Page 57 of Marked to Be Mine (Erased #1)

I began to crawl, elbows and knees scraping against cold metal. The darkness was disorienting, the space barely wider than my shoulders. My breath came in shallow pants as I counted my movements—one foot, two, three.

The duct narrowed further at the first bend. I twisted sideways, exhaling completely to make the turn.

“Six more feet to the access panel,” Ronan said.

Something skittered across my hand in the darkness—a spider or some other small creature making its home in the ventilation system. I bit back a startled cry, pressing my lips together. Every sound I made could potentially echo through to whoever might be below.

“You alright?” Ronan’s voice instantly echoed with worry, as if he could sense something was wrong.

“Yeah…yeah.” I breathed out, trying to steady myself. “Everything is fine.”

The metal warmed beneath me as I continued forward, my body heat trapped in the confined space. Sweat beaded along my hairline, trickling down my temple. The darkness seemed to press in from all sides, a physical weight against my skin.

“You should see light from the access panel slats soon,” Ronan’s voice grounded me, a lifeline in the suffocating blackness .

I blinked as faint lines of light appeared ahead, cutting through the darkness. The grated access panel. Relief flooded through me, momentarily washing away the claustrophobic panic.

I inched further along the metal duct, elbows scraping against its sides with each movement. The small LED headlamp strapped to my forehead cast harsh shadows that danced and distorted with every motion. The light barely reached four feet ahead, making the passage seem endless.

“Two more turns,” Ronan’s voice came through my earpiece, unnervingly calm. “Left, then immediate right.”

My chest tightened with each breath. The space couldn’t be more than twenty inches wide—logical brain said there was enough air, but primal brain screamed about being buried alive. I focused on the cool metal beneath my palms, letting the sensation anchor me to reality.

“I’m good,” I whispered, mostly to convince myself. “Keep going.”

The ventilation system hummed around me, vibrating slightly against my body.

The artificial air carried the scent of industrial coolant and accumulated dust. I’d crawled through plenty of uncomfortable places chasing a story—abandoned buildings in Detroit, neglected hospital basements in Chicago—but nothing this tiny.

Nothing that triggered claustrophobia I didn’t even know I had like this.

Breathing was difficult, and so was keeping my heartbeat steady. It felt as if it was trying to tear its way out of my chest, and the only way to deal with it was to breathe properly, which was a different difficulty in itself .

My light caught swirling dust particles, thousands of them dancing in the beam like microscopic snow. I tried not to think about what I was breathing in.

I reached the left turn and maneuvered my body awkwardly to follow the duct’s path. My hips barely cleared the corner, scraping painfully against a metal seam. Twenty more feet to the security hub.

“Status?” Ronan’s voice interrupted the silence.

I opened my mouth to respond when my elbow slipped on something slick—condensation or oil—and for one heart-stopping moment, I slid forward uncontrollably.

My chin slammed into the metal floor, and a scream bubbled up in my throat.

I bit it back, tasting blood where I’d caught my lower lip between my teeth.

“Maeve?” Urgency edged into Ronan’s voice. I stilled for a long moment, just to ensure that no one had heard me. When no sudden noise broke through, I exhaled.

I forced myself to breathe, noting the throbbing pain in my chin, the metallic taste in my mouth. “I’m fine,” I whispered. “Just slipped at a junction. Still moving.”

“Four minutes to next guard rotation.”

I continued forward, more cautious now. My elbows were raw, and my knees ached from the hard surface. Every slight sound—my breathing, the fabric of my clothes against metal—seemed amplified in this confined space.

Finally, I reached the decorative grate. Below me stretched an expensively appointed study—mahogany bookshelves, leather furnishings, indigenous artifacts displayed in glass cases. The room screamed old money, trying to look cultured .

And directly beneath me, slouched in an ergonomic chair, sat a security guard.

There wasn’t supposed to be one. Fuck. But I couldn’t back out now, it would be a disaster one way or another.

He was young, maybe mid-twenties, with a military haircut and bored expression.

His uniform was crisp, sidearm holstered at his hip.

He scrolled through his phone with his left hand, clearly violating protocol.

I retrieved the electronic device from my pocket—a small black rectangle with a single button. Placing it against the grate’s electronic lock as instructed, I pressed the button and waited.

Nothing happened.

My heart rate spiked as I pressed it again, harder this time.

