Chapter 58: Chambers of Wrath
The elevator to the fifth floor groaned open like a creature exhaling for the first time in centuries—wet, labored, and loud in all the wrong frequencies.
The nobles huddled close behind me, their anxious chatter silenced by something older than fear. Even Willow stopped flirting with her own reflection long enough to fall still. The metal doors parted, and instead of light, we were met with a long stretch of nothing—just shadow, stone, and the floor below us slick with ankle-deep water that refused to ripple.
I stepped out first, of course. Because who else would? I had the smirk. The stupid boots. The reputation. The supposed divinity. But the second my foot touched that floor—cold, black, whisper-slick—I felt it.
Not pain. Not dread. Not even magic. Rot.
It crawled up my leg, a stink so thick and sour it chewed at the back of my throat. Decay, rage, something scorched and long-fermented. I gagged once. Twice. Swallowed the third. My lungs recoiled. My body wanted to run. My pride told it to shut the fuck up.
"We’re running out of time," I whispered to myself, hand pressed over my mouth. "Vincent’s already ahead and I’m stuck sniffing demon piss and reeking mistakes."
The elevator hissed shut behind us.
I hated how I lingered on that man—on the warmth of Captain Kane’s skin, the taste of wine and ruin still clinging to my lips like a broken promise. This wasn’t a time for lovers, drinks, or glittering orgasms. I had a mission. I had an enemy. I had a bitch of a Tower breathing down my neck and I was still soaked in afterglow.
Focus. Re-center. Bury the softness.
I took a slow breath—almost gagged again on the air—and realigned my mind with the one truth that cut through the filth like a blade:
Find the Red Mistress. Do it before he does. Before it’s too late.
A splash from behind made me turn. Miko was crouched low, examining the walls with a grimace. Aria stood near him, eyes narrowed as Willow—gods bless her priorities—was trying to light a match on the hem of his dress to spark a cigarette she’d smuggled from the ship. Leo was quiet. Almost...small. I didn’t like that. Leo was never small. His silence was louder than the rest of us combined.