Novel & Cerita Steins Gate Trap

"Lea, we're at your house. You need to open the gate, alright?" "What? I don't understand you, Iris. I'm just cold." My patience is slowly picking down. My jaw tightened as I tried to open their gate. But then, I realized that the gate has a smart lock. It needed a fingerprint and a pin to access. Oh fuck. What will happen to us now that she's drunk? "Lea, what's the pin of your gate?" "Oh, the pin?" "Yes." "It's five, one, one, one, two, eight."

It wasn’t actually hard to find it, since all the houses in DaggerStone were quite small and boring, the only one that stood out was actually at the outskirts and its huge roof could be seen from far away. We finally made it there, stopping in front of two huge iron gates, each decorated with a huge S in the middle. I stopped the engine, intending to get out and look for someone around there, but got stopped in my tracks by the sudden movement of the gates, noticing they started to slowly open for us so I sat in my place, waiting to have enough space to pass through the gates, then started the engine and moved forward.

I would find a gap, a flaw, a crack. And when I got out… He’d regret everything. The doorknob was cold as ice against my fingers. I pushed hard. The gate didn’t even budge. I let out a low, almost animal grunt. The contrast was absurd: the room had primitive stone walls, smelled of mildew, yet the door was reinforced steel? Welded. Solid. Far too modern. “What the hell is this?” I murmured, resting my forehead against the metal. He did this on purpose. I could picture Vardam choosing this gate, flipping through sinister catalogs or commissioning some cursed blacksmith. He might even have had it made specifically for me.

It made everything into a maybe. He moved along the vendor row, ignoring the closed shutters, the handwritten signs promising oysters and chowder tomorrow. At the third stall, he stopped. A single wet footprint, half-lifted, pointed toward a service gate. Barely there. The kind of thing that doesn’t mean anything unless you want it to. He wanted it to. He followed the not-trail to the gate and found a lock that looked as if it had changed its mind about staying. A hairline scratch along the hasp. A tiny streak of oil where a blade had kissed metal. Gideon’s quiet gift, used well.

Her hands flew: “I was tracking a scent toward the back gate to meet a contact. But halfway through the brush, my instinct screamed a warning. I turned back before reaching the threshold.” Ewing’s eyes sharpened; he knew she had intended to meet the Montgomery exile, but he kept that secret locked behind his teeth. “Scan the North Gate trail!” he commanded. The technicians worked with frantic speed, but the result was a hollow silence. The scouting mirrors for that specific path had been blinded—blackened by a deliberate surge of power. Ewing’s jaw tightened. The trap was perfect. Every path Avery claimed to have taken was a dead zone. Avery’s face turned the color of bone as the weight of t

"Magnus! It's a trap! The assault isn't from the rogue territories—it's the Nielsen pack! Tronte has breached the main gate, and he has brought a battalion of silver-armed warriors to claim Stevens back!" THE END

The number from where the kidnapping happened was prepaid, sure, but I remember from how I used to live that these numbers are from a specific gas station me and Bieve would go to. My mind flashes back to Bieve nervously texting on her phone at my house two weeks ago. She is the one that has been trying to get me to not physically go and see Trey for the last two weeks. As I look through the file, it points more and more towards Bieve and my old boss from the lingerie store I used to work at. But the question I have is why did Bieve do this, and where would they be keeping him? "You said earlier that you know where he is?" "Yes, he is at a warehouse outside of the city." "How do you know tha

A steel door. Not wood. Not decorative. Steel, matte and thick, set into the stone like someone had forced modern strength into ancient walls. It didn’t belong. The stone around it looked worn and aged. The door looked new enough to still remember the factory where it had been made. A keypad sat to the right, black and sleek. A small camera above it blinked once. Gabriel stared at the door without moving. I stepped closer, unable to help myself. The closer I got, the colder the air felt. As if the door weren't just blocking a room, it was holding something back.

The sound of water drops falling and pebbles raining down the walls reach me as I grow closer to another room. Eventually, we stop in front of a steel door. Rowan’s expression is guarded as he searches for any possible unpleasant surprises. My heart pounds wildly in my chest, and my body tenses, preparing to fight. As soon as we open the door, my father’s voice reaches us. Looking up, we find ourselves in some kind of ring covered with steel bars. “Shit, it’s a trap!” Rowan calls out.

Jim said. Sophie aligned the Key's triangular shaft with the hole and inserted it, sliding it in until the entire shaft had disappeared. This key apparently required no turning. Instantly, the gate began to swing open. Sophie took her foot off the brake and coated down to a second gate and podium. Behind her, the first gate closed, trapping them like a ship in a lock. Jim disliked the constricted sensation. Let's hope this second gate works too. This second podium bore a familiar direction. INSERT KEY.