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The gates of Dominion Hall loomed like the whole place was holding its breath.
I didn’t hold mine.
When Elias turned into the drive, I let my window down, allowing the warm night air to spill in over my bare legs. The SUV rolled slow up the winding path, past live oaks strung with moss and shadows thick enough to hide bodies in.
It was beautiful. And menacing.
Like him.
He said nothing. Just gripped the wheel like it might misbehave, jaw set like he was already regretting letting me in.
Too late, Cipher. I’m here now.
Dominion Hall revealed itself in pieces: first the outer buildings, low and sharp-edged with glass walls and stone. Then the central structure—a brutalist masterpiece that looked like a fortress.
The SUV eased to a stop in front of the main entrance. Elias cut the engine.
I didn’t move.
He looked over at me, expectant. “Let’s go.”
I blinked slowly. “You think I’m just going to follow you inside like some obedient little ballerina?”
A muscle twitched in his cheek. “Yes.”
I smiled. Sweet. Lethal. “Then you don’t know me at all.”
I popped my door and stepped out, barefoot on the driveway, the wind catching the hem of my ruined tank top. I hadn’t asked for a new one. I liked the way this one looked on me—torn, stretched, like a trophy from the alley wall.
Elias sighed and came around the front of the car, but I was already moving.
I turned in a slow circle, taking in the property like it belonged to me. “So this is where the Dane brothers plot world domination? Very Architectural Digest meets Black Ops.”
He didn’t answer. Which was fine. I wasn’t looking for answers. I was looking for reactions.
I strolled toward the side path, lit faintly by embedded lights in the concrete. Somewhere beyond the trees, I heard the low burble of water.
“Where are you going?” Elias asked behind me.
“Exploring,” I called over my shoulder. “You dragged me into the villain’s lair. Least you can do is give me a tour.”
He cursed under his breath, but I knew he’d follow.
He always did.
I wandered past a series of outbuildings, catching movement inside one of them. A man stood at a workbench, sleeves rolled up, sanding something with a blade in his hand. Another leaned in the doorway, arms crossed, watching me like he wasn’t sure whether to flirt or frisk me.
“Evening,” I said sweetly.
The one in the doorway—tall, dark, movie-star jawline—gave me a grin. “You must be the ballerina.”
“You must be trouble,” I shot back.
Elias appeared at my side, one hand sliding to the small of my back in a gesture that said she’s mine even if his face didn’t. He didn’t introduce me. Didn’t need to. His body was screaming the message.
The guys nodded, exchanged some silent understanding with Elias, then went back to whatever Dane-level nonsense they’d been doing.
We kept walking.