Chapter 28
title: "The Price of Proof" wordCount: 3468
The warehouse was empty except for the projector, and when Marcus's face flickered to life in the hologram, the first thing he said was, "Remy, if you're watching this, you've already made a mistake."
I stopped three feet from the device. Griz swept the perimeter, weapon drawn, checking corners that had nothing in them but dust and old shipping crates. The hologram rotated slowly, Marcus's face rendered in blue light, his expression tired in a way I'd never seen before.
"They knew you'd come," the recording continued. Marcus rubbed his eyes, and I could see the tremor in his hands. "Thorne's been planning this for months. The tribunal, the forgeries, Kess—all of it designed to put you in a position where you'd have to choose between your pride and my life."
"Shit," Griz said from somewhere behind me. "This whole thing—"
"Shut up." I moved closer. The projector was standard commercial grade, the kind you could buy at any tech market. Cheap. Disposable. The kind you used when you didn't care about being traced.
Marcus leaned forward in the recording, and I could see the room behind him—concrete walls, a single light fixture, no windows. "Here's the thing, kid. I'm already dead. Maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow, but Thorne doesn't keep loose ends. He's using me to control you, to force you into whatever contract he's really after." He paused, and something in his face shifted, became harder. "So don't come for me. Don't make the deal. Don't give him what he wants."
My hands curled into fists. The leather of my father's gloves creaked.
"I know you," Marcus said, and his voice softened. "I know you're standing there thinking you can outsmart this, that you can find an angle, save everyone, prove you're not like your old man. But some traps don't have exits, Remy. Some prices are too high."
The hologram flickered. Started to loop. Marcus's face reset to the beginning, and I heard my own voice echo back at me: "Remy, if you're watching this—"
I grabbed the projector and smashed it against the concrete floor. Once. Twice. The third time, the casing cracked and the light died.
Griz's hand landed on my shoulder. "We need to move."
"Where?" The word came out raw. "He's not here. Kess's intel was—"
"Bait. Yeah." Griz squeezed once, then let go. "But she was bleeding pretty bad when she gave it to you. Maybe she didn't know. Maybe they fed her false coordinates, knowing she'd pass them along."
I looked at the shattered projector. At the empty warehouse. At the forty-three minutes I'd just wasted chasing a ghost.
"Workshop," I said. "We regroup. Figure out what's real."
"And Kess?"
"If she's alive, we'll deal with it."
She was sitting on my workbench when I walked in, bandaged and pale but upright, her jacket gone and her shirt replaced with one of my old shop rags tied around her torso like makeshift armor. Blood had soaked through in three places.
"You should be in a hospital," I said.
"Hospitals ask questions." Kess didn't look at me. Her eyes were fixed on the wall where I kept my father's tools, the ones I never used. "Also, they report gunshot wounds to the authorities, and I'm pretty sure I'm on several watch lists now."
Griz moved past me, weapon still drawn. "How'd you get in?"
"Picked the lock." She finally turned, and I could see the exhaustion in her face, the way her hands shook when she tried to push hair out of her eyes. "I'm good at that. Good at a lot of things I didn't tell you about."
"Yeah." I stayed by the door. "I noticed."
"Remy—"
"Marcus wasn't there." The words came out flat. "Just a recording. A message telling me to stop trying to save him because it's all a trap."
Something in her face crumpled. "I didn't know. I swear, the coordinates came from my handler, and I thought—"
"Your handler." I took three steps into the room, and she flinched. "Right. Because you've been working for Ironclad this whole time."
"Not the whole time." Her voice was small. "At first, yes. They assigned me to watch you, report on your crafting, see if you were really as good as the rumors said. But then—"
"Then you decided to play both sides?" Griz cut in. "Real noble."
"Then I fell in love with him." Kess's eyes met mine, and I saw tears there, real ones, not the calculated kind. "And I tried to get out, tried to tell my handler I was done, but they have my family, Remy. My mom, my little brother—they're in a safezone under Ironclad control, and if I don't cooperate, if I don't feed them information, they'll revoke their protection status and throw them out into the Blight."
The workshop was silent except for the hum of my forge, still warm from yesterday's work.
"How long?" I asked.
"Three months." She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand, winced when the motion pulled at her wounds. "They approached me after the Spire incident, said they needed someone on the inside, someone who could get close to you without raising suspicion. I said no at first, but then they showed me the paperwork—my family's safezone application, pending approval, and all it would take was one signature from the right person."
