Chapter 999
“If I wanted you dead, Skye, you wouldn’t have made it out of the hotel,” Julian said. “I let you see me. I wanted you to know I was watching.”
“Why?”
“Because I know how to get in,” Julian said. “Vanessa is right about the acupuncture. But she’s wrong about the trap. The Atlas point is rigged. If you open it incorrectly, the mountain collapses.”
“And you know the right way?”
“I do,” Julian said. “Because I was there. Twenty years ago. He took me.”
Skye went still. Julian had been inside the Ouroboros vault.
𝗔𝘥𝘥𝗶с𝘁𝗂v𝖾 ո𝗼vе𝘭ѕ 𝘰ո 𝗀а𝗅ոо𝗏𝖾𝗹ѕ.𝘤о𝗺
“Meet me at the trailhead,” Julian said. “Bring your team. And bring Liam. You’ll need him.”
“Why Liam?”
“Because,” Julian said, “the door requires a final seal. The Ouroboros Key opens the lock — but the Kensington bloodline closes the circuit.”
Night had fallen over Dead Man’s Peak. The wind howled through the ravine, a mournful sound that bit through clothing and chilled to the bone.
Three SUVs sat parked at the end of the logging road.
Skye stood at the hood of her car, checking her gear. Liam was beside her, looking uncomfortable in a tactical vest borrowed from Alistair’s stash. Alistair was inspecting his rifle with practiced calm. Julian sat in his all-terrain wheelchair, his face lit by the cold glow of a tablet.
“We walk from here,” Julian said.
“You can’t walk,” Liam pointed out.
“I have this,” Julian tapped the joystick of his chair — it rode on rugged treads. “And I have you to pull me if it dies.”
They moved into the forest. The trees were ancient, towering giants that swallowed the moonlight whole.
“Why do we need a Kensington?” Skye asked Julian as they climbed the incline.
“The vault,” Julian said, his breath misting in the cold. “It was built by the founding families. But the Kensingtons were the Guardians — their genetic marker is the fail-safe. Only a Kensington can authorize the final breach.”
“A blood sacrifice?” Liam stopped. “What kind of cult is this?”
“The kind that runs the world,” Alistair said, pushing Liam forward. “Keep moving.”
The forest around them erupted in light.
Hundreds of green dots materialized in the darkness. Laser sights — dozens of them, dancing across their chests and faces.
“Ambush!” Alistair shouted, tackling Skye behind a fallen log.
Bullets tore into the bark. The air cracked with suppressed gunfire.
“They were waiting for us!” Liam yelled, pressing himself into the mud. “I told you!”
“Wait,” Julian said.
He wasn’t hiding. He sat fully exposed in his chair, his expression composed, and pressed a button on his tablet.
The explosion came from the opposite ridge — a detonation that shook the mountain and sent a fireball roaring into the sky, miles away.
The gunfire stopped. The mercenaries in the trees turned, thrown into confusion by the massive distraction.
“Go!” Julian shouted. “I rigged the old mining tunnels on the west ridge. They’ll think we’re flanking them!”
Alistair didn’t hesitate. He grabbed the back of Julian’s chair. “Move!”
They ran — scrambling up the scree slope with burning lungs and screaming legs. The distraction had bought them five minutes, perhaps less.
.
.