Chapter 252: Chapter 252: The Chase

VALERIUS STARED at the officer for a long, tense minute. The silence in the garage was so thick Mailah felt like she was suffocating. Behind the crates, Grayson’s grip on her tightened, his body a solid, warm wall of protection. He was ready to move the moment Valerius pushed past the guard.

He turned on his heel and walked out of the loading dock, followed closely by the suspicious officer. The silence that followed was heavy and brittle, shattered only by the distant, mechanical groan of the museum’s freight elevator.

Grayson didn’t move for three full seconds. His chest rose and fell against Mailah’s back, a heavy, rhythmic thrum of adrenaline. His grip on her was like iron, his body radiating a heat that suggested his “battery” was already working overtime just to keep their presence masked.

“Carson,” Grayson hissed into his comms. “The tracker is out. We’re heading for the cellar entrance. Tell me the tunnel path is clear.”

“Clear as a bell, but you better move!” Carson’s voice crackled, breathless and strained. “I’m already at the city-side hatch. My energy is at ten percent, Gray. If I have to hold this heavy door open much longer, I’m going to pass out and look very un-cool.”

“Move,” Grayson commanded Mailah.

They didn’t take the car. Instead, they dived into the mouth of the secret passage—an old, forgotten drainage tunnel that led directly from the city’s heart back to the foundation of the Ashford estate.

The rain turned from a mist into a downpour, slicking the stone steps. Grayson gripped Mailah’s hand, his fingers interlacing with hers. “We have to run. I’m going to use what’s left of me. It’s going to feel… fast. Don’t let go.”

Mailah didn’t have time to ask what that meant.

Suddenly, Grayson’s eyes flared with a lethal, silver light. The air around them began to hum, and the world became a blur of grey stone and rushing water.

He wasn’t just running; he was warping the distance between his steps.

Beside them, Carson appeared as a streak of flickering shadow.

He was struggling, his face pale and covered in sweat. Every few seconds, his form would waver, his “battery” clearly flashing red.

“Grayson… losing… charge…” Carson panted, his voice barely audible over the wind of their own speed.

“Push through it!” Grayson barked.

Mailah clutched the lead-lined pouch at her waist. Beneath the fabric, the Sigil felt alive, its warmth spreading through her hip.

She felt like a passenger on a literal lightning bolt. They reached the heavy iron hatch that marked the start of the estate’s basement.

“Mason! Ravenson! We’re coming in hot!” Grayson yelled.

They burst through the basement door, stumbling into the wine cellar. Grayson’s silver eyes flickered once, twice, and then went dark.

He stumbled, his weight falling heavily against Mailah as his speed-boost depleted.

“Out! Out!” Carson scrambled past them, clutching his stomach. “Mason, Ravenson—get the hatch locked! Mailah, Grayson—run for the servant’s entrance. You have ninety seconds before that black sedan hits the driveway!”

Lucson, Ravenson, and Mason were already there, standing like statues in the dim light of the cellar. They had been back for minutes, their own energy levels stable.

“He’s at the gate,” Lucson said, his voice a calm contrast to the chaos. “Mrs. Baker is waiting. Go.”

It was a mad, undignified dash up the narrow servant’s stairs. Mailah felt like a schoolgirl sneaking back into a dorm, except the “dorm” was a mansion and the “headmaster” was a lethal supernatural executioner.

They burst through the kitchen, nearly knocking over a tray of scones.

Mrs. Baker was standing there. Her silver hair was perfectly coiffed, and her apron was crisp enough to cut glass.

“Forty-two seconds, Mr. Ashford,” she said, her voice a soothing, dry alto. “Ms. Mailah, dear, you look like a drowned rat. Follow me.”

“Valerius is at the gates,” Lucson announced, appearing from the shadows of the hallway, already dressed in a silk robe and holding a book as if he’d been reading for hours.

“Upstairs,” Mrs. Baker said, clearly panicked. “The library.”

The heavy brass knocker on the front door struck three times. The sound echoed through the cavernous foyer, cold and demanding.

Mrs. Baker took a slow, steady breath, smoothed her apron, and walked to the door.

She didn’t hurry. A butler of her caliber never hurried for a man like Valerius.

She swung the door open.

Valerius stood on the threshold, his suit glistening with rain. He looked livid. Behind him, the headlights of his black sedan cut through the dark like the eyes of a wolf.

“Good evening,” Mrs. Baker said, her tone perfectly bored. “I’m afraid the masters are not receiving visitors at this hour. It is quite late for a social call.”

Valerius pushed past her without a word, his boots clicking sharply on the marble. “Save the pleasantries, woman. Where are they?”

“They are in the library, as they have been all evening,” she replied, closing the door with a firm thud.

Valerius didn’t wait.

He moved through the house with a terrifying, predatory speed.

He threw open the doors to the dining hall—empty. He checked the drawing room—silent.

He was sniffing the air, his eyes darting to every corner, looking for a damp footprint or the scent of adrenaline.

Mailah, hidden behind the heavy oak doors of the library, could hear his approach.

