Page 114 of Dark Night of the Soul

“And if we get stuck in there, we suffocate.”

“Unacceptable on both counts.”

He nodded.

“Second option,” he said. “A directional charge. Focused inward. The room doesn’t survive.”

“But the rest of the building does?”

“Long enough for us to leave,” he said. “After that, it’s condemned at best.”

I considered it. The knife was for Vormund. This was for everything he’d built to outlive him.

“That’s how we do it,” I said.

“So, no RPGs, then?”

My gaze flickered up to his. “You sound disappointed.”

“I’m sure you’ll make it up to me.” His mouth curved, something he was doing far too much these days.

“I’m sure I will,” I said with a nod. “When do we start watching?”

“As soon as you’re ready.”

I gave him my best straight face. “This is not your first day with me.”

“Right. Then let’s gear up, get supplies, and go.”

We watched him for two days.

Vormund was predictable in the way men like him always were—precise, arrogant, convinced the world bent around his schedule. He arrived at the Tuzla facility after eight every morning, black sedan, tinted windows, security detail rotating in a tight, practiced loop. He stayed until dusk, then disappeared back into the city like a ghost who believed himself untouchable.

From a borrowed office across the street, we mapped everything. Guard rotations, vehicle movement, shift changes. The facility breathed on a schedule. Doors opened. Doors closed. Cameras swept in repeating arcs. It was comforting in its sameness. Too comforting.

“You know,” I said one afternoon, peering through the binoculars, “for a man obsessed with controlling minds, he’s remarkably boring.”

Kincade didn’t look up from the tablet. “Predictable is good.”

“Predictable is lazy,” I countered. “And lazy men make mistakes.”

Vormund favored his office on the second floor—corner room, northwest side. He spent hours there alone, pouring over screens, delivering orders through secure lines. He trusted the building. Trusted the systems. Trusted that no one would come for him in daylight.

“He’s going to be there tomorrow,” I said, certainty settling in my bones. “Late afternoon.”

Kincade studied the data, then nodded once. “He thinks he’s safe.”

I smiled without humor. “That’s his second mistake.”

By the time the sun set on the second day, the plan was no longer theoretical. Vormund’s routines were locked in. His guards complacent. The server room hummed below his feet, waiting to burn.

I set the binoculars aside and stretched. “All right,” I said. “I’m officially done stalking him.”

Kincade arched a brow.

“Next step,” I added. “I ruin his day.”

“Don’t you mean life?” he asked.