Page 44 of Shadowed Hearts: Frost (Nightfall Syndicate #2)

twenty-nine

Vanessa

The service door clicks open, and my heartbeat hammers against my ribcage. The hallway extends before me, bathed in a harsh fluorescent light that flickers and buzzes overhead.

Industrial pipes wind across the ceiling like exposed arteries, their metal surfaces gleaming dully in the cold illumination. Rain pounds against small rectangular windows, creating a percussion that somehow helps quiet the usual chaos in my head.

Focus, Vanessa. Jenny died for whatever's behind that door.

Asher's voice cuts through my earpiece, sharp as winter. "Vanessa, report status."

I tap the comm unit, muting it. The silence feels like both rebellion and freedom, but also like I'm cutting the safety rope. Ahead, Tatiana's platinum hair catches what little light exists, creating a beacon. Designer heels click against concrete in a steady rhythm. Confident. Purposeful.

Several paces behind her, the masked man moves with fluidly. Even in poor lighting, every step screams training. His suit looks expensive, custom-tailored. This isn't building security. This is something far more dangerous.

Military? Private contractor? Whoever he is, he's not here to check fire extinguishers.

Lightning flashes through the tall windows, flooding the corridor white. I press against the wall, using shadows between fixtures. Thunder crashes a heartbeat later, vibrating through the concrete.

The masked man pauses suddenly, head tilting like he's listening. My breath catches. His hand drifts toward his jacket. Weapon? Definitely weapon.

Did he hear me? Impossible. Thunder should have covered any sound.

Another crash of thunder, and he resumes following Tatiana. Distance calculations run automatically. Eighteen feet to the door, twelve between us, six feet of shadow cover remaining.

Tatiana reaches the door first, fingers dancing over a keypad. 6-3-2-9. The numbers burn into my memory before I can stop them.

Sequential pattern. Either she's careless or confident. Probably confident.

They disappear inside, but the masked man hesitates at the threshold. For one terrifying moment, he turns back toward the corridor. Toward me.

Lightning illuminates everything again, and I swear he's looking directly at my hiding spot. When darkness returns, he's gone.

Okay, Vanessa. Time to be stupidly brave or brilliantly stupid. Haven't decided which yet.

I inch toward the door, heart pounding. Only an idiot would follow directly. There has to be another way. Scanning the corridor, I spot salvation. A maintenance closet is adjacent to the meeting room.

Perfect.

Silent steps carry me inside. The service panel gives up its secrets easily under my multi-tool. Screws fall into my palm, and within seconds, I've exposed the building's nervous system.

"Sorry, not sorry," I whisper, connecting my phone to bypass surveillance. Three taps create a ten-second loop of empty hallway.

Basic stuff. Whoever designed this system wasn't expecting someone like me.

Through a narrow ventilation grate, the meeting room spreads out below; dark wood paneling, plush chairs, massive desk. Old money aesthetic screaming discretion and power.

Tatiana stands by the desk, ice-blue eyes reflecting the recessed lighting. The masked man takes position by the door, silent sentinel.

The door opens again.

My heart stops.

Slate walks in.

No. No, no, no. This can't be right.

My mentor. My friend. The guy who taught me half of what I know about breaking systems. But he's wearing a tailored tuxedo rather than his usual hoodie-and-jeans uniform. Hair styled back instead of wild. Moving with confidence I've never seen.

This is wrong. Everything about this is wrong.

Tatiana's face lights up like he's sunshine incarnate.

"Your security adjustments are performing perfectly, darling." She strokes his arm, red nails trailing along the expensive fabric.

Slate grins with pride. "I told you my encryption protocols were unbeatable."

The world tilts sideways. Those code patterns I found... the familiar authentication style... now Slate standing here with her like they're...

Oh god. How long has this been going on? How much did I miss?

Fingernails dig crescents into my palms. The betrayal hits like a physical blow, crushing the air from my lungs. But underneath the shock, my brain keeps working, keeps analyzing.

Wait. Does he even know what these systems are really for? The way he's talking... it sounds like he thinks this is legitimate work.

The masked man shifts, gaze methodically scanning the room. Professional paranoia.

I fumble for my comm with trembling fingers. "Slate's here. With Tatiana. He designed their security systems."

Remy's voice comes back tight with concern. "Pull back. Now. Rendezvous point three."

Yeah, walking away sounds really good right about now.

