The grim stillness of the early morning air hung heavy over the cemetery. The sun had yet to rise, casting only the faintest light across the desolate gravestones. Frost stood near the entrance, deep in thought, while Blake and the rest of the officers attended to the scene of their latest informant's death.
*Thorne.*
The name played over and over in his mind. It wasn't a name associated with any criminal organization he'd been tracking, and yet, the way the informant had whispered it with his last breath suggested Thorne was no ordinary player. Whoever he was, Thorne had power, and power in the shadows always meant one thing—danger.
Blake approached, his expression somber as he motioned toward the coroner's cart where the body had just been loaded. "We'll run forensics on the bullet, but I wouldn't hold my breath on finding anything new."
Frost nodded slowly. "This was a professional hit. They wanted to silence him before he could tell us more. He knew something critical about Kazan and this Thorne."
Blake crossed his arms, glancing around the empty cemetery. "So, what's the next move? We're running out of leads, and Kazan's network is tightening its grip. Every time we get close, we hit a wall."
Frost's eyes flickered with intensity as his mind calculated their next step. "We need to draw them out, push Kazan and Thorne to make a mistake."
Blake raised an eyebrow. "And how do you propose we do that?"
Frost turned, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "By going straight into the lion's den."
---
It wasn't long before Frost and Blake found themselves standing outside one of the most lavish clubs in London, *The Imperial*. The place was notorious for being a gathering spot for the city's elite—politicians, aristocrats, and wealthy businessmen who sought the finer things in life while secretly dabbling in more unsavory affairs.
Frost adjusted his coat as they walked toward the entrance, the warm glow of the club's chandeliers visible through the tall windows. The sound of laughter and clinking glasses drifted out into the night, a stark contrast to the grim reality they were walking into.
"We're really going to walk right into one of Kazan's favorite spots?" Blake muttered, keeping his voice low.
"We don't have much choice," Frost replied calmly. "Kazan operates through middlemen, and we need someone on the inside to spill what they know about this Thorne."
As they approached the door, a burly doorman stepped forward, eyeing them suspiciously. "You on the list?"
Frost flashed a well-forged membership card with a nonchalant smile. "Of course."
The doorman grunted, eyeing the card for a moment before stepping aside. Blake shot Frost a quick glance, but Frost didn't flinch. They were in.
Inside, the club was a sight to behold. Rich mahogany wood lined the walls, while crystal chandeliers cast a soft golden glow over the bustling crowd of London's most powerful figures. Waiters moved gracefully between the tables, serving drinks to men in tailored suits and women draped in expensive jewels.
Blake glanced around, his unease growing. "You sure we won't draw attention?"
Frost's eyes scanned the room with precision. "Not if we blend in. The people here are too wrapped up in themselves to care about two more faces."
They made their way toward the bar, Frost subtly nodding at the bartender, who recognized him from a previous case. Sliding onto a stool, Frost motioned for Blake to sit beside him.
As they sipped their drinks, Frost's sharp gaze caught sight of a familiar figure in the far corner—a man with a hawkish face, dressed in a finely tailored suit, deep in conversation with a woman who looked equally out of place in such an upscale establishment.
"Thomas Huxley," Frost murmured under his breath.
Blake followed his gaze. "One of Kazan's money men?"
Frost nodded. "And someone who knows more than he lets on. He'll have the information we need."
Before Blake could respond, Huxley stood, giving the woman a polite kiss on the hand before walking toward the exit. Frost set down his drink, his movements quick but casual.
"Come on," he said, rising from his seat. "We can't lose him."
Blake followed closely as they slipped through the crowd, staying just far enough behind Huxley to avoid drawing attention. The man stepped out of the club's side entrance and into the alley, lighting a cigarette as he glanced around.
Frost motioned for Blake to wait, then approached Huxley alone. The man took a long drag on his cigarette before turning, startled to see Frost standing there.
"Frost," Huxley said, his tone a mixture of surprise and annoyance. "I didn't expect to see you here."
Frost smiled politely. "It's a small city, after all."
Huxley narrowed his eyes, clearly wary. "What do you want?"
"I need information," Frost said, his voice calm but firm. "I know you're still working for Kazan, and I know you're involved in whatever he's planning next."
Huxley's expression darkened, and he took another drag from his cigarette, exhaling the smoke slowly. "You're barking up the wrong tree, Frost. I don't know anything."
Frost's eyes locked onto his, unwavering. "You know exactly what I'm talking about. Kazan's planning something big, and it involves someone named Thorne. You can either help me, or we can have a very public conversation about your dealings."
The threat hung in the air for a moment, and Huxley's face tightened. He dropped his cigarette, grinding it into the pavement with the heel of his shoe.
"Kazan's got eyes everywhere, Frost," Huxley muttered. "If he finds out I'm talking to you—"
"He won't find out," Frost cut in. "But I need something concrete. You tell me what you know about Thorne, and I'll make sure Kazan never finds out where it came from."
Huxley hesitated, glancing around nervously. After a long pause, he sighed. "Thorne's not someone you want to mess with. He's…different."
"How so?"
"He's not just some thug or criminal mastermind. He's been pulling strings from behind the scenes for years—longer than Kazan's even been in the game. He's got connections in places you wouldn't believe, and he's ruthless."
Frost frowned. "What's his endgame?"
Huxley shook his head. "That, I don't know. But whatever it is, it's bigger than anything you've seen before. Kazan's terrified of him, which is why he's been trying to keep his distance. But Thorne doesn't like loose ends."
"And the shipment?"
Huxley looked down at his hands, his voice dropping to a whisper. "It's not weapons, or drugs, or anything like that. It's people."
Frost's blood ran cold. "People?"
"Yeah," Huxley said, his voice trembling. "Thorne's been smuggling people in from the continent—scientists, engineers, the kind of minds you'd only see working for governments or major corporations. Whatever he's planning, it's not just criminal—it's something bigger. Something that could change everything."
Frost's mind raced as he absorbed the information. "Where's the shipment coming in?"
"I don't know the exact location," Huxley said quickly. "But I know it's happening soon. Within the week."
Before Frost could press him further, the sound of footsteps echoed down the alley. Huxley's eyes widened in fear, and he turned to run.
A shadowy figure emerged from the darkness, moving with deadly precision. Before Frost could react, the figure raised a silenced pistol and fired.
Huxley crumpled to the ground.
Frost dove for cover as the assassin disappeared into the night, leaving only silence behind.
Blake rushed into the alley, his gun drawn. "What happened?"
Frost knelt beside Huxley's lifeless body, his jaw clenched in frustration. "We're too late."
Blake cursed under his breath. "We need to get out of here."
Frost stood, his mind already working through their next move. "Thorne's playing a dangerous game, and we're running out of time."
As they left the alley, Frost knew one thing for certain: this was no longer just about stopping Kazan. Thorne was the real threat—and whatever he had planned could destroy everything they were trying to protect.