Chapter 226: Chapter 226

With Adam slumped in the chair, Nala, Marcus, and I were huddled around the monitor, watching the footage. The screen flickered, showing me stepping out of the security room and chasing after the mole. He shoved Adam aside and bolted through the door before I could catch him. The camera cut, now outside, capturing the chase in the parking lot. He weaved between cars like a shadow, impossible to pin down, and then, impossibly, he climbed the fence and disappeared onto the sidewalk. The footage froze there. No more cameras. Nothing.

“My god,” Nala breathed, her hand gripping the edge of the desk. “You could’ve been seriously hurt.”

I rubbed the back of my neck, still feeling the rush of adrenaline from the chase. “Yeah… well, luckily, I’m not dead.”

“The fuck were you doing?” Marcus growled, turning his glare toward Adam. “Huh? Aren’t you the security?”

Adam shrank in his chair, muttering something inaudible.

“I… Mr. Hale, it caught me off guard,” he stammered.

“Bullshit,” Marcus spat. “You good-for-nothing bastard. You let the mole escape.”

Before Adam could respond, Marcus yanked the chair around, forcing him to face him. Adam tried to avert his eyes, like a scared kid caught sneaking cookies.

“You’re working with him, right?” Marcus demanded, jabbing a boot at the chair’s legs. “That’s how he got in here.”

“Leave him alone,” Nala said sharply. “It caught him off guard—you can see that in the footage.”

Marcus’s gaze snapped to her. “We pay him so we aren’t caught off guard, aren’t we, Nala?”

I held up my hands. “Let’s just calm down. Have we called the cops yet?”

“Cops?” Marcus barked. “If cops get involved, we’re fucked. Throughly fucked. No cops. We handle this ourselves.”

Shit. That wasn’t exactly reassuring.

“Evan, I’m trusting you on this one,” she said, turning to me. “Can you… check the room? Maybe the mole left something behind. We’ll wait outside.”

Adam hesitated. “I—I can help, Ms. Nolin—”

“You aren’t helping anyone,” Marcus cut him off. “In our eyes, you could be working with the mole, idiot.”

Marcus turned back to me.

“We trust you. Do what you gotta do, Evan.”

I nodded. “Hmm. Right…”

I watched as Nala and the others left, shutting the door behind them. The silence hit me like a wall. This was my scene now. Time to think. Step one: retrace the mole’s path. I’d seen the footage, but that only got me so far. Then I heard it—a soft noise from the bathroom.

The stall had been closed when I entered earlier. That could only mean one thing: the mole had been hiding here. Worth checking.

“Okay… let’s see,” I muttered.

Wow. I really was turning into the melancholic detective the girls teased me about. All I needed now was a pipe and a long brown trench coat to complete the look.

I stepped into the bathroom, eyes scanning quickly. To my left, the sink. Next to it, a countertop. I crouched and opened the cabinet underneath. Just old cigarette packs, some unopened noodle packs, nothing unusual.

I closed it and froze in front of the stall. Bootprints. Two of them on the toilet lid.

The mole had been standing there—or crouching—hiding his feet from view. But… how did he even get in? No keycard, no cameras triggered. That didn’t make sense.

I stretched, thinking it over, then climbed carefully onto the toilet lid to inspect the ceiling. Square drop ceiling tiles—your classic office grid—stared back at me. One looked slightly misaligned. I reached up, punched it aside, and peered into the space above.

There was enough room to crawl.

I hopped down and grabbed a ladder leaning against the mop bucket. Positioning it under the hole, I climbed carefully, making sure not to disturb the bootprints. My head poked above the ceiling tiles. The space was tight but navigable—a dusty maze of pipes, wires, and HVAC ducts.

“Guess there’s only one way to find out.”

Crawling felt awkward at first, my knees scraping against sharp edges of metal and dust falling into my eyes. I forced myself to slow down, adjusting my grip on the ductwork above me. The mole had clearly known this space, moving with ease where I struggled. The vent separated into multiple directions, forks branching left and right. The floor below had faint, worn X’s marked on the panels, barely visible. Curious. I decided to follow them, hoping they’d lead somewhere useful.

