Chapter 48: Damien Watches

Liam stood in Victor's warehouse, looking at the whiteboard, and tried to remember the last time he'd been wrong about something.

Not the small things. The kind of wrong that came from missing a pattern. The kind of wrong that cost you money, or time, or sleep. The kind of wrong he'd been living with for twenty years.

The whiteboard was covered in names. Players. Handlers. Survivors. Victor had been tracking them for years, building a map of the Order's operations, searching for the one name that mattered.

Cross.

Liam's father's name. His name. The name he'd been running from since he was twelve years old.

"You never told me," Victor said. He was standing by the table, his coffee cold, his eyes on Liam.

"You never asked."

"I asked you a lot of things. When you robbed me. When you took the key. When you walked into my warehouse and changed everything." Victor set his cup down. "You could have told me who you were."

Liam turned from the whiteboard. "I didn't know who I was. Not then. Not until you showed me the photograph."

Victor nodded slowly. "Your father was a good man. The best of us. He was the only one who ever looked at the Order and said no. The only one who ever walked away."

"He didn't walk away. They took him."

"They took him because he was dangerous. Because he was the first one who ever made them afraid." Victor stepped closer. "Your father was supposed to be the keeper. The one who opened the doors. The one who became the Heart. He refused. He chose to be human. And the Order has been trying to replace him ever since."

Liam looked at the whiteboard. At the names of the players who'd come after. At the survivors who'd been running for years. At Elena's name, circled in red.

"He was looking for something," Liam said. "Before they took him. He was looking for the Heart. For the truth behind the doors."

Victor nodded. "He found it. Or thought he did. He left something behind. Something he wanted you to have."

He pulled a key from his pocket. Small. Old. Dark metal. Not like the keys from the estate. Something older. Something that had been waiting.

"This was his," Victor said. "He gave it to me before they took him. Told me to keep it safe. Told me to give it to you when the time came."

Liam took the key. It was cold in his hand. Heavy. Like it was holding something back.

"What does it open?"

Victor shook his head. "I don't know. He never told me. He said you'd know when the time came. He said you'd feel it."

Liam closed his hand around the key. The metal was warm now. Or maybe that was his hand.

Ezra came through the door, his laptop open, his face pale. "They're running the games. Cassandra's games. I've been watching."

He set the laptop on the table. The screen showed a room Adrian didn't recognize. White walls. Bright lights. A circle of chairs. And in the center of the circle, walking among the players with the same cold smile she'd worn at the estate—

Cassandra.

Liam looked at the screen. At Kara. At Derek. At Patricia. At the other players he didn't know.

"How long?" he asked.

Ezra's voice was tight. "They've already run one game. Four players eliminated. Three left. They're running another in—" He looked at his watch. "Forty minutes."

Liam looked at Victor. "You said we weren't going in yet."

Victor was watching the screen. His face was still. "I said we weren't going in until Adrian went to the estate."

"He's not ready."

"He's never going to be ready." Victor looked at Liam. "Your father wasn't ready. Elena wasn't ready. No one's ever ready. But they went anyway. Because the people they cared about were on the other side."

Liam looked at the screen. At Kara, sitting on the floor, her hand on Derek's arm. At Patricia, watching the door. Waiting.

"How do we get them out?"

Victor smiled. It was the same smile he'd worn when they walked into his warehouse the first time. The same smile he'd worn when he cut their bindings and pulled them into the light.

"You let me handle that," he said. "You go find your friend. Make sure he's ready for what's coming."

Liam put the key in his pocket. It was warm against his chest. Warm like his father's hand. Warm like something that had been waiting for a long time.

He walked out of the warehouse, into the rain, toward the dark.