Page 44 of Fated By Fire

“Can’t you do both?”

I scoff. “You really have no idea, do you?”

My phone buzzes on the table, and I glance at the screen. It’s a message from Sloane:

Security systems checked. Report came back clean. Nothing on the footage. No unauthorized visitors. Mr. Steele accessed the vault at 11.38 pm. You went in at 7.22 am.

I narrow my eyes as I consider the words.

What the fuck?

I text back quickly:

Check again.

I know it’s an unnecessary instruction. Sloane is so thorough that those details would have been double- and triple-checked before she messaged me. But her response is almost immediate.

Yes, of course.

I know she’ll do it, too. And the answer will be the same. Elena Ross managed to trick the system into letting her in.

But how, dammit?

I rub my eyes with my finger and thumb, wishing the pressure in my head would fade away.

“What is it?” asks Dorian, who’s looking at me strangely.

“Security feedback. No signs of an intrusion on any of the systems. Malakai was in before midnight, but aside from that, nothing.”

He blinks in surprise. “I don’t get it. Do you think there’s a bug in the system?”

“If there was, it was only for her. Those checkpoints are serviced weekly. And I had no trouble getting in. Neither did Malakai. Both of us show up on the access feeds.”

I stand and head to the window, where I stare out into the darkness. There are too many questions here and not enough answers. What the hell is that woman up to?

At the thought of her, my chest tightens in that strange way again, an odd throb that feels like a second heartbeat.

I turn abruptly, grabbing my coat from the back of the chair. “I need to go.”

Dorian’s on his feet in an instant. “Where?”

“To see Elena,” I say, my voice tight. “And then to put an end to this.”

Chapter 17

Elena

The banging on my door snaps me awake like a gunshot. My heart leaps into my throat as I bolt upright, disoriented and groggy. The room is dim, the last remnants of daylight filtering through the blinds, and it takes me a moment to remember where I am—back in my loft, safe-ish, after the insanity of last night.

The banging continues, louder and more insistent this time.

“Elena! Open the damn door!”

Caleb’s voice. Of course it’s Caleb. Who else would it be?

I groan, rubbing my face with my hands as I swing my legs over the edge of the couch. My body feels heavy, like I’ve been run over by a truck, and my mind is still foggy from exhaustion. But the urgency in his tone cuts through the haze, and I stumble to my feet, grabbing my discarded hoodie from the floor and pulling it on over my tank top.

The banging doesn’t stop.

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