“Sealed sub-bunker beneath the Old Mint,” Alexandre said. “Decommissioned. Never public. Only five people knew it existed.” He paused. “Your Queen included.”
Noah was already overlaying modern utilities. Heat signatures. Power consumption.
A red bloom appeared. Small. Isolated. In a dead zone by the river.
“There.” Noah's finger tapped the screen. “No city feed. Private generators. Someone woke it up an hour ago.”
An hour ago. When Marcel would've arrived with Sebastian.
“That's it,” I said. Certainty settling into my bones. “That's where he took him.”
“You're sure?” Dom asked.
“Da.” I straightened. Felt purpose override pain. “Marcel's not stupid. He wouldn't hide somewhere obvious. But he's arrogant. Thinks using the Queen's own emergency route is poetic.”
“Then we go,” Luka said. Already moving. “Now.”
“Wait.” The King's voice stopped us. “The inner door. It requires the Queen's signet ring to open.”
He reached into his pocket. Pulled out something small. Gold. Set with an emerald that caught light like hope.
Sebastian's ring. The one Alexandre had given him. The one his mother had worn.
The King pressed it into my blood-stained palm. “This opens the inner door. Bring my son home.”
I closed my fist around it. Felt metal bite into skin.
“Yes, Your Majesty.”
“And Viktor?” Alexandre's eyes held mine. “When you find Marcel. When it's done. Don't hesitate. Don't show mercy.” His voice dropped. Became something harder than steel. “Make him pay for every moment of fear. Every second of pain. Every?—”
“I will.” The promise came out like a vow. Like an oath written in blood. “I will make him pay for all of it.”
The King nodded once. Satisfied.
We moved. Fast. Purposeful. Back through corridors. Into vehicles. Toward the Mail Rail entrance hidden beneath the city.
Toward Sebastian.
Toward finishing this.
I checked my weapons. Reloaded. Made sure everything was ready.
Because this ended tonight. One way or another.
29
CROWN AND THE CHAINS
SEBASTIAN
Pain woke me. Sharp. Immediate. Everywhere.
Not the clean pain of a fresh wound. This was older. Deeper. The kind that had been building while I was unconscious. While time passed and damage settled into bone and muscle and the places where hope used to live.
My arms screamed first. Wrists bound above my head. Chains biting through skin that had given up protesting hours ago. Weight pulling at shoulders until they felt dislocated. Until every breath dragged against muscles that had surrendered to gravity and iron.
Or minutes. Time felt broken. Irrelevant.
