Chapter 61 The Mole’s Mark
CHAPTER SIXTY ONE
Marcus POV~
Seryne’s streets were a tangle of shadows, the city’s heartbeat a low thrum as I slid open the door to Dr. Lena Voss’s lab, the lock giving way to my picks with a muffled snap. My heart pounded, fear edged—Rosanna’s concern about a Galden mole was no joke, not with Valenticia’s potion in the balance. The lab was dark, the fluorescence down, but there were counters, and my penlight played across them, catching the glimmer of glass vials, and the sheen of steel equipment. My feet were silent against the tile, each step calculated, fear spiking—what if they were here? I had worked for Rosanna a quarter century, and her trust was scraped together through hard luck, but the work I was being asked to do—protecting Valenticia Clawford—felt personal, a reward for a debt to Eleanor’s kindness all those years ago, her welcoming smile when I was little more than a hungry kid that she kept from going hungry. I spotted Lena’s bench, the vials marked Antidote Prototype, but then one snagged my attention, its seal engraved with the crest of Gregor Galden, a serpent coiled over a V. My breath hissed through me, terror and rage a knot—tampered. I stole a sample, my resolve solidifying: Natasha’s why.
From the alley of the lab, the night air crystalline with sea salt, I phoned Rosanna with grim news. “It’s Natasha, Rosanna. “Gregor’s seal on a tampered vial — Lena’s lab’s been broken into.” Her answer was steel, spiked with dread. “She’s involved, Marcus. Find her, stop her.” I nodded, though she couldn’t see, my jaw clenched. “I’m on it. Valenticia’s safe.” It was a grandmother’s love, a fair tale in a voice that had softened. “For now. Keep her that way.” I disconnected, fear sitting heavy in my chest—Natasha was coldhearted, a Galden thug with blood on her hands. Eleanor’s memory sparked to life — her small hand on my shoulder, You’re not just your scars, Marcus — and I clenched my coat tight, flame filling my chest. For her daughter, I’ll fight. I made my way to Seryne’s canal district, down which many a trail of Natasha’s led and through whose underbelly I was a master.
Tailing Natasha was akin to following a panther, every stride was purposeful. I saw her by the canal, her red hair flickering in the streetlight as she slid into a blacked-out warehouse. I felt my pulse quicken, my fear spiking, she had something big planned. I approached, my leather jacket blending with the shadows, and crouched beside a rusted vent; her voice, through the vent, drifted: cold and precise. “The serum’s all set, Gregor says so—either Valenticia’s antidote works or we bomb. I felt my blood drain and fear constrict me— I’m botching it. Another voice, male, grunted assent, and I strained my ears, hearing only delivery, Seryne docks. Natasha was a blade, and her Galden plotted a noose around Valenticia’s neck. My hands didn’t tremble, though fear raised its claws in my gut as I snapped a photo, body cramping as I leaned back to take them all in. I’m going to stop her, I swore, Eleanor’s kindness a fire in me.
Valenticia wanted to know about bone meal and Marrow’s alias—Elias, Kane—a tidbit I’d scraped from Seryne’s underside and a line on the source of the antidote. I wound my way through the canal district, jittery with apprehensions, and arrived at the Clawford estate by dawn, the sky a bruised purple. Valenticia was in the library, her dark hair spilling over a pile of paper, and I paused, her intensity as much a screen of Eleanor’s. I passed a note across the table: Marrow’s false name Elias Kane, the Seryne bookshop. Her gaze met mine—sharp, grateful—and I nodded, my decision made. “Keep your wits about you, kid,” I said, and she gripped the note, a shimmer of optimism in her eyes. My responsibility was to defend, not comfort, and I walked away, fear murmuring— how long can she stay ahead of them?
I spotted Stefan outside, the lines of his thick body held taut as he crossed Seryne’s market square to a café. My discomfort flared—what was he doing? I followed him, instincts hissing, and saw Natasha in one corner, her smile sharp as a knife. Stefan sat, and his hand brushed against hers and my stomach twisted— He’s getting the date? Fear spiked, his weirdness ruffling him — I took a picture, shaking, but didn’t challenge him, not yet. Stefan’s allegiance was Rosanna’s to make, but uncertainty is a gnawing thing, what’s he after? I slipped off, the hum of the market a cover, my determination to alert Valenticia later a lead weight I bore.
A shadow shifted behind me, heavy boots scuffing, and I turned, heart thundering—a Galden thug, his scar glinting in the streetlight, gaze fixed on me. Damn, spotted. I felt my heart pounding, and I broke into a sprint, running through narrow alleys, the thug’s footsteps crashing behind me. I turned into an alley and, panting, eluded him in the labyrinth, my leather jacket drenched in sweat.