Click. Click. Click.

Her heart was thumping so hard she was sure he could hear it.

“Ready?” Grayson whispered. He was standing right behind her, his breath warm against her ear.

He had swapped his tactical gear for a loose-fitting linen shirt, the top three buttons undone in a way that was distractingly handsome.

“No,” she whispered back.

“Good,” he murmured, his hand sliding down to squeeze hers. “Fear makes the lie look more human.”

The library doors flew open.

Valerius stood in the doorway, his chest heaving slightly. He scanned the room, his eyes wild with suspicion.

He stopped.

The scene before him was the picture of domestic, brotherly boredom.

Lucson was slumped in a velvet armchair by the fire, a half-empty glass of amber liquid in one hand and a thick tome on “Ancient Tax Law” in the other.

Mason and Ravenson were hunched over a chessboard in the corner, Ravenson looking deeply frustrated while Mason moved a pawn with agonizing slowness.

Carson was sprawled on the rug, balancing a digestive biscuit on his nose while looking up at the ceiling.

And Grayson?

Grayson was on the sofa, his head resting in Mailah’s lap.

She was sitting there, a brush in her hand, idly stroking his dark hair as if they’d been in that position for hours. She looked up, her eyes wide with “innocent” surprise.

“Valerius?” Grayson said, his voice thick with a fake, sleepy huskiness. He didn’t even sit up. He just tilted his head back to look at the doorway. “What on earth are you doing here at two in the morning? Did the Council run out of paperwork?”

Valerius marched into the center of the room. He walked straight to the sofa and leaned down, his face inches from Grayson’s.

He inhaled deeply.

“You smell like the rain,” Valerius hissed.

“It’s a storm, Valerius,” Carson chimed in from the floor, his biscuit falling off his nose. “In case you haven’t noticed, the roof in the east wing leaks. Everything in this drafty museum-of-a-house smells like rain.”

Valerius turned his gaze to Mailah. His eyes were cold, searching. “And the girl? Why is she flushed? Why is her heart racing like a trapped bird’s?”

Mailah felt Grayson’s hand move to her knee, a subtle, grounding pressure.

“Well,” Mailah said, her voice remarkably steady despite the terror. “Having a man burst into a private room in the middle of the night is a bit startling, don’t you think? Most humans find it… intrusive.”

Grayson chuckled, a low, dark sound that vibrated against Mailah’s legs.

He finally sat up, his shoulder brushing against hers.

“She’s shy, Valerius. And you’re being a bore. Did you have a point, or did you just want to see what we look like in our loungewear?”

Valerius looked at the chessboard.

He looked at Lucson’s book.

He looked at the window, where the rain was lashing against the glass.

He knew.

He knew they had been out.

But there wasn’t a single damp coat in sight. No mud on the rug.

No proof.

“Something definitely smells fishy tonight,” Valerius said, his voice low and dangerous. He walked back toward the door, stopping to look over his shoulder. “The museum reported an ’incident.’ A fire and a security breach. I went there to check on the artifacts.”

“And?” Lucson asked, not looking up from his book.

“Nothing,” Valerius said, his eyes narrowing. (He didn’t notice or didn’t pay attention to the replaced Ember Sigil). “But I have a feeling that when the sun comes up, the world might look very different.”

He gave them all one last, lingering look of pure hatred. “I will be back. And next time, I won’t knock.”

He vanished into the hallway. A moment later, the front door slammed so hard the crystal chandelier in the foyer rattled.

The silence that followed was heavy. No one moved until they heard the roar of Valerius’s sedan racing away down the driveway.

“Is he gone?” Mailah whispered.

“He’s gone,” Lucson said, finally closing his book with a loud snap. He stood up, his face losing its calm mask and turning pale. “That was too close.”

Ravenson kicked the chessboard, sending pieces flying. “He knows. He can’t prove it, but he knows. The Council will double the guards by dawn.”

Grayson didn’t join the bickering.

He stayed on the sofa, his eyes fixed on Mailah. He reached out and took the hairbrush from her hand, setting it on the coffee table.

“You were amazing,” he said, his voice quiet, for her ears only.

“I think I’m going to be sick,” Mailah admitted, her adrenaline finally crashing. “The way he looked at me… it felt like he was peeling back my skin.”

“He can’t hurt you,” Grayson said, his voice taking on that protective, lethal edge. He moved closer, his hand finding the back of her neck, massaging.

“Ugh, get a room,” Carson groaned, though there was a smirk on his face. “Or at least get us some of Mrs. Baker’s scones. I’m starving. Criminality really works up an appetite.”

Mrs. Baker appeared in the doorway as if summoned by the mention of food. She was carrying a tray of tea and warm, buttery scones.

The brothers fell into a familiar, bickering rhythm, the tension of the heist melting into the comfort of the manor.

Mailah watched them, feeling a warmth in her chest that had nothing to do with the tea.

She looked at Grayson, who was currently arguing with Ravenson about the proper way to store the Ember Sigil.

He caught her eye and winked—a quick, playful gesture that made her heart flip.

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