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We continue down the hall, peeking through open doorways, passing room after room covered in layers of dust. Most are bare, but a few contain rusted filing cabinets and broken metal bunks.

I want to ask Silas if he can smell the ozone too, but I don’t want to draw attention to it if he hasn’t.

Where the fuck is it coming from?

At the end of the hall, Silas stops walking abruptly. I curse, skidding to a stop as well so I don’t run into him. I’m about to ask him what the fuck he’s doing when I see why he stopped.

At the end of the hall, a brand-new door with equally new hardware glints off the bright beams of our flashlights. I count the padlocks. Then recount them just to be sure, mouth parting in shock at the sheer number of locks keeping us from accessing whatever’s on the other side.

Or keeping whatever’s on the other side from getting out.

A shiver skitters down my spine.

Silas reaches out, running gloved fingers down the front of the door. He turns to me, eyes wide and gleaming with excitement.

“Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”

“I’m thinking you should stop touching shit,” I snap.

Don’t know why I even bothered wasting my breath. Silas is already twisting the industrial locks like he’s racing an invisible clock.

Is the scent of ozone getting stronger?

I’ve been on hundreds of missions. Descending creepy stairs in an old, abandoned building isn’t new. And yet something about this whole place has me on edge like never before. Like every move I make is tipping the balance of the universe one way or the other.

Which is ridiculous. Right?

At the top of the stairs, Silas finds a light switch and flips it. Nothing happens. Of course, Silas is nothing if not persistent, so he tries again. And again.

And again.

It’s not until the sixth attempt that I realize he may actually stand here flipping this switch for the next decade unless I stop him. Sighing, I reach around him and place my hand firmly on top of his.

“It’s not working,” I point out needlessly. Silas frowns.

“I hate the dark,” he mutters. “Should have known the creepy building that’s totally abandoned except for a single basement door equipped with eighty-seven locks wouldn’t have fucking electricity.”

“Well, there’s some kind of illumination,” I tell him, gesturing toward the faint luminescent glow coming from the bottom of the stairs. I can’t see where it’s coming from, but whatever it is, it’s in the basement itself and doesn’t extend up the stairway. “Plus… you can see in the dark.”

Silas grunts, still peering into the dark stairwell like something is waiting for him. “You all say that like it’s the same as seeing in the light, and it’s not.”

When his eyes meet mine over his shoulder, I realize I’m going to have to go down first.

Lovely.

The stairs creak beneath our boots as we descend. The scent of ozone intensifies the closer we get to the bottom. Like lightning in a bottle; familiar in the worst way.

If it hadn’t set off my Curse the last and only time I scented it, I think I’d be having a wildly different reaction. As I think back on that exact moment, I’m realizing that my first reaction—my initial reaction—wasn’t fear.

My steps slow as I make myself confront my recollection of that night. At first, my memories bounce back and forth, like a needle skipping along a record. Almost like my brain is protesting, refusing to let me relive the trauma of losing control to this thing inside of me.

I try not to fight, letting the moment play out naturally.

I take another step down the stairs. Inhale. Exhale.

The crackle of Daxen’s voice in my ear. Air brushing gently against my skin as Gav aims his gun, guarding my back in case something’s there that Daxen’s drones didn’t pick up. The sound of my boots against the concrete. The steady drip, drip of water to my right.

The metal door sliding shut.