Chapter 25
Nox
We set off later that night.
We slipped out of the safehouse in work coats and gloves that smelled like grease and metal filings. We had tool bags slung over our shoulders, our caps pulled low, and our faces smudged just enough to blend in with the other workers heading into their night shifts.
No one spoke until we reached the service lane behind the pressure hall.
Even then, it wasn’t fear that kept us quiet. It was discipline.
I took point. I’d followed Ashcroft’s escort down here four times now from a safe distance, watching what doors opened for him, what men stepped aside, what locks were treated like formalities rather than barriers for a man like him.
Tonight, the corridor felt different.
Condensation beaded on the pipes overhead. Every few seconds, a pressure valve exhaled steam with a soft hiss, and the sound echoed down the tunnels in a way that could hide footsteps or give them away depending on timing.
I kept my pace unremarkable.
That was the trick. People who hurry look guilty. People who creep along look dangerous. You walk like you’re heading to work, mildly annoyed and have a job to finish before someone yells at you that you’re late.
Griff walked behind me. Elias kept close to Tamsin, and she stayed in the center of the group, not because she needed protection but because she wanted to keep eyes on everything while Bishop and Eamon kept up the rear.
We reached the maintenance hatch by the pressure hall in no time. It was just an iron plate set into the wall with a latch worn smooth by countless hands. I crouched, slid my fingers into the seam, and lifted. The hatch gave with a low groan.
Warm air rushed out.
“We go in single file,” I murmured.
We slipped through and pulled the hatch down behind us as silently as possible.
The maintenance corridor beyond was narrow, lined with pipes wrapped in cloth. Steam moved through them like blood through a vein. The floor sloped slightly downward, and water ran in a thin channel along one side, catching lantern light in dull flashes.
We moved quickly and quietly.
The corridor opened onto a junction where three paths met. I paused, listening.
Then I heard a faint scrape ahead. A muted cough.
“Wait,” I mouthed, holding up a hand.
Tamsin, Griff, and Elias froze instantly. Bishop’s hand hovered near his coat where his pistol waited. Eamon stayed perfectly still, looking to me.
Footsteps approached in our direction.
A maintenance worker rounded the corner, a flashlight in one hand, a wrench in the other. He didn’t look up at first. He just kept walking, muttering to himself.
“Damn valves… always the fucking valves…”
He glanced up when he was nearly on top of us and stopped short, not exactly alarmed, but surprised. His gaze flicked over our coats, our tool bags, and settled on me like I was the most senior annoyance in his path.
“What’re you lot doing down here?” he asked. “This run’s closed.”
I lifted my chin and put mild irritation in my voice. “Pressure fluctuation reported on the south line. We’re here to check the secondary valve.”
He frowned. “South line’s not—”
Tamsin stepped forward half a pace, her body language non-threatening. “We’re just doing what the boss tells us. You know how it is.”
The man hesitated, then exhaled.
“Fine,” he muttered, stepping aside. “Just don’t make it worse.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it,” I said.
He walked past us, boots splashing lightly through the thin runoff. He didn’t look back.
When his flashlight glow faded, Griff leaned close and murmured, “That was too easy.”
“Don’t jinx it,” I whispered back.
We moved down another corridor, then through a narrow service stair that climbed and then dropped, designed more for pipes than people. The air grew warmer as we approached the lab sector. The steam here was steadier, and quite a bit warmer.
Then we hit the first locked gate.
It was steel with a simple mechanical latch. No code panel. No electronics. Just a heavy lock and a key you either had or didn’t.
I crouched, pulled a thin pick from my sleeve, and worked by feel. The lock resisted at first. It had newer tumblers and tighter tolerances, but then it gave way with a soft click.
Griff’s breath left him in a quiet exhale. “That’s a useful skill.”
“Try not to sound too impressed,” I muttered.
He chuckled under his breath.
We slipped through and re-latched the gate behind us, leaving it looking untouched.
A minute later, we ran into our first real problem.
A soldier.
His uniform was dark and clean, and the baton at his hip looked more ceremonial than practical. He stood with his arms folded at the corner near a doorway marked Lab Access—Authorized Personnel.
He saw us right away.
His gaze narrowed. “You’re not supposed to be here.”
I stepped forward like I belonged there and raised my tool bag slightly, as if to show paperwork tucked inside.
I continued to close the distance while gesturing to my bag.
The soldier looked down and that moment of misdirection was all I needed.
In one smooth movement I drove my forearm hard across his throat, pinning him back against the wall.
His eyes widened, hands flying up, but Griff was there too, a shadow at my shoulder.
The soldier’s breath wheezed.
In a flurry of motion, I grabbed the soldier’s head, one hand on either side, and gave it a quick, brutal twist.
His body went slack.
We moved immediately.
Griff and I dragged the body into a supply alcove behind a pile of stacked crates. Elias took his uniform just in case and pulled a tarp down over him he’d found tossed to the side.
Bishop glanced down the corridor. “We’re behind schedule now.”
“Barely,” Tamsin said. “Move. Now.”
We pushed deeper into the lab sector. Then we heard the footsteps. Not just one pair, but many.
I pressed into an alcove between two pipe housings and the rest followed. We held still as the corridor filled with movement.
Ashcroft came first.
He moved like he owned the very ground he walked on. He wore a long coat and a pair of gloves. His silver hair was neat, even down here. His face was calm, eyes alert.
Behind him walked three men in expensive coats, their boots too clean for these tiles. I recognized them as politicians and council members. They stopped outside a wide door with frosted glass panels. I could see silhouettes inside, likely more staff, and a long table surrounded by chairs.
It was a conference room.
Ashcroft’s escort opened the door. He and the rest of the group filed in.
As soon as the door shut, Tamsin’s hand closed around my sleeve just enough to keep me from moving. She leaned close, her voice barely audible.
“Hold,” she said.
I nodded once.
It took monumental effort to just stand there and let him walk inside that room. To let him breathe. To let him keep believing he was untouchable.
But she was right.
This wasn’t the time.
At least, not yet.