I replace the panel carefully, and back toward the corridor, mind still reeling. But as I turn the corner, I collide with a broad chest in a security uniform.

The guard's eyes widen, then narrow. "You're not supposed to be here."

Shit. Shit, shit, shit.

"Looking for the restroom," I stammer, forcing confusion into my smile. "The gala was so crowded and—"

"ID. Now." He reaches for my arm.

I slip sideways, creating distance. "Compromised. East corridor," I whisper into my comm.

"Moving to the extraction point. Two minutes," Remy responds immediately.

Another guard appears, blocking my retreat. Walls close in from both directions.

"Ma'am, this is a restricted area. You're going to need to come with us."

Two exits, both blocked. Windows too high. Ventilation too small. Options dwindling fast.

A metallic sound draws our attention, something rolling from a side passage. Small canister comes to rest between us, releasing fine mist that expands rapidly.

The first guard lunges. "Don't move!"

Instinct makes me hold my breath, but too late. The chemical hits my system immediately. Colors intensify, sounds sharpen to painful clarity. My dress fabric transforms to sandpaper against hypersensitive skin.

At the corridor's end, a figure appears. The masked man reaches for a control panel, and fire alarms shriek to life, drilling into my skull.

"Run." The voice comes digitally distorted before he vanishes.

What the hell? Is he helping me or trying to kill me?

Sprinklers activate, water raining down. Guards shield their eyes momentarily. I push past the first one, racing down the corridor on unsteady legs.

"Target moving... east service hall," one guard reports through radio static.

"V, status update!" Asher's voice sounds like he's shouting through a tunnel.

My feet slip on the wet floor as I round a corner.

"I can't—" Words feel thick, wrong.

Whatever was in that mist is spreading fast. Neural disruptor? Hallucinogen? Focus, Vanessa.

But focus becomes impossible as the chemical spreads. Vision blurs at edges, hands shake uncontrollably. Each step requires conscious effort.

Slate's betrayal. The masked man's warning. None of this makes sense.

I slam into the exit door with my shoulder, the metal bar giving way with rusty protest. Storm hits me immediately. Each droplet feels like tiny needles stabbing me, the cold water amplifying every nerve ending instead of providing relief.

Lightning cracks overhead, illuminating everything in a harsh white. For one split second, I see him again, the masked man on the opposite rooftop. Watching. Completely still, despite the storm.

Our eyes lock through his mask before darkness swallows him.

Who are you? Why did you help me?

"Target compromised," I gasp into my comm, tongue feeling too large. "Chemical... exposure."

Asher's voice transforms instantly. Ice cracking to reveal something raw underneath. Like he almost cares. Like maybe I matter more than the mission.

"Saint, status?" The command cuts through my disorientation.

"Moving to her position now," comes Remy's smooth response.

I try to run down the alley, but my legs refuse to cooperate. One foot catches nothing, and I stumble against a dumpster, metal vibrating through hypersensitive skin.

"Dizzy... Can't focus..."

He was right. Asher warned me about taking risks, and I ignored him.

Buildings seem to breathe around me, stretching and contracting. Each raindrop amplifies, thunder booming inside my skull rather than overhead.

And now I'm proving every fear he had about working with me. Great job, Vanessa.

Knees buckle. Wet pavement rushes toward my face—

Strong arms catch me before impact. Remy appears through the downpour, moving with controlled urgency. Clinical fingers press against my neck, checking pulse.

"We need immediate extraction," he commands. "Suspected chemical agent, respiratory and neurological symptoms."

At least someone knows what they're doing.

Headlights slice through the darkness as an engine growls to a stop. Car door slams with thunderous force. Asher materializes from the storm, and despite everything: the chemicals, the betrayal, the mission going sideways. Seeing him makes something tight in my chest loosen.

Remy transfers me to Asher's arms, and I register the minute changes in his expression. Jaw tightening, eyes hardening with cold fury, but hands impossibly gentle.

He's going to be so pissed when this is over.

Violent tremors rack my body without warning.

"Pulse elevated, pupils dilated, tremors increasing," Remy reports with clinical detachment. "We need to move now."

Asher carries me toward the SUV, gait steady despite my added weight. Rain streams down his face, but he doesn't blink, doesn't look away for even a second.

"Something's wrong," I whisper as vision narrows, edges darkening. "I can't—"

My body seizes violently, muscles betraying me completely. As darkness claims me, one last thought pierces through the chaos.

He was right about everything, and now he'll never trust me again.