Lucien Voss didn't flinch. He moved with the measured grace of a man who owned every step he took—even in a vault rigged with hidden weapons and watching eyes.
From the shadows, Isabella and Alexander crept after him, each footstep silent, calculated.
"He knows we're here," Alexander whispered, his hand near the gun at his hip.
"I know," Isabella murmured, eyes fixed on Voss's broad back. "But he wants us to follow."
Lucien reached the final chamber—an inner sanctum made of steel and secrets. Instead of entering, he turned slowly, sunglasses still on, as if amused.
"I wondered how long it would take you," he said, his voice calm, cultured, dangerous.
Isabella stepped forward, her glare unwavering. "Lucien Voss. Or should I say… Crownless?"
He tilted his head slightly, a half-smile curling his lips. "Ah, the girl with fire in her blood and a legacy built on ashes. I was hoping you'd be bolder than Mercer. He died begging, you know."
Alexander tensed. "You'll be next."
Voss's smile grew, dark and wolfish. "Maybe. Or maybe you're here because I wanted you to be. There's always a purpose behind the chaos. Ask Lazarus—oh wait, you can't."
Isabella's fingers twitched at her side, every nerve screaming for control. "What do you want?"
"I want you to understand the war you've stepped into. The Kings aren't just men—they're ideas. Movements. Monarchs fall, but the throne remains. And you've just stepped into the succession."
Behind Voss, the chamber doors slid open, revealing a vault not of gold—but of files, drives, and red-sealed dossiers.
"I'm giving you a gift," he said. "One hour. Take what you want. Learn what you can. But after tonight—" his smile vanished, replaced by steel, "—you're mine."
And with that, he turned and walked away.
Into the Lion's Archive
Alexander grabbed Isabella's hand. "It's a trap."
"Yes," she said. "But it's also a key."
They stepped into the vault, knowing full well that knowledge had just become the most dangerous weapon in the world.
And they had an hour to load the gun.