Page 48 of Fated By Fire

“You can’t trust me,”he’d said, and those words cut deeper than I care to admit. He’s right. I can’t trust him. I don’t even know what he’s hiding, but it’s big. Bigger than me, bigger than Craven Industries. And I’m caught in the middle of it.

The sound of my laptop pinging pulls me out of my spiral. I hesitate, staring at the device like it’s a live grenade. I sent that email to Blackthorn, and now there’s a reply. I can feel it.

I sit up slowly, my body still aching in places I didn’t know could ache, then drag myself to the desk and open the message.

Subject: Urgent: Meeting Request

Your message is intriguing. While we’re disappointed you’re unable to continue the assignment, we believe there’s still a way to resolve this situation to our mutual benefit. In addition, we’ve uncovered some information related to your mother’s disappearance that may be of interest to you. Meet us tonight at 9 pm at the address below. Come alone.

B. Blackthorn

I stare at the name. B. Blackthorn. The big boss himself has decided to reach out.

There’s an address attached—some corporate facility on the outskirts of the city. I stare at it for a long time, my stomach churning. They’ve never asked to meet in person before. But maybe this new development has galvanized them into action. And this stuff about my mom? There’s no way they’re just going to hand me information about her out of the goodness of their hearts. But… what if they’re serious? What if this is my chance to finally get some answers?

I glance at the clock. It’s already 8 pm. If I’m going to do this, I need to leave soon.

My phone buzzes with a text from Mara.

Hey, you alive?

I hesitate. If I tell her what I’m planning, she’ll either try to stop me or insist on coming with me. And I can’t risk that. This is something I need to do on my own.

I type back quickly.

Yeah, just tired. Going to bed early. Talk tomorrow.

Her response is immediate.

K. Love you.

I swallow the lump in my throat.

Love you too.

Pushing my guilt aside, along with my apprehension, I change into a pair of jeans, boots, and a dark hoodie, tucking my mother’s locket under my shirt. I don’t know why, but it feels important that I have it with me.

The drive to the address takes me out of the city, the streets growing quieter and darker the further I go. The facility is a nondescript building surrounded by a high fence, with a security booth at the entrance. I pull up to the gate, and the guard waves me through without a word, which immediately sets off alarm bells in my head. My instincts are screaming at me to turn around and leave. But I don’t. I can’t.

I park my Jeep in the lot and step out, pulling my jacket around me. The wind stings my bare cheeks, and I shiver as I approach the largest building. It’s a sprawling, nondescript structure with a single illuminated entrance.

Deep breaths, Elena. You’ve got this.

I head inside, my footsteps echoing in the empty lobby. A man in a dark suit appears out of nowhere, his face unreadable.

“Ms. Ross,” he says. “This way.”

Inside, the building is cavernous and dimly lit. The air smells faintly of metal and something sharp and chemical. It makes the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. There’s no one around, but considering the time of day, that’s hardly surprising. It’s unnerving, though, adding to my sense of unease.

The man leads me down a series of hallways until we reach a spacious boardroom. The room is dominated by a massive table, its surface gleaming under the harsh fluorescent lights. Standing at the head of the table is a man who can only be Mr. Blackthorn.

He’s compact and wiry, with sharp features and dark, calculating eyes. His hair is dark brown and slicked back, andhe’s dressed in an impeccably tailored suit. He looks like the kind of man who’s used to getting what he wants, whatever the cost. I immediately dislike him.

Standing behind him are two other people. One is a woman with steel-gray hair and a frosty expression. The other is a man who makes my skin crawl.

He’s tall and broad-shouldered, with white-blond hair and pale blue eyes that feel like ice against my skin. There’s a scar running from his left temple to his jawline, and his expression is utterly devoid of emotion. He’s the kind of man who looks like he could kill you without blinking, and I have no doubt he’s done it before.

Shit. This was a mistake.

---