Zane stepped closer, his expression softening slightly when his eyes met mine. "We could come back with more backup. Rook and Fenric should be here."
"Bureau business," I reminded him. "Besides, it's probably nothing. Just some teenagers playing with candles and trying to summon pizza demons or whatever."
"Pizza demons are actually quite benevolent," Milo chimed in helpfully. "Unless you order pineapple. Then they get cranky."
I liked pineapple on my pizza.
Zane rolled his eyes, but I caught the hint of a smile tugging at his lips. "Fine. But we stay together, we stay alert, and at the first sign of actual cultist activity, we call for backup."
"Yes, sir," I gave him a mock salute. "Now, who wants to go first into the creepy death factory?"
"Ladies first?" Zane's smile turned mischievous.
"Age before beauty," I countered.
"In that case," Zane's eyes gleamed with sudden challenge, "how about a friendly wager? First one to chicken out buys the next round of magically-inverted coffee."
"What's magically-inverted coffee?" I was intrigued despite myself.
"Coffee that gets colder the longer you hold it," Milo explained. "And the caffeine makes you sleepy instead of alert. It's amazing for insomnia."
"You're on," I agreed, watching as Zane's playful side emerged fully now.
Zane winked at Milo. "Care to place your bet, Necromancer?"
"On Winter," Milo grinned without hesitation. "She faced down a Void Eater. You still sleep with a nightlight because of that one ghost in your bathroom."
"It's not a nightlight," Zane protested. "It's a tactical illumination device."
"It's shaped like a rubber duck," Milo stage-whispered to me.
"I will leave both of you to the cultists," Zane threatened, but there was no heat in his words. He moved toward the entrance, pausing to look back at us with a raised eyebrow. "Coming?"
Inside, the factory was a skeleton of its former self. Massive looms stood in rusted rows, while tattered scraps of fabric hung from the ceiling, swaying in the draft. Our footsteps echoed on the concrete floor, unnaturally loud in the stillness.
"The report mentioned lower tunnels," Zane consulted his phone. "There should be access through the old boiler room."
"Is no one going to mention it's weird that this place has tunnels?" I glanced at both of them and they just shrugged.
Right.
We made our way deeper into the building, Milo's tiny skeletons scurrying ahead as scouts. Horrace remained alert on my shoulders, his twelve eyes constantly scanning our surroundings. I felt his tension through our connection, a wariness that matched my own growing unease.
"Anyone else getting major 'don't go in the basement' vibes?" I whispered as we descended a narrow staircase.
"All the best stuff happens in basements," Milo was cheerful. "That's where they keep the bodies!"
"Not helping, Milo," Zane grumbled.
The boiler room was a cavernous space dominated by ancient machinery. The walls were slick with condensation, and the air smelled of rust and salt from the nearby ocean. At the far end, partially hidden behind a defunct generator, was a dark opening in the floor.
"That would be our creepy tunnel entrance," I pointed.
Zane approached it cautiously, crouching to examine the edges. "These aren't original to the building," he observed, fingers tracing what looked like chisel marks. "Someone's been digging."
"Recently?" I joined him.
"Within the last few months," he nodded. "And look at this."
