Chapter 1088
Skye turned to look at him, fighting the wave of nausea that rolled through her with the motion. “He’s terrified, Alistair. You saw his eyes. Marcus Cain isn’t used to people who don’t blink.”
“That wasn’t confidence.” Alistair finally slid his phone into his jacket pocket. “That was posturing. He showed us his hand because he thinks the game is already over — that fear is a currency we’ve run out of.”
“He wants something,” Skye said, the realization settling in her stomach like a cold stone. “If this were just about money, he has enough. If it were about political influence, he’s already the shadow king of Sea City. Why go through all of this? Why the elaborate kidnapping, the torture of Lucian?”
“Power,” Alistair said, his gaze finally meeting hers. It was a dark, intense look that made the air in the car feel suddenly thin. “Absolute, unadulterated control. But he’s missing a piece of the puzzle.”
“What piece?”
“We’re about to find out.”
The car swerved smoothly off the highway, bypassing the route to the city center. Gabriel took the exit toward the industrial sector, heading for the decommissioned subterranean bunker they had retrofitted for high-risk assets. They couldn’t leave Lucian at the clinic — it was too exposed, too soft a target for a man like Marcus Cain.
When they arrived, the air in the underground facility was cool and smelled of recycled oxygen and ozone. They moved through the security checkpoints, Skye’s legs feeling like lead. By the time they reached the medical bay, she was leaning heavily on Alistair’s arm.
Three days had passed. Lucian Graves was propped up in a hospital bed surrounded by monitors, concrete walls reinforced with steel in place of any window. He looked like a bruised ghost — purple and yellow blooming beneath the skin of his face like a map of everything he had endured — but his eyes behind the cracked wire-rimmed glasses were clear and focused. He was sipping water from a paper cup.
“You look like you just crashed a funeral,” Lucian rasped, his voice still rough from the screaming he hadn’t done.
“We just threatened to bury the Deputy Mayor,” Skye said, tossing her clutch onto the chair and sinking into it before her knees could give out. “Close enough.”
Lucian’s hand paused mid-air. The water in his cup rippled. He set it down on the tray table with deliberate slowness.
“I knew I couldn’t keep it buried forever,” he sighed, removing his glasses and pressing his fingers to the bridge of his nose. “Marcus mentioned assets, didn’t he?”
“He did,” Alistair said, leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed. “What assets, Lucian? And don’t tell me it’s the elemental stones — we burned those out stabilizing the geothermal grid.”
“No,” Lucian said, shaking his head with a wince. “Those were energy sources. These are keys. The Sovereign Keys.”
Skye frowned. “Keys to what?”