Each step echoes in the narrow stairwell, and I can’t shake the feeling that I’m descending into something that was meant to stay buried.
Mischka materializes beside me and runs in little circles around my feet before settling protectively at my side as I reach the bottom of the staircase. I let out a sigh of relief at the sight of her, but immediately a bone-deep chill settles over me, and fear starts to fester in my chest.
The bottom of the stairwell opens into a long, narrow hallway lined with identical metal doors stretching into the darkness. I can’t even begin to imagine what this area was used for or why it’s been blocked off and abandoned. The doors look institutional, clinical, like something from a hospital or prison.
The hair on the back of my neck stands up as an uncomfortable sensation of being watched creeps over my skin. Mish suddenly halts in front of me, her translucent ears perked and alert like she senses the same malevolent presence. I pause to listen intently, but all I can hear is the weak electrical buzzing coming from one of the dying fluorescent lights above.
“Kitty Kat.”
The voice feels like it’s being breathed directly into my ear. I immediately pick up my pace, panic rising in my throat. It’s too close, too intimate, and I know it’s not Cade. Only one other person ever called me that pet name.
“Did you miss me?”
Damien’s apparition materializes directly in front of me, and I stumble backward so fast I almost fall right through his ghostly form. I thought I was done with his games after solving Carmen’s murder.
How is this happening? How is he here?
I didn’t summon him, didn’t even think about him. Hewasn’t even a blip on my mental radar, which means what Bash did is definitely working. The veil between worlds is thinning, and I may have permanently opened the door for any spirit who wants to torment me.
“I already figured out your twisted game, Damien, so what can I help you with?” I sound strong and confident, even though I can hear the slight quiver betraying my fear.
I’m down here in the bowels of this underground facility, deeper in the earth than anyone would think to look. If something happens to me, my body would probably never be found. Well, that’s not entirely true. They have security cameras. They’d find me eventually, right? Right?
Mish lets out a low, threatening growl at Damien’s spirit, and despite everything, I can’t help but smile slightly. Even she knows he’s bad news.
“Oh, Kitty Kat, our game isn’t nearly over. You’re only now starting to uncover all the fun stuff.”
Damien jerks his head toward the door at the far end of the hallway, his expression twisted into that cruel smirk that used to give me the creeps. Then he simply melts away in front of me like smoke dissipating in the wind.
God, I don’t know if he disappeared on purpose or if my enhanced gift is going completely haywire on me. Either way, against every instinct screaming at me to turn around and leave, I hurry toward the door he gestured to.
I pause with my hand on the cold metal handle, afraid of what might be lurking inside. But this is exactly why I came down here, to uncover the Syndicate’s secrets. And despite how much Damien terrifies me, he has every reason to hate the Syndicate after Cade killed him. He despises both the Volkovs and the Syndicate, so as creepy and manipulative as he is, maybe he’s actually pointing me toward something important.
I look down at Mish, who’s sitting at my feet staring up atme with those wide, expectant ghostly eyes. She just blinks slowly, like I’m taking way too long to make a decision.
“Okay, let’s see what’s inside,” I mutter, and she gives a little encouraging yip as I push the heavy door open.
The lights flicker on automatically the moment I step inside, revealing a room that’s shockingly pristine compared to the decay and destruction on the rest of these lower levels. It’s like stepping into a completely different facility—one that’s been maintained and actively used.
At the center of the room is a high-tech chair positioned in front of a sleek control desk. Taking up the entire wall in front of me are approximately sixteen large crystal-clear monitors arranged in a perfect grid. The screens are cycling through different camera angles, and I realize with growing unease that these are live security feeds from throughout the facility.
I move closer and settle into the chair, studying the rotating surveillance footage with fascination and growing dread. The cameras are capturing every angle of the Depths, hallways I recognize, laboratories I’ve been in, even some areas I’ve never seen before.
Why is this sophisticated monitoring station set up down here in the abandoned levels, and why is no one watching it? Maybe they record everything automatically and only review the footage when they need to investigate something specific. But something about this feels deliberately hidden, like someone wanted to keep an eye on the facility without anyone else knowing about it.
“Tick tock.”
Damien’s voice brushes across my skin like ice water, far too close for comfort. I swivel around in the chair, heart jumping, but no one’s there. The empty doorway behind me suddenly feels like a gaping mouth, so I push the heavy doorshut. It gives me a false sense of security, but at least my back doesn’t feel so exposed now.
“If you’re going to keep popping up like this, you could at least say something useful,” I snap at the empty air, assuming Damien can hear me if he’s lurking nearby.
I wait for a response, but it’s eerily silent. The only sounds are the soft leather creak of my chair when I move, the mechanical hum of servers hidden behind the walls, and the faint rhythmic clicking as the cameras automatically switch angles.
I turn my attention back to the monitors, watching as one cycles through a hallway, then another. My breath catches in my throat. That monitor shows the upper floors. The next one reveals the main entrance. Another displays the very staircase I used to descend into this nightmare.
I freeze completely when I spot movement on one of the screens.
A figure walks by quickly, a shadow slipping past the camera’s range. Too blurry to identify clearly, but definitely not blurry enough to dismiss as my imagination. I grip the edge of the metal desk, my fingernails pressing into the cold surface hard enough to leave marks.
