[Jake's POV]
Helena Strauss walked like a ghost.
She made no sound on the imported marble, her dark gown absorbing the dim light of the corridor rather than reflecting it. She did not look back to see if I was following. She didn't need to. The gravity of what we had just found—the empty wheelchair, the realization that Sofia had orchestrated her own capture weeks in advance—was a tether pulling me forward into the dark.
Darius fell into step beside me, his massive frame moving with terrifying silence. He didn't ask questions. He just unbuttoned his suit jacket, freeing his arms for whatever violence was waiting at the end of this hallway.
"Nia," I whispered, tapping my earpiece. "Status."
Static hissed in my ear, sharp and biting.
"Nia?"
"—losing you, Jake—" Nia's voice broke through a wall of interference, sounding distant and frantic. "—moving into a dead zone. The walls down there are lined with—"
A sharp crackle of white noise, and then dead silence.