After a few tense minutes, I came to a dead end. My stomach dropped, and I swore under my breath, feeling frustration mix with exhaustion. I leaned against the side of the vent, taking a moment to breathe. My chest heaved, sweat dripping into my eyes, making them sting. I pressed my forehead against the cold metal and tried to calm down. This wasn’t just a vent—it was a labyrinth, and one false move could land me in a mess I didn’t want to think about.

“Huh?”

Then I looked up. A rope dangled from the ceiling above, frayed but surprisingly sturdy. My fingers trembled slightly as I reached for it. I took a deep breath, planted my feet on the vent floor, and hoisted myself up. The climb was short, but my forearms screamed from the effort, and the rope swayed slightly with each movement. I winced as my knuckles scraped against the rough fibers, leaving tiny streaks of blood.

When I reached the next section, I paused, letting my legs dangle for a moment, catching my breath. The air here was even drier, dust swirling in the faint light filtering through the tiles above.

“Gotta move. Come on, Evan.”

I crawled again, muscles burning, sweat slicking my palms. The vent twisted sharply to the right, forcing me to pivot awkwardly, knees scraping metal. My breathing came in short, ragged bursts. The further I went, the tighter the space became, the metal walls pressing in on me. Each inch forward was a fight against fatigue, dust, and the claustrophobic weight of the ceiling.

Another fork appeared. I paused, noting more faded X’s on the panels below. I followed them. A few minutes later, I hit another dead end. Damn it.

Then I saw it: another rope, hanging from above, thicker this time. Unlike the last one, it wasn’t frayed, just dusty. I tested it gently. Solid. Thank god. I wrapped my hands around it, took a deep breath, and began the climb. My legs kicked weakly against the vent floor, scraping gravel and metal, but I kept my balance, slowly pulling myself higher. At the top, I stretched my arms over a support beam, hoisting my body fully onto it. My chest burned, lungs screaming, but I forced myself to pause, letting my body settle before moving again.

Crawling resumed, slower now. And it lasted for fucking hours… or so how it felt. I’d come to another dead end, and find another rope. Climb, continue. The same shit.

Finally, I reached the end. Only one exit remained. A small grate, ceiling-level, stared at me like a portal to freedom. I rested my forehead against it, taking a long, shaky breath. Kicking it hard, it popped out with a metallic clang, startling me. The sudden rush of fresh air hit my face, a mix of wind, ozone, and the faint scent of rain.

I slid through the opening, muscles trembling from the exertion, heart hammering in my chest. I lay flat for a moment, catching my breath, letting the cool air wash over me, eyes scanning my surroundings.

I was on the roof.

The city sprawled around me. Dim lights reflected off glass and concrete, the hum of traffic far below. Satellite dishes and HVAC units crowded the space, steam rising from vents like ghostly tendrils.

“Fucking hell.”

A door caught my eye—plain, nothing fancy, just the kind of simple, beige metal door you’d see on any office building. I walked toward it, boots crunching against the gravel, the wind tugging at my hair. I reached for the handle and tried it. Locked.

I stepped back, brushing dust off my jacket, eyes sweeping across the rooftop. Pipes, vents, and AC units sprawled out like a tiny city, their shadows stretching across the gravel. Through the narrow window in the door, I could just make out a flight of stairs leading down into the building.

I tried the handle again. Locked.

I forced it harder. No give.

No way it was opening, this thing was solid. Which meant the mole had access. He had a key.

I exhaled hard, the kind of breath that carried the last mile of the chase with it. My hand slipped into my pocket, fingers brushing past lint before finding my crumpled cigarette pack. I tapped one out, lit it, and drew in a slow breath as the smoke curled into the night.

Below, the neon city glowed, sharp, loud, alive, nothing like how I felt after chasing that damn mole across half the district.

“Well,” I muttered, a grin tugging at my lips despite the exhaustion. “Shit just got interesting…”

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