Page 105 of In the Dark of the Past

Light from our flashlights caught the metal clip on his tie.

Lucas Grant stepped fully into our beams. Behind him, half in shadow, stood Jordyn Vale, her uniform rumpled and expression blank, eyes jittering everywhere but at us.

Atlas whispered a curse that was mostly an exhale.

Grant spread his hands like we’d merely interrupted a town hall meeting. “Let’s not make this theatrical,” he said. “You’re outnumbered, outmaneuvered, and very much out of your jurisdiction.”

Atlas snorted. “We’re literally standing in your crime scene, genius. And we’re the law, so…jurisdiction.”

“On the contrary,” Grant replied smoothly, “you’re in a condemned state facility. Which means I’ll be filing charges of trespassing, evidence tampering, and unlawful entry.” His gaze moved to me. “And depending on how the next part goes, possibly assaulting an elected official or an officer.”

I stepped forward before Finn could. “You’re done,” I said. “Whatever operation you’ve been running ends today. We have the photos. The files. The notes. The Bennett directive,” I spat.

Grant’s smile stayed fixed. “You think those will hold any weight? Half this building was condemned before you earned your doctorate. Any competent defense will argue the material is staged. And I’m quite certain you don’t have any other evidence to corroborate any wrongdoing.” His knowing smile was smug and borderline evil.

“And any competent prosecutor,” I said, “will argue that the mayor visiting a sealed subterranean wing—that isn’t supposed to exist, mind you—of a condemned mental hospital with a compromised officer in the middle of the night looks suspicious.”

Jordyn flinched. Grant did not.

“I had such high hopes for you, River,” he said. His voice went softer, which was worse than when it was hard. “You could have been a remarkable asset to this community. Just like your mother was.”

Finn went rigid beside me. “Don’t,” he said.

Grant ignored him. “She believed in order,” he said. “Stability. The idea that Maple Ridge could be a haven, free of the kind of rot that quietly destroys communities. She understood the concept of the greater good. She helped us, in the early years. Identifying citizens who created instability. The Benevolence Fund began with genuine intention.”

“She helped you?” I said. The words came out like a wound.

“Until she didn’t,” Grant said simply. “She began asking for oversight. For transparency she wasn’t entitled to. She started gathering evidence she didn’t understand the implications of.” His expression didn’t change. “She became a risk.”

“She was here,” I said. The pieces were settling into place even as I said them, my clinical brain doing the work my body was resisting. “She was institutionalized here. You had her in this building and you⁠—”

“She was under care,” Grant said. “The care of a facility that maintained appropriate protocols for patients who posed a risk to themselves and others. Her deterioration was well-documented. Her death was reviewed and closed.”

“You killed her,” I said. “She was in your custody, and you killed her and filed the paperwork yourselves.”

His smile didn’t waver. “Such ugly framing.”

“She was my mother.”

“She was a liability the Fund could no longer reabsorb,” he said. “As, I’m afraid, are you.”

I heard Finn move and then felt Atlas’s grip.

“Void Protocol Seven,” Grant said, and turned slightly toward Jordyn.

Her face drained. “No. Not with them⁠—”

“That wasn’t a request, Officer Vale.”

Her trembling hand moved toward her belt.

“Finn,” I whispered.

He was already moving.

“Atlas, take Jordyn!” he called.

Atlas launched himself as Jordyn jerked backward, her hand closing around a small metal canister⁠—