Vance's Vow

The air in the abandoned warehouse hung thick with the scent of damp concrete and decay, a fitting perfume for the rot Silas Vance felt festering in his gut. Elias Thorne, ever the pragmatist, was already sifting through the debris, his movements economical, his gaze sharp. Vance watched him, a familiar knot of suspicion tightening in his chest. Thorne was a snake in human skin, charming and deadly, a creature of shadows who dealt in shades of grey where Vance saw only stark black and white. Yet, here they were, a reluctant tandem, chasing the phantom of Seraphina Dubois and the artifact she so desperately coveted.

“Anything?” Vance’s voice was a low rumble, barely disturbing the dusty silence.

Thorne paused, his hand hovering over a tarnished metal box. “Just the usual detritus. Someone was here, though. Recently.” He tapped the box. “This wasn’t part of the original inventory.”