The aftermath of the attack left the apartment eerily silent, save for the soft hum of the broken radiator. Liora stood by the shattered window, her fists clenched as the cold night air seeped into the room. Her mind raced, piecing together what had just transpired. The intruder hadn't come to kill Grace—not immediately, at least. He had come to take her, to deliver her to Lucius.
Elijah paced the room behind her, muttering under his breath. "This shouldn't have happened. We were right here. How the hell did he get past us?"
"Because he planned for this," Liora said, her voice tight. She turned from the window, her gaze sharp. "Lucius doesn't leave anything to chance. Every move is calculated. He knew we'd come here. He knew we'd try to protect her."
Elijah stopped pacing and met her eyes. "Then why didn't he kill her on the spot?"
Liora hesitated, the weight of the answer pressing down on her. "Because she's not just a victim to him. She's a piece on the board, and he wants to use her to make his next move."
She strode toward the desk in the corner of the room, where Grace's scattered notes lay untouched. Her fingers sifted through the chaos, searching for something—anything—that could point them in the right direction. Elijah joined her, his brow furrowed.
"You think she found something?" he asked.
"She must have," Liora replied. "Lucius doesn't target people randomly. If she's tied to his plans, it's because she uncovered something he doesn't want anyone to know."
Amid the clutter, a leather-bound notebook caught her eye. She flipped it open, her gaze scanning the hurried handwriting. Most of the entries detailed Grace's investigation into city officials, their bribes, and their connections to shadowy figures. But one page stood out: a list of names, each one crossed out except for the last.
The name sent a chill down Liora's spine: Rothschild Holdings.
"Rothschild Holdings?" Elijah asked, leaning over her shoulder.
"It's a front," Liora said, her voice low. "A shell company Lucius used years ago to funnel money into his... operations."
"Wait," Elijah said, his eyes narrowing. "You're telling me this guy still has ties to that place? I thought it was dismantled after the last investigation."
Liora shook her head. "If there's one thing I've learned about Lucius, it's that he always leaves a backdoor open. He doesn't just burn his bridges; he rebuilds them in the shadows."
She pulled out her phone and quickly dialed a number. After a few rings, a gruff voice answered.
"This is Captain Rowe."
"It's Blackwell," Liora said, her tone urgent. "I need an address for Rothschild Holdings. Whatever records we still have on it."
There was a pause on the other end. "That name hasn't come up in years. What's this about?"
"Lucius Darnell," Liora said bluntly. "He's using it again. And he's got a hostage."
Rowe's sigh was audible even through the phone. "I'll pull the files and send you the location. Be careful, Blackwell. If Darnell's involved, this won't be straightforward."
"It never is," she replied before hanging up.
Elijah grabbed his jacket, already moving toward the door. "You think he's holding Grace there?"
"It's our best lead," Liora said, pocketing the notebook. "And if he's not, we'll find something that leads us closer to him."
The address led them to the outskirts of the industrial district, where abandoned factories and warehouses loomed like forgotten giants. The building marked Rothschild Holdings was nondescript, its faded sign barely visible in the dim light.
Liora and Elijah approached cautiously, their flashlights cutting through the darkness. The air was heavy with the scent of rust and decay, every sound amplified by the silence around them.
At the entrance, Liora noticed fresh tire tracks in the dirt. "Someone's been here recently," she murmured, her hand instinctively resting on her holstered weapon.
Elijah nodded, his own weapon drawn. "Let's hope it's who we're looking for."
Inside, the building was a labyrinth of empty offices and rusted machinery. Their footsteps echoed as they moved deeper into the structure, their flashlights revealing little more than dust and shadows.
It wasn't until they reached the lower levels that they found the first sign of life: a faint hum of electricity and the flicker of a light down the hall. Liora signaled for Elijah to stay quiet as they approached.
The room at the end of the hall was small, its walls lined with monitors displaying various camera feeds. In the center of the room sat a single chair, its occupant bound and unconscious.
"Grace," Liora whispered, rushing forward.
Elijah covered her, scanning the room for any sign of a trap. But as Liora reached Grace, her instincts screamed at her to stop. The moment she touched the ropes binding Grace's wrists, a low beeping sound filled the air.
"Get back!" Elijah shouted, pulling her away just as an explosion rocked the room.
The blast sent them both sprawling, the force of it knocking the air from Liora's lungs. As the dust settled, she coughed, her ears ringing. Through the haze, she could see the chair where Grace had been sitting—now empty.
"He's playing with us," Elijah said, helping her to her feet. His face was grim, his voice laced with anger.
Liora's hands shook as she picked up a piece of paper that had fluttered to the ground. On it, Lucius's familiar handwriting taunted her once more:
"You're getting warmer, Detective. But you'll have to do better than this."
Liora crumpled the paper in her fist, her jaw tight. Lucius wasn't just leading them in circles—he was testing them, pulling them deeper into his web. And with every step they took, she could feel the noose tightening around her.