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“My sanctum. Where I hold what is most precious to me.”
From the threshold, I see only more of the same crumbling walls. Ahead, the dirt floor gives way to cobblestone. An enormous rectangular block plays centerpiece. A much smaller table sits nearby.
Sofie walks to the block. Her fingers smooth across the surface as she slowly walks the perimeter, seemingly lost in thought. “I have waited an eternity for this day,” she whispers, her voice taking on a pleading tone. “You must not fail.”
It’s almost guaranteed I’m going to fail, but she warned me to paint myself more valuable than less, so I keep that thought to myself. What will happen if I do? What will a woman like Sofie—who cut down men like they were errant branches on a sculpted bush in some twisted quid pro quo bid to win me over—do if I don’t retrieve this stone for her?
I probably don’t need to worry about that, though. These soldiers will kill me before she has a chance.
But even as the weight of my impending doom settles firmly on my shoulders, a familiar excitement thrums in my core. I wish I could say I feel only guilt for my thievery, but there’s also a part of me that thrives on the addictive adrenaline that surges with the challenge. It’s always been the case.
I could even go as far as convincing myself this is for a noble cause—I’m saving a man’s life. How, exactly, I still don’t understand. There are major pieces missing from Sofie’s plan.
I edge forward. “So, if I get this stone for Malachi, you’ll get your husband back?”
“Oui.” She reaches out to gingerly touch something. “He will give him back to me.”
“He’s the one holding him hostage?”
“In a manner.”
I’d expect a woman like Sofie would want to kill the person holding her husband hostage, but the way Sofie talks about Malachi, she seems to adore him.
Curious to see what has Sofie’s attention so riveted, I close the distance.
A sinking feeling tugs at my insides. A man lies in the hollowed-out center of what I now realize is an enormous coffin. He looks to be in his thirties, tall, with wavy hair the color of black coffee and a clean-shaven, square jaw. He wears a navy-blue suit that looks new and custom fit. “Who is that?” I ask, though I fear I already know.
What I hold most precious.
Sofie skates her knuckles across his lips. “This is my dear Elijah.”
“I don’t understand,” I stammer, even as cold realization washes over me. “He’s dead.”
“He is not dead!” Her green eyes are bright with rage as she glares at me, looking ready to lunge. “He is trapped, and you are going to help me free him.”
It all becomes clear then—the urgency, the fragmented plan, this mysterious Malachi.
Sofie has lost her bloody mind.
Swallowing my growing panic, I back away slowly.
Her deep, wicked laughter echoes through the chamber. “You truly deem me mad? You think you see something I cannot?”
“I honestly don’t understand what I’m seeing.” Besides the aftermath of a dangerous woman who is grieving and in denial. How long ago did Elijah die? It couldn’t have been long. Did she leave his body here while she went to retrieve me?
“But you do.” Her eyes narrow. “You’ve known the truth for years, Romeria. You’ve simply refused to accept it.”
She said something similar last night, in the warehouse. “What are you talking about?”
She rounds the coffin and stalks toward me.
I instinctively shift backward toward the doorway. I need to get out of this crypt now. She’s unarmed, and I’m fast. If I start running now—
A thunderous bang sounds behind me, throwing us into darkness save for the single torch.
Sofie lifts a hand, and a flame ignites from the tip of her index finger.
“How did you do that?” I search her palm for a hidden lighter or match.
