The front doors of Blackthorne Hall creaked open like something out of a gothic horror novel.
Zara's breath caught the second she stepped inside.
Marble floors. Chandeliers that looked like they hadn't been dusted in years. Thick curtains drawn across every window. The place felt less like a home and more like a mausoleum for secrets.
Jaxon didn't hesitate. He moved through the grand foyer with the confidence of someone who knew every hidden passage and hated them all.
"This way," he said, glancing over his shoulder.
Zara followed him past the main staircase and down a narrow hallway lined with portraits each one bearing the sharp cheekbones and cold eyes of the Blackthorne men.
At the end of the hall, Jaxon stopped in front of an unmarked door.
He pulled a key from around his neck and slid it into the lock.
Click.
The door opened into darkness.
Zara stepped inside and immediately shivered.
The air was cold. Musty. Heavy with silence.
He flicked on the light.
They stood at the top of a steep staircase, the bulbs casting long shadows across stone walls. It led down to a basement no, deeper than a basement. A bunker.
Zara grabbed his sleeve. "You sure about this?"
"No," he said, "but it's the only way."
The vault was nothing like she expected.
It wasn't high-tech or sterile. It was... dusty. Wooden filing cabinets. Metal drawers with rusted handles. Shelves stacked with boxes labeled in neat handwriting.
"This is it?" she asked, voice hushed.
Jaxon nodded. "Everything the Blackthorne family ever buried it's in here."
They split up, scanning labels, rifling through folders.
Zara's fingers trembled as she pulled a drawer labeled "Special Cases". Inside were thick files each with a name, a photo, and a sealed envelope.
She pulled one out.
Isla Vance.
She opened it, heart thudding.
A summary: student record, disciplinary note for "unauthorized investigation," then a single line: Transferred per recommendation of Board. No further inquiry allowed.
Below that a note in pen:
Observed contact with Subject: J.B.
Zara's eyes widened. "They knew she was with you."
Jaxon stepped beside her, looking over her shoulder. "They were documenting her. Like a project."
Then his face changed.
He reached past her and pulled another folder.
Zara Adeniyi.
Her blood froze.
"What"
But he was already opening it. Her photo stared back at them. There was a short paragraph, typed in bold:
"Subject showing similar patterns to Isla Vance. Interactions with J.B. increasing. Risk level: elevated. Recommend intervention if contact continues."
Beneath that fresh handwriting in red ink.
Final review pending. Remove if necessary.
Zara's legs buckled.
They were deciding her fate.
Like a number. A threat to be eliminated.
"I need air," she whispered.
They climbed back up the stairs fast, panic hot in their lungs.
Just as they reached the top
The door slammed shut.
Locked.
Zara spun around. "What the?"
Then the voice came. From a speaker above the door.
Cold. Smooth. Familiar.
"I warned you, son."
Jaxon's face drained of color.
Zara grabbed his hand. "Is that"
"Yes," he said. "My father."