Page 34 of Inheritance

“Third time’s the charm, huh?”

Gabriel

Islammed through the back door and descended a set of stairs, my brother at my back, both of us moving with guns drawn.

A narrow, dimly lit corridor stretched ahead, the walls lined with dust-covered crates and old exhibits. The faint glow from overhead lights cast long shadows across the floor, illuminating glass cases that reflected only distorted shapes. The air was thick, heavy with the scent of age, polish, decay, and something sharper beneath it all, gunpowder, blood.

Every step echoed in the silence, the sense of isolation pressing in as we moved deeper into the guts of the building. There was an eerie stillness here, the kind that death leaves in a place. The closer we got to the end of the hall, the more my instincts and rage sharpened.

Every corner, every shadow held the weight of something unseen. A slow dread coiled around my spine as we pushed forward. Somewhere in here, answers waited. Somewhere in here, Sophia had been, or still was.

The trail was still warm, but we were behind.

I grit my teeth and pressed forward.

Then I caught movement.

Through the flickering light of a blood-soaked hallway, a figure.

A man stood in the middle of the room, securing a lid to a crate. He was built like a bloated pig stuffed into an ill-fitting suit, sweat glistening down his forehead despite the chill in the air. His breath came in short, heavy bursts.

I crept toward him, silent as death.

Close now. Close enough to feel the heat radiating from him, to smell the cheap cologne and fear clinging to his skin.

He turned his head as he wiped his face and spotted me.

But I was already on him, pistol holstered, knife in hand.

I pressed the blade against his neck. Not enough to kill. Just enough to sting, to let him know it was there.

He squealed, hands shooting up to his neck. I seized the front of his collar and yanked, slamming him down onto the ground face first with a heavy thud, dust stirring in the stale air.

Damien crouched beside him, rolled him onto his back.

"Please wait, I-"

Damien forced the barrel of his gun in his mouth, pressing it to the back of his throat. His lips curled back over yellow teeth, eyes bulging.

“Where is Sophia?” My voice came out low, cold.

A desperate whimper gurgled up from his throat as he continuously gagged. He shook his head violently, side to side, as if he could get Damien’s glock out if he really tried.

“That’s enough. Let him talk.”

Damien pulled it out of his mouth at my command.

“I—I don’t know,” he cried out with a final gag.

I pressed my knife lower, against his groin. He squeezed his eyes shut.

“I don’t know, I don’t know, I don’t know?—”

Each repetition came faster, more frantic, until his words collapsed into raw, choking sobs.

“You have one chance, then I start cutting.”

“Th-they took her,” he stammered. “She’s not here.”