Alka closed the door behind her.
The hallway was narrow, dimly lit by flickering neon strips, pulsing like the lazy breath of a sedated giant. A clinical silence reigned there, almost religious, in stark contrast to the muffled screams she'd heard earlier.
She didn't linger. Her steps rang out sharp on the polished concrete, measured, precise, without hesitation. At her belt, nestled in a rigid leather case sealed with three engraved clasps, rested the gem. She could feel it even through the protective casing — a muted, latent heat, pulsing — like a stone heart still warm from the sacrifice it had been torn from.
She hadn't needed to search Dylan. Of course he'd kept it on him. She knew him well enough to be sure he trusted no one. Not even her. But he hadn't hidden the gem well enough, too confident in his instincts, too obsessed with his own survival to think of discarding an artifact so valuable. In the end, he'd swallowed the bait.
Everything had gone according to plan.
