Chapter 32 – Into the Cellar

Chapter 32 – Into the Cellar
RORY

The stairs to the cellar were older than the rest of the house—narrow, uneven stone steps that creaked even though stone wasn’t supposed to. Nikolai walked ahead of me, his hand loose at his side but close enough to his holster to make a point.

“This isn’t a sightseeing trip,” he said without turning around.

“I figured,” I muttered. My voice sounded smaller down here, swallowed up by the cold air that smelled faintly of oil and damp earth.

The farther we went, the less the world above seemed real. No voices, no hum of appliances, just the echo of our footsteps. It felt like stepping out of time.

At the bottom, the stairs opened into a long hallway lit by a single swinging bulb. The walls were rough concrete, and there were doors—six of them—on either side. Some had small barred windows set into them.

I didn’t want to look inside, but my eyes betrayed me. The first two rooms were empty except for old furniture and crates. The third held a mattress and a chair. A plastic water bottle sat on the floor. Someone had been in there recently.

Nikolai didn’t stop.

We reached the last door on the left. This one had no window. He unlocked it with a key from his jacket and pushed it open just enough for me to slip inside.

It was darker here, but I could still make out the outline of another door at the far end—metal, with a thick bolt.

Nikolai motioned me forward, then pressed his finger to his lips.

We waited.

At first, I thought we’d made a mistake. That maybe the “meeting” he’d promised wasn’t happening. But then I heard it—the faint scrape of metal, the sound of the bolt being drawn back on the other side.

The door opened.

A man stepped through. He wasn’t tall, but he moved like someone who believed he was untouchable. His face was partly hidden by the shadow, but his voice was clear.

“You’re late,” he said to someone behind him.

Footsteps followed, lighter ones. And then I saw her.

The maid I’d followed to the shed.

She didn’t look scared. She looked annoyed, like being here was an inconvenience.

“You said ten,” she replied. “It’s ten.”

The man gave a humorless laugh. “Not according to my clock.”

They started talking in low voices. I couldn’t catch all of it, just fragments—“shipment… dock five… cash tonight.”

Every nerve in my body was telling me to memorize their faces, their voices, every word. But my heart was hammering so hard it was almost drowning them out.

Then the man said something that made me forget how to breathe.

“Once it’s done, she’s next. The girl upstairs. Rory.”

I froze.

Nikolai’s hand came down lightly on my arm—not to comfort, but to keep me still.

The maid frowned. “I thought they wanted to keep her.”

“They want a lot of things,” he said with a shrug. “Doesn’t mean they get them.”

I couldn’t tell if they meant killing me or something else. Either way, it wasn’t good.

Nikolai’s fingers tightened, and I realized he was silently counting. Three. Two. One.

He moved like a shadow—slamming the door open the rest of the way, gun already raised.

The man swore, reaching for something under his jacket, but Nikolai was faster. A shot cracked through the small space, deafening. The man went down hard, blood spreading across the concrete.

The maid screamed, but Nikolai had her pinned against the wall in seconds, his forearm pressing into her throat.

“Names,” he said.

She shook her head, eyes wild.

He pressed harder. “Names.”

“I—don’t—” She choked on the words. “Luca! His name is Luca!”

Jace’s ignored call. My stomach dropped.

“What’s the rest?” Nikolai asked.

But before she could answer, another sound ripped through the cellar—footsteps. Heavy ones. More than one person.

Nikolai looked at me once, sharp and fast. “Run.”

I didn’t move.

“Now, Rory.”

He let go of the maid just enough to shove me toward the other door. I stumbled, caught myself, and ran. The hallway blurred around me. I heard shouts behind me, the sound of something crashing.

I didn’t know if Nikolai was right behind me or still in the room.

When I reached the stairs, I almost tripped on the first step. My lungs burned, and my hands were shaking so badly I could barely grab the railing.

Halfway up, I heard it—a gunshot, then another. Then silence.

The quiet was worse than the noise.

I reached the top and slammed the heavy cellar door shut, locking it with the bolt. My breathing was too loud, my pulse a drumbeat in my ears.

I didn’t know if I’d just locked them out… or locked him in.

I pressed my ear to the wood. For a few seconds, nothing. Then, faintly, a voice—calm, controlled, but not Nikolai’s.

“You should have stayed upstairs, Aurora.”

The handle began to turn.