"So you sold me out for a signature."
"I sold you out to keep my family alive." Her voice hardened. "Don't pretend you wouldn't do the same."
I thought about Marcus's recording. About my father's gloves, worn thin from years of use. About the choice Thorne was trying to force on me.
"Maybe," I said. "But I wouldn't lie about it after."
"I didn't lie." Kess slid off the workbench, swayed, caught herself against the edge. "I just didn't tell you everything. There's a difference."
"Not to me."
Griz holstered her weapon. "This is touching and all, but we've got bigger problems. Thorne's still out there, Marcus is still missing, and we're no closer to finding the forger."
"I know where the forger is," Kess said quietly.
I turned. "What?"
"Kai Soren. Yuki's ex-partner." She met my eyes. "I've been tracking him for weeks, trying to figure out who was setting you up. He's been operating out of a workshop in the lower districts, using your mark on weapons he's selling to Blight runners and resistance cells. Making it look like you're arming insurgents."
"And you didn't think to mention this before?"
"I was going to." Her hands twisted together. "But then Thorne accelerated his timeline, and the tribunal happened, and I realized they weren't just trying to discredit you—they were trying to force you into a position where you'd have no choice but to work for them. No reputation, no allies, no options except the contract they were offering."
Griz crossed her arms. "So what changed? Why blow your cover now?"
"Because I saw what they did to Marcus." Kess's voice broke. "I saw the room where they're keeping him, saw the way Thorne talked about him like he was just a tool, just leverage. And I realized that's what they'd do to my family too, eventually. That cooperation doesn't buy safety—it just delays the inevitable."
I walked to my workbench, picked up a half-finished blade I'd been working on before the tribunal. The metal was cold under my fingers.
"Here's the thing," I said. "I don't trust you."
"I know."
"And I don't forgive you."
"I know that too."
"But I need your intel." I set the blade down, turned to face her. "So here's the deal. You help me expose Kai, help me clear my name and find Marcus, and I'll help you get your family out of Ironclad's control. Transaction. Nothing more."
Kess's face went carefully blank. "That's it? No yelling, no throwing me out, no—"
"No." I cut her off. "Because yelling doesn't solve problems, and throwing you out means I lose access to everything you know about Ironclad's operations. I'm not stupid enough to waste a resource just because I'm angry."
"Remy—"
"Don't." I held up a hand. "Don't make this about feelings or trust or whatever you think this is. It's a transaction. You give me information, I give you help. When it's done, we're done."
The the pause extended longer than comfortable. Griz was watching me with an expression I couldn't read, something between approval and concern.
"Okay," Kess said finally. "Transaction."
"Good." I turned to Griz. "You said you had corruption pattern data. What did it show?"
"That the first node—the coordinates Kess gave you—has been active for years. Constant energy signatures, regular traffic patterns. Not a temporary holding site." Griz pulled up a holo-display from her wrist unit. "Which means either Marcus was never there, or—"
"Or he was there and they moved him before we arrived." I studied the data, looking for patterns. "How long would it take to relocate a prisoner?"
"Depends on the security level. High-value target like Marcus? Twenty minutes, maybe thirty if they're being careful."
"So they knew we were coming." I looked at Kess. "Your handler fed you real coordinates, but they evacuated before we got there."
"Testing my loyalty," she said quietly. "Seeing if I'd actually pass the information along or try to warn you it was a trap."
"And you passed." Griz's voice was flat. "Congratulations."
"I didn't know—"
"Doesn't matter." I cut through the argument before it could start. "What matters is what we do next. Yuki said she had a plan to catch Kai. We need to hear it."
As if summoned, my workshop door opened and Yuki stepped through, her tribunal robes replaced with practical combat gear, a blade at her hip and a scanner in her hand.
"Talking about me?" she asked.
"You're late," I said.
"I was making sure I wasn't followed." She glanced at Kess, then at me. "I see you've been having interesting conversations."
"She's helping us," I said. "For now."
"Mm." Yuki didn't look convinced, but she didn't argue. Instead, she pulled up a holo-display that showed a detailed schematic of the lower districts. "Kai's been careful, but he's not perfect. Every forger has a tell, a signature they can't quite hide. For Kai, it's his material sourcing—he needs cursed components for the weapons he's making, and there's only one supplier in the city who deals in that grade of corruption."
