The symbol wasn’t just ink.
It belonged to The Order of the Vanished Hour, an underground circle of corrupt heirs, rogue politicians, and ruthless business tycoons. They met in a secluded mansion outside the city. And Mason—an investigative journalist—had infiltrated their last gathering undercover as a server.
He had uncovered their scheme: trafficking state secrets. He had copied the evidence onto a USB drive.
They caught him before he could expose them.
He wasn’t dead.
He was imprisoned—in the cellars of the same mansion where Dominic shaved my head.
My plan was dangerously simple.
I waited for their next gathering.
Using Mason’s old notes, I slipped in through a service tunnel wearing my waitress uniform. The guards underestimated me. Who would suspect the humiliated girl they’d broken?
I found Mason—thin, terrified, but alive.
“You shouldn’t be here,” he whispered.
“I didn’t come alone,” I replied.
Before entering, I had sent our location and all our evidence to a trusted prosecutor Mason had worked with.
Just as Dominic and his circle rushed toward the cellar—triggered by the silent alarm I had intentionally activated—the doors burst open.
A tactical team stormed in.