The streets of Paris were a blur as Frost and Blake hurried through the narrow alleyways, dragging Dubois with them. The rain had subsided, leaving the cobblestone streets slick and gleaming in the moonlight. Every shadow seemed to stretch further than it should, and every sound echoed with an unnatural resonance. Frost couldn't shake the feeling that they were being watched.
Finally, they reached an abandoned warehouse on the outskirts of the city. The building, once a thriving center of trade, was now forgotten by time, its windows shattered and the walls covered in graffiti. It was the perfect place for an interrogation that needed to remain out of sight.
Frost shoved Dubois into a rickety wooden chair, the old floorboards creaking underfoot. The dim light from a single bulb overhead cast eerie shadows on Dubois' face, highlighting the fear that lingered just beneath his defiant expression.
Blake followed close behind, securing the door before pulling out a makeshift set of restraints. He tied Dubois' wrists to the chair's armrests, making sure the knots were tight.
Dubois glared at them both, his breathing heavy and labored. His clothes were soaked, and a fresh bruise was forming on his cheek where Frost had struck him earlier. "You think you've won?" he hissed, his voice dripping with venom. "Thorne will find you. He'll destroy you both."
Frost remained unfazed by the threat. He crouched down in front of Dubois, locking eyes with him. "You're going to tell us everything you know about Thorne's operation. Every last detail. Or you're going to wish you had."
Dubois sneered, but his bravado was cracking. "You have no idea what you're up against, Frost. Thorne's reach is far beyond anything you can imagine. Even if I talk, it won't matter. You're already dead men walking."
Blake stepped forward, his expression cold. "Then make it easier on yourself and tell us what we need to know. Maybe we can work out something that doesn't involve you rotting in a cell for the rest of your life."
Dubois hesitated, glancing between the two of them. His eyes flicked to the door, as if considering escape, but he knew it was futile. Frost saw the moment when resignation settled in.
"Fine," Dubois muttered, leaning back in the chair. "I'll tell you what you want to know. But it won't change anything. Thorne's plan is already in motion, and there's nothing you can do to stop it."
Frost stood up, motioning for Blake to grab a notepad. "Start talking."
Dubois sighed, his shoulders slumping in defeat. "Thorne has been planning this for years. The attack on the opera house was just the beginning. He's targeting key locations across Europe—places with high visibility, lots of people. His goal is chaos. Disruption. He wants to destabilize governments, economies. And he's not doing it alone."
Frost's brow furrowed. "Who's helping him?"
Dubois' lips curled into a bitter smile. "People in high places. Politicians, businessmen, military leaders. Thorne has his fingers in everything. He's built an empire of influence, and he's not afraid to use it."
Blake scribbled down notes as Dubois continued. Frost paced back and forth, absorbing the information and trying to connect the dots. It was worse than he had imagined. Thorne wasn't just a criminal mastermind—he was orchestrating something much bigger, something that could change the course of history.
"The next target," Frost pressed. "Where is it?"
Dubois hesitated again, his eyes flicking to the floor. "Vienna," he finally whispered. "There's a summit happening there in three days. World leaders, diplomats. Thorne's planning to hit it hard. He wants to make a statement."
Frost exchanged a glance with Blake. This was it—the information they needed to stop Thorne's plan before it could unfold. But they didn't have much time.
"Who's executing the attack?" Blake asked, his voice urgent. "Names. We need names."
Dubois shook his head. "I don't know all of them. Just a few of Thorne's top lieutenants. They're scattered across Europe, each working on a different piece of the puzzle. But the man leading the Vienna attack—his name is Viktor Kazan. He's a former Russian operative, highly trained, highly dangerous. If anyone can pull off Thorne's plan, it's him."
Frost clenched his fists, his mind racing. They had a name and a location, but was it enough? Could they stop this before it was too late?
Blake finished jotting down the last of Dubois' information and looked up at Frost. "What do we do now?"
Frost didn't hesitate. "We head to Vienna. We stop this attack before it happens. And we take down Kazan."
Dubois chuckled darkly. "You're walking into a death trap, Frost. Kazan will see you coming from a mile away."
Frost leaned in close, his voice low and dangerous. "We'll see about that."
With that, Blake grabbed Dubois by the arm and yanked him out of the chair, dragging him toward the exit. Frost followed, his mind already working on the next steps. They had to move fast—there was no time to lose.
As they stepped out into the cold night air, Frost couldn't shake the feeling that they were running out of time. Thorne's web of influence was vast, and Kazan was a formidable opponent. But they had no choice. If they didn't stop this attack, countless lives would be lost.
The game was getting more dangerous by the minute, but Frost was determined. He had come too far to back down now. Thorne's empire was crumbling, and Frost was going to make sure it fell.
As they disappeared into the shadows of the Parisian streets, the storm that had been brewing overhead finally broke, and rain began to fall once more.
To be continued…