It was the lie that had kept me running for a decade.

“Victor was the one who set the trap,” I said softly.

“He framed her.”

“The evidence is on that drive, Lucian.”

Lucian stared at the dark corridor.

The smoke was beginning to clear, revealing the rusted pipes and peeling paint of the old warehouse walls.

“I know,” Lucian said.

“My sister loved your mother, Mara.”

“She would not want this lie to stand.”

He turned to his lead tactical officer.

“Hold this room,” Lucian ordered.

“Do not follow us unless I radio for backup.”

“Yes, sir,” the officer said, bowing his head.

Lucian looked back at me.

“Let’s go,” he said.

We stepped into the dark corridor.

The air here was colder, smelling of stagnant water and old rust.

The only light came from a few flickering yellow bulbs hanging from frayed wires.

My heart hammered against my ribs.

I could feel the wetness of the blood on my wrists, but I ignored it.

“Bishop!” I called out in a low, sharp whisper.

There was no answer, only the distant echo of a metal door slamming.