Darcy snapped the ledger shut. “Then that is where we go.”
The dry docks loomedahead, skeletal ship frames casting long shadows in the moonlight. The scent of salt and tar was thick in the air, mingling with the distant sound of waves crashing against the harbor wall.
Darcy’s grip on the pistol in his coat pocket tightened as they moved cautiously between the abandoned structures. “That one,” Gardiner said, pointing to one door in particular. “It could be others, perhaps, but this is the one I own.”
“We need to be careful,” Richard murmured. “If they have her here, they will not give her up without a fight.”
Gardiner’s jaw was set. “Then we will not ask nicely.”
Darcy’s pulse thundered in his ears. Elizabeth was somewhere in this labyrinth of wooden beams and salt-stained walls. Every moment wasted was a moment she was in danger.
They reached a narrow alley between two storage buildings. A door stood ajar, flickering candlelight visible from within. Darcy exchanged a look with Richard.
This was it.
Richard drew his pistol, nodding. “On your signal.”
Darcy pushed the door open.
The room inside was mostly empty, save for crates, ropes, and scattered tools. And in the center of the room, bound to a chair, was a man. He was unconscious, his head lolling forward, a trickle of blood running from his temple.
Gardiner cursed. “That is Watson, one of my clerks.”
Richard knelt beside him, checking his pulse. “Alive, but barely.”
A chill swept through Darcy’s veins.Elizabeth was not here.
The room was abandoned—emptied in haste, but not without intention. They had left someone behind. A message. A warning.
His gaze swept over the bare floor, the overturned chair, the floor…
Darcy stilled. A dark stain marred the worn wooden planks near the far wall. Small, but unmistakable.Blood.
His throat tightened as he stepped closer. The smear was uneven, dragged—as though someone had been moved after falling. His breath came sharper, his mind racing.
“Is that—?” The words barely left his throat before Richard was beside him.
“Could be anything,” Richard said quickly. “Could be the clerk’s blood.”
Darcy’s head snapped up, his pulse hammering. “He had a split lip. A bare trickle of blood, nothing like this.”
Richard exhaled sharply. “Come, Darcy do not let your mind run wild. We do not know whose it is.”
Darcy’s fingers flexed at his sides. That was not the reassurance his cousin thought it was. Because if it was not the clerk’s, then it meant—
His stomach turned.
Elizabeth had been here. And she had been hurt.
The young dockworker hesitated,shifting from foot to foot as he avoided Darcy’s piercing gaze. The night was thick with the scent of brine and damp wood, the fog rolling in from the river, obscuring the distant glow of the city.
“I shall not ask again. Tell me what you saw!” Darcy snapped.
The man swallowed. “It was late, sir. I was finishing a job down by the West Dock. Saw a woman—struggling, she was. Not screaming, exactly, but fighting against the men who had her.”
Darcy’s stomach twisted, his fingers curling into fists at his sides. “And you did nothing.”
The dockworker’s jaw tightened. “I thought—” He exhaled sharply, eyes darting toward Richard, then back to Darcy. “Thought it was a debtor’s matter.Happens often enough. A woman gets herself in trouble, money owed to the wrong men… but now, with the Runners out looking, I thought maybe I should speak up.”