"Let me guess," Griz said. "Ironclad."
"Close. A subsidiary called Meridian Solutions. They operate out of a facility beneath the second Spire construction site." Yuki zoomed in on the schematic, and I could see the underground complex, layers of rooms and corridors that went down at least seven levels. "Officially, they're a materials research company. Unofficially, they're where Ironclad sources their curse-users."
The temperature in the room seemed to drop.
"Curse-users," I repeated. "As in people infected with Blight corruption who can channel it into weapons and equipment."
"Exactly." Yuki's expression was grim. "The Spire project isn't just about expansion—it's about control. They're building infrastructure to harvest and weaponize corruption on an industrial scale. Kai's forgeries are just a small part of a much larger operation."
Kess made a sound, something between a gasp and a sob. "My family's safezone is near the second Spire site."
"I know," Yuki said quietly. "That's not a coincidence."
I looked at the schematic, at the layers of rooms and the security checkpoints and the sheer scale of what we were looking at. This wasn't just about clearing my name anymore. This was about exposing a conspiracy that went all the way to the top of Ironclad's power structure.
"So what's the plan?" I asked.
"We set a trap." Yuki collapsed the holo-display. "I put out word through my old contacts that I need a custom commission—something that requires high-grade cursed materials, the kind only Kai would have access to. When he takes the bait, we trace the delivery back to his workshop and catch him in the act."
"And then?"
"And then we make him talk." Her smile was cold. "Kai always did have a weak stomach for consequences. Once he realizes we have evidence of his forgeries, evidence that ties him to Ironclad's curse-user operation, he'll give up his handlers to save himself."
Griz nodded slowly. "It could work. But we'd need to move fast—Thorne knows we're onto something, and he'll be tightening security."
"Agreed." Yuki looked at me. "Can you have a commission spec ready by tomorrow?"
"Yeah." I was already running through designs in my head, thinking about what kind of weapon would require cursed materials but still be believable as a legitimate request. "Something high-end, custom work. The kind of thing that would justify the risk."
"Good." Yuki turned to leave, then paused. "One more thing. The facility beneath the Spire—it's not just a research site. According to my sources, they're holding at least thirty curse-users there, maybe more. If we're going to expose this, we need to be ready for what we might find."
"Thirty people," Kess whispered. "Thirty people being used as—"
"Tools," I finished. "Just like Marcus. Just like your family. Just like me."
The workshop fell silent again, and I could feel the weight of what we were planning, the risk and the cost and the very real possibility that we'd all end up dead or worse.
But I thought about Marcus's message, about his insistence that I shouldn't try to save him, that some prices were too high. And I thought about my father, about the way he'd always said that good enough gets you killed, that you either do the job right or you don't do it at all.
"We do this," I said. "All of it. We catch Kai, we expose the forgeries, we shut down the facility, and we get everyone out—Marcus, Kess's family, the curse-users, all of them."
"That's a lot of objectives," Griz said.
"Yeah." I picked up the half-finished blade again, felt its weight, its potential. "But we're not doing this halfway. Not anymore."
Kess was staring at me with an expression I couldn't quite read—hope, maybe, or fear, or something in between. "You really think we can pull this off?"
"No," I said honestly. "But I think we have to try anyway."
Yuki nodded once, sharp and decisive. "Then we start tomorrow. I'll set up the commission, you prepare the spec, and we'll see who takes the bait."
She left without another word, and Griz followed after giving me a look that clearly said we'd be talking about this later. That left me alone with Kess, the two of us standing in my workshop surrounded by tools and half-finished projects and the ghost of every conversation we'd ever had.
"Remy," she started.
"Don't." I set the blade down. "We have a deal. That's enough."
"Is it?" Her voice was soft. "Because it doesn't feel like enough."
"It has to be." I turned away, started organizing tools I'd already organized twice. "Because anything else is just going to get us both killed."
I heard her move, heard her footsteps crossing the workshop floor, and then her hand was on my arm, gentle but insistent.
"I love you," she said. "I know you don't believe me, and I know I don't deserve for you to believe me, but it's true. Everything else was a lie, but that part was real."
My mouth tightened. The leather of my father's gloves was warm against my palms.
