Chapter 75 Checking
The old Veridian Opera House was a monument to decayed grandeur.
Located on the edge of the financial district, it had been abandoned for over a decade before Tristan bought it. The exterior was soot-stained limestone, the massive front doors boarded up with heavy plywood.
We arrived at 7:30 PM.
The sun had set, and the city was illuminated by streetlights, but the alleyway behind the Opera House was swallowed in deep shadow.
Silas’s SUV pulled up to the loading dock. A plain black sedan followed close behind.
"We're secure," Silas said, looking at a small tablet mounted on the dashboard. "Teams are green across the board."
Tristan turned to me in the back seat. "You know the route."
"Through the loading doors, down the main corridor, left at the old prop room, then up the stairs to center stage," I recited, having memorized the blueprint.
"Don't deviate," he commanded. "If you step off the path, you step out of the snipers' line of sight."
"I know."
He reached out, squeezing my hand tight enough that my knuckles ground together. Then, he let go.
"Move out," Tristan said to Silas.
We exited the vehicles. The air was damp and smelled of rotting garbage and old brick.
Silas walked ahead, using a heavy key to unlock the rusted metal door of the loading dock. He pushed it open. The hinges screamed in protest.
"You first," Tristan said to me.
I took a deep breath, the cold air filling my lungs. I touched the heavy cylinder in my pocket. I straightened my spine.
I walked into the darkness.
The interior of the Opera House smelled like dust, mildew, and ancient velvet. It was a smell I knew well from other renovations, but tonight, it felt distinctly sinister.
Silas handed me a heavy-duty flashlight.
"The work lights on the stage are on," Silas whispered. "Just follow the beam until you see the glow."
I clicked the flashlight on. The beam cut through the gloom, illuminating peeling paint and piles of discarded debris.
"Comms check," a voice crackled in my ear. Silas had fitted me with a tiny, nearly invisible earpiece before we left the estate.
"I hear you," I whispered back.
"Keep walking, Ms. Hayes. Nice and steady."
I started down the main corridor.
My Louboutins clicked loudly against the concrete floor. In the massive, empty building, the sound echoed like gunshots.
Every shadow looked like a man in a hoodie. Every pile of trash looked like a crouched figure. The adrenaline was a cold, sharp spike in my chest, urging me to run, urging me to turn back.
Don't deviate.
I forced myself to maintain a measured, professional pace. I was the architect, doing a late-night inspection. I had to look the part.
I reached the old prop room. The door was hanging off its hinges. I shone my flashlight inside—just rows of dusty, forgotten costumes and broken furniture.
I turned left.
Ahead, I saw the faint, yellowish glow of the halogen work lights illuminating the stage.
"Approaching the stairs," I whispered.
"We have you on visual," the voice in my ear confirmed. "Teams are holding. The trap is set."
I climbed the short flight of wooden stairs, the wood groaning slightly under my weight.
I stepped out from behind the heavy, rotting velvet curtains and onto the massive stage.
The auditorium was a cavernous black void stretching out in front of me. I couldn't see the seats. I couldn't see the balconies. I could only see the small circle of light created by the single, powerful halogen lamp positioned at the front of the stage.
I walked into the light.
I was completely exposed.
I set my leather portfolio down on a small, overturned crate that was serving as a makeshift desk. I opened it, pulling out the blueprints, pretending to study them.
My hands were shaking so badly the paper rattled.
I stood there for what felt like an eternity. Ten minutes. Twenty.
The silence was absolute. Only the hum of the halogen lamp and the distant, muffled sounds of the city traffic outside.
What if he didn't take the bait?
What if Lonnie’s leak didn't work?
Then, I heard it.
It wasn't a loud noise. It was a soft, scraping sound.
Like a shoe dragging against concrete.
It came from the dark auditorium, somewhere out in the rows of invisible seats.
My heart hammered against my ribs. I kept my eyes on the blueprint, forcing myself not to look out into the darkness.
Wait for him to step into the light.
Another scrape. Closer this time.
"We hear it," Tristan’s voice hissed in my ear. He sounded like a coiled spring. "Hold your position, Mina."
I heard the distinct, heavy thud of footsteps climbing the stairs at the side of the stage.
Not the stairs I had used. The stairs leading up from the audience seating.
He was on the stage.
He was in the dark, just outside the ring of halogen light.
"Minerva."