Page 106 of In the Dark of the Past

A piercing hiss ripped through the hallway.

Not tear gas. Worse.

“Back!” Finn shouted, dragging me behind the reinforced doorway.

The air shimmered with fine particulates. My throat seized, and my eyes burned.

Atlas tackled Jordyn, slamming her wrist to the concrete until the canister rolled free, still dumping its chemical haze into the corridor.

Grant stepped backward into the dark, his silhouette ghosting behind the rising cloud.

“Sheriff Callahan,” he called, unhurried, “I did warn you.”

“Grant!” Finn choked. “This isn’t over!”

The far door slammed, and locks clanked. One. Two. Then three.

The haze curled along the floor, creeping toward us. Atlas hauled Jordyn upright and dragged her clear of the thickest plume. Finn pulled me tight against him, shielding my face with his shoulder.

“Tell me you’re okay.”

I nodded, tears streaming from my eyes. “I’m okay. But what did he release?”

“Doesn’t matter right now.” His voice was tight. “Atlas, move! Upstairs. Go!”

He shoved Jordyn ahead of him, and we bolted up the stairwell, the haze licking at our heels.

I stumbled once, but Finn caught me, then lifted me. Didn’t stop.

The building groaned behind us like even the walls recognized what was coming. We burst into the main hall and then into cold, clean night air, coughing, gasping, and shaking with adrenaline and the burn of chemicals.

Atlas dragged Jordyn into the open. “What the hell was that?” he demanded.

Jordyn sagged against him, terrified and shaking. “I’m sorry,” she choked. “He said he’d hurt my brother. He said he’d ruin us. I didn’t…I didn’t want any of this⁠—”

I wasn’t listening to Jordyn. I was looking at the building.

“Finn.”

He turned. From the basement windows, the narrow strips of glass just above ground level, a faint red glow had begun to pulse.

Not fire. Not electricity. Something rhythmic. Deliberate.

A signal?

My fingers tightened around Finn’s arm. “He’s warning them,” I whispered. “He’s telling them we’re here.”

Finn looked at the light in the building and the dark tree line beyond the lot.

“No,” he said quietly. He met my eyes. “He’s telling them we’re coming.”

Chapter Thirty-Two

Finn

I drove back to the station on autopilot.

That wasn’t a compliment, it was merely fact. Somewhere between Stonybrooke’s parking lot and the station’s back entrance, my body made all the right decisions while my mind was still in that room. Still reading the words on the page under Marta Bennett’s photograph. Still hearing Grant’s voice saying the word protocols in the same tone a reasonable man uses to describe municipal budgeting.