"Love isn't enough," I said. "My father loved my mother, and it didn't stop her from leaving. Marcus loved this city, and it didn't stop Thorne from using him as bait. Love doesn't solve problems, Kess. It just makes them hurt more."
"Maybe." Her hand slipped away. "But it's still worth something."
I didn't answer. Couldn't answer. Because part of me wanted to believe her, wanted to turn around and forgive everything and pretend we could go back to the way things were before I knew the truth. But that part was small and getting smaller, buried under layers of anger and betrayal and the cold, hard logic that said trusting her again would be the stupidest thing I could possibly do.
So I kept organizing tools, kept my back turned, kept my walls up.
And eventually, I heard her leave.
I worked through the night, designing the commission spec that would lure Kai out of hiding. It needed to be complex enough to require cursed materials, expensive enough to justify the risk, and believable enough that he wouldn't suspect a trap. By dawn, I had something that might work—a paired set of daggers with corruption-channeling cores, the kind of weapon that could cut through Blight-infected tissue without spreading the contamination.
Griz found me at my workbench, surrounded by sketches and material calculations.
"You look like hell," she said.
"Feel worse." I rubbed my eyes, felt the grit of exhaustion. "But it's done. This should be enough to get Kai's attention."
She studied the designs, her expression thoughtful. "It's good work. Maybe too good—he might get suspicious."
"That's the risk." I started gathering the sketches. "But if we make it too simple, he won't bite. We need something that screams 'desperate client with too much money and not enough sense.'"
"Fair." Griz leaned against the workbench. "You want to talk about last night?"
"No."
"Too bad." She crossed her arms. "Because working with Kess is a mistake, and you know it."
"Maybe." I met her eyes. "But it's my mistake to make."
"Is it?" Her voice was sharp. "Because when this goes sideways—and it will go sideways—it's not just you who pays the price. It's all of us."
"I know." The words tasted like ash. "But we need her intel. We need to know how Ironclad operates, where they're vulnerable, how they move prisoners. Without that, we're just guessing."
"And you trust her to give you accurate information?"
"No." I gathered the last of the sketches. "But I trust her to want her family back. That's enough."
Griz was quiet for a long moment, and when she spoke again, her voice was softer. "Your father would have done the same thing, you know. Used every resource, trusted no one, pushed himself until there was nothing left. And look where it got him."
The workshop seemed to contract around me, the walls pressing in.
"Don't," I said.
"Someone has to." She pushed off the workbench. "Because you're so busy trying not to be like him that you're becoming exactly like him. Isolated, paranoid, convinced you have to do everything alone."
"I'm not alone. I have you."
"Do you?" She headed for the door. "Because from where I'm standing, you're keeping everyone at arm's length, treating allies like assets, and refusing to let anyone actually help you. That's not strength, Remy. That's just fear with better packaging."
She left before I could respond, and I stood there in my workshop, surrounded by my father's tools and my own half-finished projects, wondering if she was right.
My System interface flickered to life, displaying the commission spec I'd just finished. I sent it to Yuki with a brief message: Ready when you are.
Her response came back almost immediately: Posting it now. We'll see who bites.
I was about to close the interface when it flickered again, and a new message appeared—not from Yuki, not from anyone in my contact list. The text was red, the priority flag set to maximum, and the header made my blood run cold.
LEGACY QUEST UPDATED: Your father's final project has reached critical maturity. Retrieve it within 12 hours or it will detonate, destroying everything within a 2-mile radius. Current location: Ironclad Headquarters, Sub-Level 7.
Below it, a countdown began.
11:59:47
11:59:46
11:59:45
My hands were shaking. My father's final project—the one he'd been working on before he died, the one I'd never been able to find, the one I'd assumed was lost or destroyed or never existed in the first place.
It was real. It was active. And it was about to explode in the heart of Ironclad's headquarters.
The workshop door slammed open and Kess stumbled in, her face pale, her bandages fresh but already showing spots of blood.
"Remy," she gasped. "We have a problem. Ironclad just went into lockdown—full security protocols, no one in or out. Something's triggered their emergency systems."
I turned the interface so she could see the countdown.
11:58:23
Her eyes went wide. "What is that?"
"My father's last gift," I said. "And we have less than twelve hours to stop it from killing everyone in a two-mile radius."
The countdown continued, relentless and precise, and somewhere in the distance I heard sirens beginning to wail.