The Hideout
The tunnels under King's Cross spat them out into a derelict underground platform.
For two days, Morgana and Callen stayed there, sleeping in turns, listening to the city breathe above them.
On the third night, the trap was sprung.
---
The Lead
A contact of Callen's—a former agency tech named Noor—managed to ping Emil's signal.
"It's a burner," Noor whispered through the comms, "but it's active. Abandoned brewery, East End. If you want him, you have to go now."
Morgana looked at Callen.
"Let's end this."
---
The Brewery
The brewery was a corpse of a building—brick walls weeping with mildew, the smell of stale hops hanging in the air.
Inside, they found rows of industrial vats, rusted catwalks, and the echo of dripping water.
On a single table in the center of the room lay Lot Seventeen.
The stolen painting fragment.
---
The Gunfire Starts
The first shot came from the catwalks above.
Callen pulled Morgana down as bullets tore the air apart.
Figures in black flooded the floor—half a dozen of them. This time, there was no mistaking Emil's people.
---
Close Quarters
The room erupted into chaos.
Callen dropped two men with clean, precise shots. Morgana moved like a shadow, her sidearm an extension of her hand.
A third man charged her with a blade; she stepped aside and fired once into his chest. He fell at her feet, blood blooming across the concrete.
---
Blood and Steel
The battle spilled up onto the catwalks, steel groaning beneath their boots.
Morgana ducked as a bullet grazed her shoulder, pain burning white-hot. She rolled, fired, and watched her attacker fall twelve feet to the floor below.
Blood spattered the vats.
The smell of it mixed with rust and the metallic taste of fear.
---
The First Death
And then came the moment that stopped her breath:
One of the attackers caught Noor, dragged her from behind a stack of crates.
"Morgana!" Noor screamed.
The gun went off before she could move.
Noor crumpled.
The sound was deafening.
---
Rage
Something inside Morgana snapped.
She surged forward, not thinking, just firing.
One shot. Two. Three.
Every bullet found its mark.
The last man fell, and the brewery went silent except for her ragged breathing.
---
The Aftermath
Blood streaked her hands as she pressed them over Noor's wound, but it was useless.
Noor's eyes found hers.
"He's… inside… your house," she whispered.
And then she was gone.
---
The Message
On the table where Lot Seventeen had been, there was now only a note.
The same handwriting as before:
> You chose not to believe me.
Now believe this.
— E
The painting was gone. Again.
---
The Collapse
Morgana sank to the floor, hands shaking, blood on her coat.
Callen crouched beside her, silent.
There was nothing to say.