Linn frowned, still in a blind spot along the executive corridor, fingers tapping lightly against her earpiece.
“F20 is restricted,” she said under her breath.
“How am I supposed to get in without triggering half the building?”
Niel’s voice came through immediately, already pulling up the Crestmont’s internal schematics.
“Do not use the guest elevators. There is a service route behind the west maintenance hallway. It connects to a service elevator bank.”
A pause as lines shifted across his screen.
“Go back two corridors. Turn left after the staff-only sign. You will pass a utility access door. Keep going until you hit a secured maintenance junction. The elevator should be there.”
Linn sighed.
“Of course it is hidden behind three layers of ‘Do Not Enter.'”
She moved.
Her pace stayed steady as she moved through the executive floor, staying within CCTV blind spots whenever possible and lowering her head slightly whenever crossing exposed sections.
She passed service carts and discreet staff passages as the polished luxury of the guest areas gradually faded behind her.
The lighting gradually shifted from warm gold to harsher, functional white.
Eventually, she found it.
A plain service door marked with maintenance signage.
No decorative finish.
No hint it belonged inside a luxury hotel.
She pushed through.
The hallway beyond was narrower, more industrial.
Pipes ran along the ceiling.
The hum of building systems replaced the distant sound of guests.
At the end of the corridor: the service elevator.
She pressed the button, and a moment later, the doors opened with a soft chime.
She stepped inside and froze for a fraction of a second.
A man in a maintenance uniform stood near the control panel, a toolbox resting at his feet.
Older.
Hotel staff—judging from the identification badge clipped to his chest.
The doors slid shut and the cabin began its quiet ascent.
The man glanced at her once.
Then again.
“Ma’am, guests are not allowed in the service elevator.”
Oh no.
But she had been shameless ever since she demanded Jion to unrestrict the black card, right?
Confidence—and maybe a bit of attitude—was the key.
She raised a brow, crossing her arms.
“The executive elevator is taking forever, and I have somewhere to be. Are you stopping me, or are we both pretending not to care?”
Silence.
“That is not how it works, ma’am.”
Linn sighed dramatically.
“Then report me.”
The electrician narrowed his eyes.
“If you love additional paperwork, report me,” she challenged, gesturing between them.
“Or do you want to file a report together?”
A pause.
The electrician studied her for a moment.
“You seem remarkably comfortable breaking hotel policy.”
Linn shrugged.
“You seem remarkably invested in stopping me.”
Another pause.
The electrician stared at her for a second before looking away.
The rest of the ride passed in silence.
A few moments later, a soft chime sounded and the doors opened onto Floor Twenty.
Linn stepped out without looking back.
The maintenance corridor continued for several meters beyond the elevator before ending at another access door.
She pushed through it and emerged onto the executive floor.
Unlike the lower executive levels, F20 felt different.
Quieter.
More secluded.
The traffic here was nearly nonexistent.
She reached the suite corridor and slowed.
F20-07.
The room from her vision.
Now she was standing only meters away from it.
Her gaze settled on the door.
The problem was obvious—she could not simply walk up and knock, nor could she force her way inside without alerting whoever might be on the other side.
This was still a stealth operation.
For several seconds, she remained where she was, watching and waiting, searching for anything unusual.
Anything that might give her a reason to approach.
But the corridor remained silent.
Getting to F20-07 had been easy.
Figuring out what to do next was proving far more difficult.
Just then, the door to F20-07 opened.
Her attention shifted immediately.
Two men stepped out first.
Both carried themselves like security.
Not hotel security—private.
Well-dressed, alert, and positioned with the unconscious coordination of people accustomed to protecting someone important.
They moved down the corridor and disappeared around the corner. Follow the newest chapters on g.com.
Several moments later, the same two men returned.
This time, they were escorting two more individuals.
Adrian Mercer.
Impeccably dressed in a tailored charcoal suit, he carried himself with the quiet confidence of a man accustomed to boardrooms.
His silver-streaked hair was neatly combed back, and despite his composed demeanor, there was an unmistakable sharpness in his eyes that hinted at a mind constantly at work.
Walking a step behind him was his personal assistant, a younger man carrying a slim leather briefcase.
Linn felt her pulse quicken.
After being misled earlier, they had finally found the real target.
“Target is here,” she murmured into the comms.
Niel pulled up the nearest surveillance feed and zoomed in on the corridor.
“Visual confirmed. That is him.”
The group continued toward F20-07.
Linn remained where she was, phone pressed against her ear, her attention fixed on the suite through her peripheral vision.
Before the group could enter the suite, one of the escorts suddenly broke away from the group and started walking toward her.
Linn felt her stomach sink.
The escort approached with measured, deliberate steps.
The kind that made it obvious he had already decided exactly where he was going.
She kept the phone against her ear and forced herself not to react.
Inside, however, panic arrived immediately.
The escort stopped in front of her.
“Ma’am, this corridor is currently being secured for a private meeting.”
Linn lowered the phone slightly.
“I am not bothering anyone.”
“Nevertheless, I need you to move farther down the hall.” The escort’s tone was neither hostile nor apologetic.
