Chapter 868
The hologram shifted, highlighting an access point: an underwater tunnel entrance in the Old Harbor.
“We have to go there,” Skye said, gathering the stones. “We have to stop him.”
The door to the panic room hissed open. Alistair stood in the frame, covered in soot and blood, his expression hard and focused.
“We’re leaving,” he said. “The house is compromised.”
“We know where the Mastermind is,” Skye said. “The Old Harbor. The Geothermal Plant.”
Alistair looked at her for a single, steady beat. “Then let’s go for a swim.”
They escaped the estate through the servants’ tunnels, emerging in the woods a mile away. They stole a van from a nearby farmhouse — an ironic echo of Beatrice’s earlier desperation.
The drive to the Old Harbor was tense. The city lights were flickering. The ground trembled beneath the wheels.
𝖱e𝗮𝖽 𝘰𝘯 𝗮𝗻у 𝗱𝘦𝘷𝗂𝖼𝘦 о𝗻 𝘨а𝗅𝗻o𝘃𝖾𝘭𝗌.𝖼𝘰𝗆
“He’s starting the sequence,” Parker said, monitoring seismic data on a stolen laptop. “Micro-tremors. He’s powering up the core.”
“How much time?” Skye asked.
“An hour. Maybe less.”
They reached the harbor. It was abandoned, the docks rotting, rain lashing against the windshield as they pulled to a stop.
“There,” Skye said, pointing to a warehouse at the end of Pier 4. “That’s the access point.”
They geared up in silence. Alistair checked Skye’s vest. “Stay behind me.”
“Beside you,” she corrected.
They breached the warehouse. Inside, it was empty save for a massive freight elevator set into the center of the floor. Felix hit the button without a word.
The elevator descended. Down, down, past the waterline. The air grew cold and damp, pressing against their ears.
When the doors opened, they were not in a basement. They were in a high-tech facility. Glass walls looked out into the murky darkness of the bay, and in the distance, massive turbines churned with a deep, resonant hum.
Standing in the center of the control room, his back to them, was a man. He watched the turbines through the glass as though admiring a painting. He wore a suit that cost more than the warehouse above.
“Welcome.” The voice was smooth and cultured — and terrifyingly familiar.
He turned around.
Skye stopped breathing.
It wasn’t a stranger. It wasn’t some faceless villain in the shadows. It was a man she had seen at charity galas. A man who sat on the board of the hospital.
“Senator Thorne,” Alistair whispered. “Uncle Dominic.”
Dominic Thorne smiled — the cold, practiced smile of a lifelong politician. “Hello, Alistair. You look terrible.”
“We thought you retired,” Alistair said, his gun wavering for the first time. “You disappeared from the public eye months ago. We thought you were dying of cancer.”
“A convenient cover,” Dominic said, spreading his hands. “Politics is so limiting. Being a ghost offers far more freedom to conduct real business.”
“You’re the Mastermind?” Skye asked, stepping forward.
“I am the Architect,” Dominic corrected. “Or rather, I am the one who rebuilt the Architect system. The AI was a tool. I am the hand that wields it.”
“You’re destroying the city,” Skye accused.
.