Page 40 of Venom (St. Sebastian’s at Cravenmoor Academy #1)

Venetia

F inally, midnight arrives.

This has been one long-arsed day.

We dress in black, soft-soled shoes that won’t echo on stone floors. I strap my knife to my thigh. Viper checks his weapons. A knife, brass knuckles, and a handgun.

“Ready?” he asks.

I nod. We’re about to cross a line, to move from suspicion to action. Once we do this, there’s no going back.

The corridors are dimly lit, emergency lighting casting shadows that seem to move with lives of their own.

The administrative wing is housed in one of the older buildings, where its Gothic architecture is more pronounced than in the residential areas. Gargoyles leer down from the corners, their stone eyes seeming to track our movement.

Blake and Rafferty are already waiting.

Rafferty produces a small device from his pocket. “Electronic locks,” he explains in a whisper. “Child’s play.”

We get past the first door easily, and we’re in a reception area, all polished wood and official portraits. Beyond it is a corridor lined with offices that stretches into darkness.

“This way,” he mouths, indicating the way to the Vice-Chancellor’s office.

We move deeper into the building, passing doors marked with names I recognise from the staff listings. Professor Hartwell’s office is here, as is Professor Keane’s. The urge to investigate is strong, but we need to focus on the bigger picture.

Rafferty makes quick work of the alarmed lock, and we step cautiously inside.

The VC’s office is massive, dominated by a desk that could double as a small aircraft carrier.

Behind it, floor-to-ceiling bookshelves filled with leather-bound volumes create an impression of scholarly gravitas.

It’s all very impressive, very legitimate.

It’s also all a lie. He has to be in on this. But then, second thoughts cloud my judgement. What if he isn’t? What if this is staff operating under his nose without his knowledge?

Blake moves to the desk while Rafferty moves out to keep watch. Viper positions himself in a shadow by the window, his eyes scanning the courtyard below. I head for the filing cabinets, my picks already in hand.

The first cabinet gives me nothing but standard administrative documents—budgets, correspondence, student records. But the second...

“Blake,” I whisper urgently. “Look at this.”

He’s beside me in an instant. Curricula that don’t match the official academy catalogue. Course descriptions that make my stomach turn. “Advanced Psychological Manipulation,” “Recruitment and Retention of Vulnerable Populations,” “Financial Structures for Trafficking Operations.”

“Jesus Christ,” Blake breathes. “This is a fucking manual for human trafficking.”

But that’s not the worst of it. As I flip through the files, I find student assessments. My name is there, along with Blake’s, Rafferty’s, and dozens of others. But we’re not being graded on academic performance. We’re being evaluated for our potential roles in criminal enterprises.

Venetia Corbyn-Hale: New student but not new to the life. Exceptional leadership qualities. Natural ruthlessness tempered by strategic thinking. Recommended for executive-level placement in Eastern European operations.

My hands shake as I read.

“There’s more,” Blake says, pawing through the cabinet with the efficiency of a man who knows exactly what he’s looking for. “Financial records. This place isn’t just training traffickers—it’s funding them.”

I move to look over his shoulder, my anger crystallising into something colder, more focused.

The numbers on the screen are staggering.

Millions of pounds flowing through accounts on an almost daily basis, all carefully constructed to look innocent.

Shell companies, offshore funds, and legitimate businesses that serve as fronts.

“It’s all connected,” I whisper, the full scope of it overwhelming. “Every trafficking ring I’ve been hunting, every network I’ve been trying to dismantle—they all lead back here.”

I exhale slowly, trying to make sense of this.

No wonder I kept going around in circles.

No wonder trying to pinpoint these rings was proving to be a challenge I wasn’t sure I was up for.

The entire network is one massive Venn Diagram, overlapping and overlapping, and sending the data around in huge looping circles that are impossible to decipher on your own with limited resources.

“Why is all of this here for anyone to see?” I murmur, more to myself.

“They don’t think they have to hide it,” Blake says. “Who’s going to come looking in a prestigious academy? The NCA?”

“True,” I mutter. “I bet they have officers on their payroll.”

“Undoubtedly.”

“This still isn’t proof enough. We have basically nothing,” I say with frustration.

“No, we have something, we just need to dig deeper on the ground,” Blake says.

I nod. He’s right. It was never going to be so easy as to waltz in here and expect it to be laid out in black and white for us.

“Time’s up,” Viper’s voice cuts through the silence from his post by the window. His tone is flat, absolute. It means we have seconds, not minutes.

We slide the files back into the cabinet, the drawer clicking shut with a sound that feels deafeningly loud. We haven’t even scratched the surface, but we have a start. We have a direction.

Rafferty materialises from the corridor, a ghost in the shadows. He gives a single, sharp nod. The route is clear.

We move out, retracing our steps, a silent, black-clad unit moving through the sleeping belly of the beast. Every gust of wind against the leaded glass windows, every spatter of rain sounds like an approaching guard. The air is thick with the risk of discovery.

As soon as we are clear of the building and milling around like students heading towards the bar, I pull out my phone and dial.

Dad answers on the first ring. “Venetia.”

“Why am I here, Dad?”

“Excuse me?” His tone is carefully neutral.

“Don’t give me any bullshit and pretend innocence that you don’t know what I’m talking about. Why am I here?”

Silence.

It stretches so long that I check my phone to make sure the call didn’t disconnect.

Then he speaks three words before he hangs up. “You know why.”

I lock gazes with Viper, and he raises an eyebrow as he moves into the light of the bar spilling out of the frosted windows. I lower my phone and force myself not to throw it.

“What did he say?” Viper asks, knowing I had a reason for that phone call.

“You know why.”

“He set you up,” he growls furiously.

“No,” I say, shaking my head, knowing my dad better than anyone else. He didn’t cage me. He set me free. “He sent me here to burn this operation from the inside out.”

Blake whistles low, a smirk on his face. “Well then, let’s not disappoint ACH.”