“It’s not working,” I breathed into my comms.

“Hold it steady for seven seconds,” Ronan instructed. “Don’t move.”

I forced my trembling hand still, counting silently. One. Two. Three. Four.

On five, a tiny green light flickered on the device. The grate’s lock disengaged with a soft click that sounded deafening to my hyperaware senses.

I froze, eyes fixed on the guard below. He didn’t react. Still absorbed in his phone.

Carefully, I lifted the grate, setting it aside within the duct. The opening revealed a ten-foot drop to the hardwood floor below.

I slipped through the opening first until I was hanging by my hands from the duct’s edge. My arms strained with the effort of supporting my weight. The drop was still substantial—seven feet, maybe. I took a deep breath and let go.

I landed harder than intended, my right ankle twisting slightly. The thud of my impact caused the guard to jerk upright, eyes widening as he registered my presence. His hand moved immediately toward his sidearm.

Pure instinct drove me forward. I grabbed the nearest heavy object—a polished stone artifact shaped like a jaguar—and swung it in a wild arc. It connected with the side of his head with a sickening crack. He crumpled, sliding from his chair to the floor.

I stood over him, chest heaving, the stone jaguar still clutched in my white-knuckled grip. Blood trickled from a cut on his temple, but his chest rose and fell steadily. Thank God—unconscious, not dead.

“Maeve? Everything alright?” Ronan’s voice came through.

I stared at the guard who was still spread out on the floor, with blood pooling around his head.

My hands trembled so badly that I nearly dropped the statue.

I’d never hit anyone like this before. This man had a family, a life, and I just smashed an artifact into his skull.

The violence of my own actions terrified me.

What kind of person was I becoming in this desperate search?

Xavier, what would you think of your little sister now?

Journalists were supposed to uncover the truth, not crack skulls. But normal journalists didn’t infiltrate shadowy organizations to find their missing brothers.

“Maeve?” Ronan repeated, more worried now .

I drew in a shaky breath, trying to regain my focus. Telling him I had walked into trouble would only cause him to worry more. Or worse, demand that I back out. This issue was dealt with. There was no point in bringing it up.

“I’m fine.”

I dragged the guard into a corner, partially hidden from view, then turned to the wall behind his workspace, where an ornate display of ancient masks concealed the control panel I came for.

“I’m in position,” Ronan’s voice steadied my nerves as I approached the wall of masks, each one watching me with hollow, judgmental eyes. “Are you in?”

I slid my fingers under the edge of the largest mask—a fearsome warrior with obsidian eyes—and pulled.

The entire panel rotated smoothly on hidden hinges, revealing a state-of-the-art security hub.

Blue light from a dozen monitors bathed my face as I slipped inside, the panel silently closing behind me.

“I’m in,” I confirmed, surveying the equipment. Multiple screens displayed different areas of the estate—manicured gardens, an infinity pool overlooking the city lights, and ornate hallways with priceless art.

My heart sank as I scanned the control panel. Dozens of unmarked switches, multiple keyboards, and at least three different security systems running simultaneously.

“There’s… a lot here,” I muttered, panic rising.

“Breathe,” Ronan’s voice steadied me. “Look for the main interface. Probably a touchscreen with a system map. ”

I forced myself to slow down, my journalist’s instincts kicking in. This was just another puzzle to solve, another system to understand. I’d decoded government redactions and corporate doublespeak—surely I could figure out a security system.

My eyes caught a sleek touchpad nestled between two keyboards. I tapped it, and a holographic display materialized, showing a 3D layout of the entire estate.

“Got it,” I said, my fingers already navigating through security zones. “The estate is divided into quadrants. Perimeter sensors are embedded in the landscaping lights.”

My watch vibrated softly: T-minus two minutes until planned breach.

As I worked, I noted details with a journalist’s eye—the unusual laboratory equipment visible in one wing, research that definitely wasn’t cosmetic—evidence for later.

“Disabling east section perimeter sensors,” I reported, fingers flying across the touchscreen. Little green dots turned red as systems went offline. “East section clear. Proceeding to the camera system.”

The security system required override codes that Specter had provided. I tracked guard movement throughout the property, relieved that they seemed unaware of the intrusion.

“Three guards in the east wing near the infinity pool,” I reported. “Two are approaching the main entrance.”