Page 51 of Something Worth Keeping
Chapter Eighteen
Cillian’s shadows spread across the industrial park’s perimeter, cataloging every detail. The facility sprawled across three acres, a mass of corrugated metal warehouses, loading docks, and shipping containers stacked in precise rows. Security cameras had been disabled, their lenses shattered, and there were no guards patrolling the exterior.
It was too damned quiet.
“I don’t like it,” Silas murmured from his position near the east entrance. His pale eyes reflected the morning light, analytical and cold. “The silence feels engineered.”
“Agreed.” Thorn’s voice came through the shadows, a low rumble that carried centuries of tactical experience. “But we confirmed Vane’s vehicles are inside. Three SUVs,registered to shell companies he controls.”
Cillian forced himself to focus on the mission rather than the gnawing absence where Julian should be. His shadows kept reaching back toward Shadow House, toward the mate he’d left behind without explanation. Rook would keep Julian safe. Rook would explain. Julian would understand.
The bond pulsed with sudden emotion - anger, worry, and something that felt like a demand.
Cillian’s chest tightened. Julian was furious.
I’ll explain when I return,Cillian thought, pushing the promise through their connection.I’ll give you every reason, every tactical detail. Just stay safe.
Another pulse. Not acceptance, but acknowledgment.
Cillian would take it.
“Cillian.” Thorn materialized beside him, solid and imposing in the grey morning light. “You’re distracted.”
“I’m focused.”
“You’re thinking about your mate instead of the operation.” Thorn’s shadows pooled darker around his feet, ancient and heavy. “I understand the impulse, but Vane is dangerous. He’s been hunting us for weeks, studying our patterns. This feels too easy.”
“Then we proceed with caution.” Cillian scanned the warehouse again. “Silas, thermal signatures?”
“Four inside the main building. Three near the center, one elevated, possibly on a catwalk or in an upper office.” Silas tilted his head, processing. “Their heartbeats are steady. They’re waiting for something.”
“For us,” Cillian said.
Thorn nodded. “Likely. But waiting doesn’t mean prepared. We’ve faced worse.”
True. Cillian had encountered numerous weapons designed to harm his kind - silver blessed by dying priests, rituals that tried to bind shadow to flesh, desperate humans who thought they could trap the void. All had failed.
But none of those humans had possessed obsidian chains.
“The chains,” Cillian said. “Vane might not understand what they do, but we know he’s got them. That means he knows what we are.”
“He knowssomething.” Silas adjusted his silver-rimmed glasses, the human gesture that somehow made him look more dangerous. “But the chains are temporary restraints, you know this. Didn’t you do a demo of them for your Julian just last night? The chains we can cope with - themachine Julian talked to you about… even if there were schematics still found in literature, Vane couldn’t have constructed one in a warehouse without us detecting the energy signature.”
“Unless he masked it,” Thorn said.
“With what? The apparatus generates a specific resonance when active. We would feel it.”
Cillian extended his awareness through the shadows, searching for a long-remembered telltale hum of suppression technology. There was nothing, just concrete, metal, and the steady pulses of human heartbeats inside.
“I don’t sense anything that shouldn’t be there,” Cillian confirmed. “Do you?” he asked Silas, who shook his head.
“Then we proceed.” Thorn’s form began to shift, edges blurring. “Standard extraction. Cillian takes point, I’ll cover the perimeter, Silas monitors for reinforcements. We find Vane, and we end this.”
Cillian’s shadows coiled tighter, eager for violence. The rage he’d felt in the alley - when those men had dared touch Julian - still simmered like an angry buzz under his skin. Vane had orchestrated that attack. Vane had put the bounty on Julian’s head. Vane had forced Julian to witness Cillian’s most monstrous form. Vane would suffer for it.
“Cillian.” Thorn’s hand gripped his shoulder, solid and grounding. “Control yourself. We need information before we kill him.”
“He threatened my mate.”