It sounded less like a request and more like a procedural inconvenience.
Linn resisted the urge to roll her eyes.
“And if I don’t?”
The escort held her gaze for a second.
“Then I will have to escort you myself.”
Linn glanced toward the suite.
Mercer’s group was watching her, their expressions unreadable enough to make her skin prickle.
She clicked her tongue under her breath before letting out an exaggerated sigh.
“Fine.”
As she pivoted, one heel caught awkwardly against the carpet.
She stumbled.
But the escort reacted instantly, catching her by the arm before she could fall.
“Careful, ma’am.”
She steadied herself with an embarrassed smile.
The contact lasted less than a second.
Then she pulled away.
“Thanks.”
The escort gave a brief nod before returning to the others.
She watched him walk back toward the room and disappear through the door.
The listening device was already in his pocket.
The door closed with a quiet click.
The room was larger than expected, furnished more like a private executive office than a hotel suite.
Floor-to-ceiling windows overlooked the city skyline, though the curtains had already been drawn shut.
Every unnecessary light had been dimmed, leaving only the warm glow above the conference table at the center.
Two individuals were already waiting.
Neither looked remarkable.
One sat calmly near the far end of the table, dressed in an unassuming dark suit, fingers loosely folded together.
The other stood beside the window with his back partially turned, quietly observing the city beyond the glass.
Ordinary faces.
Too ordinary.
The kind people forgot minutes after walking away.
Mercer’s eyes lingered on them longer than necessary.
“So,” he said evenly, “I assume neither of those faces belongs to either of you.”
The seated individual smiled faintly.
“A reasonable assumption.” His voice carried no distinguishable accent, almost deliberately neutral.
“The fewer identities exchanged today, the longer everyone continues living comfortably.”
Mercer’s expression remained unreadable.
“I have no intention of remembering your faces.”
“No,” the man replied calmly.
“But habits have consequences.”
Silence settled between them.
The standing figure finally turned away from the window.
“Protocol.”
At the single word, both escorts stepped forward immediately.
Mercer’s gaze narrowed.
“You intend to search us? We have already been searched downstairs.”
“You were searched by hotel security. We are not hotel security.”
Mercer let out a quiet breath through his nose before slowly spreading his arms.
One escort approached Mercer while the other moved toward his assistant.
Their movements were practiced and efficient.
Inside jacket.
Waistband.
Ankles.
Watch.
Pen.
Wallet.
Every object was inspected before being returned.
Mercer’s assistant remained noticeably tense throughout the process, his grip tightening around the leather briefcase until one of the escorts quietly extended a hand.
“The case.”
A reluctant pause.
Then he handed it over.
The locks clicked open.
Documents.
A tablet.
Several folders.
Nothing else.
The escort searched each compartment before closing it again and returning it without comment.
Several more silent seconds passed.
Finally—
“Clear.” The escort stepped back.
Only then did the seated individual gesture toward the chairs opposite him.
“Now we can begin.”
Mercer remained standing.
“I would rather understand who I am speaking to first.”
“You are speaking,” the man answered, “to the people who know why your research disappeared.”
The room fell silent.
For the first time since entering, something shifted in Mercer’s expression.
Not surprise.
Recognition.
“You spent nine years studying an object no institution could explain,” the man continued.
“You submitted your findings. Yet no one listened.”
Mercer’s jaw tightened.
“You have done your homework.”
“We prefer certainty.”
Another silence settled over the room.
Then the second individual—the one who had remained mostly quiet until now—finally spoke.
“The artifact.”
Mercer’s eyes lifted.
“I have had no access to it for years.”
“We know.”
“Then why involve me now?”
“Because despite everything,” the seated figure leaned back slightly, “you were the only one who noticed what everyone else overlooked.”
Mercer’s gaze sharpened.
The man regarded him quietly.
“You kept asking questions long after everyone else stopped.”
Mercer remained motionless.
“I never published those notes.”
“No,” the man replied evenly.
“Only fragments ever escaped.”
Mercer’s expression hardened.
“…How do you know that?”
The seated man’s smile never reached his eyes.
“Because some of those fragments eventually found their way to us.”
For a brief moment, no one moved.
Then Mercer spoke carefully.
“If this is your attempt to recruit me—”
“It is not a recruitment.”
“What is it, then?”
“A continuation.”
Mercer’s brows drew together.
“We are offering you something no institution ever did.”
“And that is?”
“The chance to continue your work.”
Mercer’s eyes narrowed.
“What exactly do you want from me?”
The two disguised figures exchanged a brief glance.
Then one of them answered, “We want you to continue searching.”
“…Searching for what?”
The audio cut mid-sentence.
Not distorted.
Not interrupted by interference.
Just an abrupt, unnatural silence—like someone had reached in and severed the connection at its source.
Linn’s hand tightened around the earpiece.
“What happened?”
For a second, she waited for the usual response—the quick check, the calm reassurance, the data stream snapping back online, but the silence only deepened.
Then her second line crackled alive, and Niel’s voice came through, but it was no longer steady.
It carried a sharpness she had never heard before, stripped of its usual detached calm.
“Device was detected. Leave the place. Now!”