CLICK.
It was more like the nervous sigh of old wiring. Or the crunch of thin bone under a boot. But in the deathly silence that had settled over the room after their words, that sound rang out like a point-blank gunshot.
Flash's head snapped up instantly. His pupils narrowed to pinpoints.
Gideon, without making a sound, darted toward the dark opening of the corridor, his movement fluid and smooth. In his hand, an electroshock baton already gleamed, short, black, with blue sparks dancing between the contacts.
The bullet, which until that moment had been lying at Ethan's feet, tensed its entire tiny body.
The fur on its neck stood on end, lips slowly peeled back, baring sharp little fangs. A low, guttural growl vibrated deep in its chest.
Several seconds of absolute silence. Only the crackling of the overhead lamp and the heavy breathing of five humans and one ferret.
Then Flash gave a short, wolf-like growl.
— Light.
Bruno didn't ask questions, he just flicked the switch by the door. The old ceiling lamp blinked, coughed yellow light, and reluctantly came alive.
The corridor lit up narrow, long, with peeling wallpaper and darkened parquet.
Empty.
Only a cat-like shadow stirred lazily at the far end, as if stirred by a draft slipping through the crack under the old front door.
— That's… — Gideon began, but Flash raised his palm sharply.
Quiet.
He moved first.
Steps slow, silent, every muscle taut. Eyes scanning walls, floor, ceiling.
He stopped halfway, crouched. Picked something up with two fingers, carefully, like handling a venomous snake.
Ethan, standing at the very back, squinted, trying to make it out.
— What is it?
Flash returned to the room and opened his palm. A small, almost weightless square of transparent plastic.
Inside, the thinnest silver thread like a spider's web, stretched between two microchips.
— Motion detector, — he said grimly.
— Vampire rats planted it. To know if anyone shows up in this place.
He flipped the piece over. On the reverse side, a tiny red symbol gleamed dully, a stylized drop of blood crossed by a thin diagonal line.
Bruno exhaled:
— Fuck…
— I hope my wife doesn't have to come looking for me in a holding cell…
Flash gave an ironic sigh and flipped Bruno the middle finger.
— Damn… These are their new trackers. They only deploy this level for special ops. Or when they really want to make sure no one walks away.
Bruno swallowed.
His face, usually stone, now showed rare alarm.
— How much did it manage to record?
Flash clenched his jaw so hard the muscles bulged.
— Enough to know we're here. How many of us. How long we've been talking.
Ethan felt a cold current race down his spine from the nape of his neck to the tailbone. Maria's face flashed before his eyes again, not the smiling one from the photo on the nightstand, but the other one: pale, with dark bruises under the eyes, the way he had seen her in the morgue.
Flash's voice, quiet but taut as a drawn bowstring:
— We need to work faster! If they're watching, that means they're looking for the same thing she was.
— And now they know someone besides Ethan is in this house.
He returned to the table in quick strides, swept up the photographs, the notebook, the locket in one motion. For a moment his gaze lingered on the small metal pendant with the chip inside—the very one Bruno had been holding.
— Bruno! Get the laptop out.
Bruno was already unzipping the thick, battered backpack. He pulled out a matte-black metal laptop, old, scratched, keys darkened from years of fingerprints, a snarling skull sticker on the lid. He set it on the table and opened it.
The screen flickered cold blue light.
— I'll let it chew through the ciphers, — Bruno muttered, plugging a tiny adapter into the chip from the locket.
— If there are any fragments left, I'll pull them.
Gideon dragged a chair closer and crossed his arms over his chest.
— Pray the data's still alive. And that we're not being hunted like those dogs.
Ethan stood behind them all, feeling his heart thud heavily, dully in his chest. He understood nothing about the lines of code, the symbols racing across the screen, the signal graphs.
But the tension radiating from the three men was so thick it felt like it could be cut with a knife.
Finally the first meaningful lines appeared on the screen, fragments of coordinates, timestamps, scraps of encrypted packets.
Bruno frowned and leaned closer.
— Someone… rewrote data here. Three months ago.
He scrolled further.
His fingers froze.
— And a week ago.
Flash's head snapped up.
— A week ago…?
Gideon moved sharply, as though shoved.
— But Maria died two weeks ago! Who then?
Bruno pressed his lips into a thin line.
— Someone continued her work. After her.
The lamp blinked, once, twice as if underlining each word.
Ethan exhaled quietly:
— Maybe… a partner? Someone who worked with her?
Gideon shook his head firmly:
— No.
— Operations like this are solo. If she had a partner, he would have already contacted us.
— Either to help… or to eliminate witnesses. And here… just silence.
Flash, eyes never leaving the screen,where a map was now slowly unfolding with blinking dots, spoke almost in a whisper:
— Then… who was receiving the signal?
Everyone fell silent.
A new silence settled over the room, not from grief anymore, but from curiosity.
Who was this secret agent?
And now it knew their names. Every single person in this house.
END OF VOLUME 1
TO BE CONTINUED…