck immediately straightened.
“What about Shane?”
“Nothing.” Dion shoved wet hair back from his face.
“Either they killed each other, or they’re avoiding us intentionally.” Honestly, both felt possible at this point. Dion moved toward the maps scattered across the floor.
“You still doing conspiracy theory arts and crafts?”
“I’ll shoot you.”
“Fair.” He crouched beside one of the railway maps instead. For a while, silence settled over the garage except for the rain pounding overhead. Then Dion frowned slightly.
“Wait.” I looked up immediately.
“What?” He leaned closer toward the map.
“This route.” His finger traced one of the old mining rail lines running north of Stonebridge toward the cliffs outside town.
“I know this area.” Deck frowned.
“From what?” Dion stayed quiet too long.
“My father used to take drives out there sometimes when I was a kid.”
The garage stilled slightly. Not because Naoya automatically meant Olympus anymore. That was a dangerous assumption. But because Naoya clearly knew something. Dion rubbed a hand across his jaw thoughtfully.
“There’s a waterfall out there.” I blinked.
“What?”
“A huge one.” He pointed toward the cliffs marked on the map.
“North ridge near the abandoned quarry.” Something sharp sparked in my brain instantly. Water, transport, hidden access. My pulse started climbing.
“Keep talking.” Dion frowned harder, trying to remember.
“I only went once or twice. There was an old maintenance road nearby.” Deck leaned closer.
“For the mines?”
“Probably.” Dion shrugged slightly.
“I just remember hearing water really loud.” Then his expression shifted. Subtle, like a memory clicked into place.
“…and train tracks.” The garage went completely silent.
“What kind of train tracks?” I asked carefully.
“I don’t know.” He looked frustrated suddenly.
“Underground maybe? I was a kid.” Deck and I exchanged a look immediately. Holy shit. Dion stood, slowly pacing now, like forcing the memory back.
“There was a tunnel entrance somewhere near the falls.” My stomach twisted.
Because suddenly it fit too well. A hidden transport route concealed by the waterfall noise.
No one would hear trains. No one would hear movement.
Olympus could move people underground for decades without anyone noticing.
I turned toward the laptop fast, pulling up the old mining schematics again.
Most routes were marked abandoned. Most.
But one line kept disappearing from county records every few years before reappearing under different ownership. Almost like somebody was hiding active usage.
“There,” I muttered. Deck stepped closer.
“What?” I pointed toward the northern ridge routes.
“This section has no official closure date.” Dion looked over my shoulder.
“The waterfall’s here.” His finger tapped directly beside the missing rail section.
A chill spread slowly through my chest. Not in fear, but recognition. Like we’d finally brushed against something real. Then Dion suddenly froze, staring at one of the property records on screen.
“What’s that symbol?”
I looked toward the document. Stamped faintly in the corner sat a cracked gladiator helmet. Not a company logo. A designation. Deck frowned.
“Kingsmen?”
“No.” Dion’s voice sharpened slightly.
“I’ve seen that before.” My attention snapped toward him immediately.
“Where?” He hesitated.
“My father’s office.”
Interesting. Not definitive, but interesting.
I zoomed further into the document. Beneath the helmet symbol sat another marking almost too faded to see clearly.
A long black staff split into two sharp prongs at the top.
Something about it made my skin crawl instantly.
Not because I recognized it, but because I didn’t.
And somehow that felt worse. Dion stared at both symbols carefully.
“The helmet mattered more.”
“How do you know?” Deck asked.
“Because my father covered the other one with his hand when I asked about it once.” The garage fell silent again.
Rain crashed harder overhead. I stared at the strange two-pronged staff symbol on screen while something ugly coiled low in my stomach. Not Kingsmen. Not gang-related. Older. The cursor on my laptop suddenly froze. I frowned immediately. Then every file on screen started closing itself rapidly.
“Oh, you have got to be kidding me.” Deck straightened instantly.
“What’s happening?”
“We’re being remotely accessed.”
Shit. I moved fast across the keyboard, trying to sever the connection before the wipe completed. Too late. Folders vanished one after another.
Maps.
Shipment records.
Property files.
Gone. Dion swore under his breath. Then the screen flickered black. One sentence slowly appeared in white lettering:
YOU WERE NEVER MEANT TO FIND THE RIVER.
The garage went dead silent. River? Before I could process it, another line appeared beneath it: STONEbrIDGE EXISTS BECAUSE OF WHAT FLOWS BENEATH IT.
My pulse started hammering. Not because of the threat. Because whoever sent this wanted us confused. Misdirected. The cursor blinked once more. Then finally:
STOP DIGGING.
Every light in the garage went out instantly.