CHAPTER 3

Hours passed but I could not sleep.

His fingertips were like ghost fire on my skin, but beneath the churning tension there was more—questions. This wall housed so many secrets. That woman at the ritual had trusted her handler absolutely. What would cause someone to give over so completely?

I had no clue. But I was determined to find out.

Slipping out of bed, I wrapped a cashmere shawl around my shoulders and padded barefoot down the hall. The house was quiet, but I could feel it waiting. Far in its bones, this house was alive.

I found the study two doors down. Unlocked.

There were floor-to-ceiling books along the walls inside. A glass tray had a half-full decanter of amber whiskey. The fireplace was cold but there was still the scent of burnt cedar in the air. 

I ran my fingers along a row of spines, titles in Latin, philosophy, eroticism, war. One book had a hidden cutout in the middle. A flash drive inside. I removed it.

Behind the desk, I saw a framed photo.

Two men.

One was Sloan—leaner, younger, but identifiable in presence. The other man had sharp cheekbones and gray at his temples. His smile didn't reach his eyes.

The brass plaque underneath read: Sloan Vale & Victor Maddon – Order Summit, 2015

My breath caught. Victor Maddon.

The name spun like a knife in my head. Where had I heard it before?

I couldn't remember yet but my gut snarled. Something about this man wasn't just familiar… It was dangerous.  I pushed the photo back into position and turned to leave, heart pounding. I didn't hear the door swing open behind me.

"Looking for something?"

I froze.

Sloan stood in the doorway, open shirt, dark eyes glinting like obsidian in moonlight. He was catching me in the wrong place for the second time in a row. "I couldn't sleep," I said quickly in my defence. "I was going to look for something to read."

"Did you find any?" His eyes dropped to my hand, where I still held the shawl, trying to hide the outline of the flash drive under its folds.

"No," I lied. Nothing useful.

He didn't breathe. Didn't flicker. The tension between us tightened, like a wire straining to break.

I braced myself for him to rant, to accuse, or maybe inflict another punishment but instead he walked past me, deliberately, filled a glass, and sat behind the desk with deliberate serenity.

"If you're seeking answers, Ivy," he said, drinking slowly, "don't pry. Just ask."

I raised an eyebrow. "You would have answered?"

He sneered, lips curling. "No. But I might have admired the courage."

I turned to leave, when he spoke a second time.

"Victor Maddon," he said. "He was my second once. Now… not so much."

"Why not?"

"He asked the wrong questions. Trusted the wrong people."

"And now?"

Sloan's face grew dark, shadows shifting across his features as the flames at his back spat low. "He's been banished."

"From the Order?"

"From me."

I stood immobilized in the doorway, the wood frame scraping my fingertips. "Do you think he's a threat?"

Sloan looked up at me, the firelight flickering in his eyes like embers waiting for a burst.

"I think Victor doesn't care what he burns. as long as he's burning something."

He warned me to stop putting my hands in books I had no business touching and bid me good night but something within me had already ignited a memory. I knew that name after all, he was somewhere in my sister's belongings. Something in Willa's last sketchbook, maybe, or that phone message she'd left weeks earlier. I can't remember which one, but I knew one thing for certain, Victor Maddon was a lead. A key, maybe. Maybe he even had a hand in the disappearance of my sister.

And I would follow that thread until it strangled me.

Or him. One of us. 

………..

I shut the study door quietly behind me, my heart was still racing. Back in the dark hallway once more, the shadows felt thicker. Watching. Listening. This house did not sleep and now neither did I. The live coal-hot flash drive in my hand seared, but it was not what I needed tonight. Not yet.

In my room, I didn't bother to switch on the light. The fire had died down to a golden ember, warming the room in a gentle amber. I pushed the flash drive behind a floorboard near the window and sat on the edge of the bed, still trembling.

I smacked my palms into my face and sighed grateful he hadn't seen the flash in my hand. 

And then I picked up my handbag. The leather was soft, homey, comforting in a way nothing else here was. I unzipped it and withdrew Willa's journal, the one thing I carried everywhere I went. 

It smelled like her—ink and rose lotion and that heavy, wild orange oil she used to place behind her ears. I opened it. Her handwriting filled the pages, giant loops and heavy dashes, sometimes tight, sometimes sprawling, depending on her temperament. I had a nostalgic feeling as I flipped through random doodles and half-generals, then halted.

There it was.

A name: Victor Maddon. In red ink and underlined twice. Clipped to the page with a paperclip was a photograph.

I stood there, my ears ringing with blood.

The same man. The same high cheekbones. The same cold smile. The same man in Sloan's photograph. But only this time… Willa had written something below it.

"V—investor? Partner? Don't know if I think he's telling the truth. Don't want to, but can't go. Something is cooking. Told me he needed me. That it was time. Time for what?"

My heart tightened.

    

She had dealings with him and she never told me. She traded something with him. Trusted him—reluctantly. And now she was gone.

I turned to the next page, hands trembling. Entries continued. Some cryptic. Some brutal. One, dated only three weeks before her vanishing, read:

"He says to me that submission has strength. That I am unique. That the people requires someone like me. But I do not believe him. I believe he means something different. I am frightened. But also. curious."

The handwriting changed then, it looked scrawled and rushed.

"This might be genuine, or not. Either way, I have to be careful. V says there are ears in the walls. And eyes too. I have to try and figure out what all of this means before it is too late. I wish I Can just back out but if this is beneficial i will lose the money and can't help Ivy with extra cash"

I scowled at the page, thudding heartbeat rattling my ribs. Victor Maddon was no casual mention. He was heavily entrenched in whatever Willa became entangled with. And Sloan. if he even knew it, he'd once trusted Victor to make him his second. That left him my best bet for unraveling this.

If Victor was the web, Sloan could be my  thread. And I needed to hold on tightly.

I closed the journal carefully. Sleep did not come, but I reclined against the bed nonetheless, my thoughts racing, the weight of my sister's words bearing down on me like cold stone.

Whatever Sloan required of me, obedience, submission, silence, I would give. Because if it was what it took to stay near, to build his trust, to learn the truth of what had become of Willa…

Then I'd walk into the darkness willingly.

For her. And maybe, if I did this right, the darkness would finally disappear.