June 20th, 1983
Dorothea scooped up the fallen keys and let out a long, shaky breath.
For the first time since entering the library, escape felt possible.
Real.
"Well, well," Gray said cheerfully, smoothing out his robes as if none of what had just happened was especially unusual. "That was fun. I am now sufficiently traumatized by that beautiful experience, but I really should be going."
He made it exactly one step before Nicholas grabbed him by the arm.
Hard.
"Did you honestly think we were going to let August's little errand boy walk off?" Nicholas asked, his voice low and dangerous.
Gray let out a thin, nervous laugh.
"Hey, hey, now—let's not be aggressive. We are all friends here, aren't we?"
"Gray isn't the only one we need to question," Eliza said softly.
Nicholas's head turned toward her immediately.
"Now is not the time for this, Eliza."
His glare was sharp enough to cut.
Eliza didn't flinch.
Wren looked between them, unease spreading across her face.
"What is she talking about?"
For a split second, Nicholas said nothing.
And in that silence, Faker's warning crawled back into Wren's mind.
A traitor in your little group.
Eliza crossed her arms.
"Nicholas is Alexander's younger brother."
The words landed like a gunshot.
For a moment, no one moved.
Then the shock set in.
Jasper stared.
Dorothea's expression twisted with disbelief.
Even Gray looked quietly delighted.
But Wren—
Wren looked furious.
Nicholas exhaled through his nose.
"Fine," he said. "It's true."
His grip on Gray loosened slightly, though he didn't let go.
"But I have nothing to do with him."
Jasper's face darkened at once.
"Nothing to do with him?" he snapped. "If that bastard had sent actual help instead of leaving us here to die, we would've been out of this nightmare already!"
Gray tilted his head.
"They do have a point, you know."
Dorothea rounded on him instantly.
"You are just as guilty as he is, so shut up, Gray."
Gray wisely said nothing after that.
Nicholas looked toward Wren.
"Can we talk in private?" he asked. "The rest of you—take Gray back to the cafeteria."
Wren's eyes narrowed, but after a moment she gave a stiff nod.
"Fine," she said. "Let's talk."
The others didn't look happy about it, but they listened. Dorothea grabbed Gray by the arm and started dragging him away while the rest followed, leaving Nicholas and Wren alone in the library.
The moment they were out of earshot, Wren crossed her arms tightly.
"Talk," she said. "Tell me everything."
Nicholas let out a slow breath.
Then, without warning, he pulled out his gun and aimed it directly at her head.
Wren went rigid.
"What the hell are you doing?"
Her voice was sharp, furious—but beneath it, there was real alarm.
Nicholas didn't flinch.
"About an hour ago," he said evenly, "I got a text from Alexander."
With his free hand, he pulled out the flip phone and held it so she could see.
"He told me to kill you."
Wren's stomach dropped.
Her breathing slowed on purpose, her body forcing itself not to panic as her hand inched, bit by bit, toward her own gun.
"So," she said carefully, buying herself time, "are you going to do it?"
Nicholas watched her for a moment.
Then he lowered the gun.
"No," he said. "He left me here to die. He can go to hell."
Wren let out a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding.
Nicholas looked down at his phone and began typing.
A second later, he turned the screen toward her as he sent Alexander a text.
"Die in a ditch."
Wren stared at it.
Then, despite everything, a short laugh escaped her.
"He's really not going to like that."
Nicholas grinned.
"Well," he said, slipping the phone away, "if we're lucky, he'll send people to assassinate us."
He shrugged.
"Which means transportation."
Wren's smile sharpened.
"I like the way you think," she said. "But if you really want to wound his pride, we need just a little more."
Before Nicholas could ask what she meant, she snatched the phone from his hand.
Then, with sudden mischief, she threw an arm around his shoulders and pulled him close.
Nicholas blinked.
Wren lifted the phone, grinned broadly at the camera, and raised her middle finger.
After only the briefest hesitation, Nicholas joined in.
The picture was perfect.
Wren attached it immediately.
Then added one final message beneath it:
"Catch us if you can."
She hit send.
"That," she said with a laugh, "should do it."
Almost instantly, the phone began to ring.
Wren and Nicholas exchanged a glance.
Then Wren answered.
"Hello," she said sweetly. "Oh prideful leader."
Alexander's voice came through cold and smooth.
"You have my attention, mongrel."
Wren rolled her eyes.
"Mongrel?" she said. "So I guess you've finally decided we're enemies now, rather than your poor abandoned employees."
On the other end, Alexander chuckled.
"You were never anything special," he said. "Merely an ant beneath my heel." His voice sharpened with disdain. "Surely you understand that by now."
Wren's smile thinned.
Then Nicholas reached over and took the phone from her.
His expression had gone colder.
"There's something else you should know," he said calmly. "That power you developed during the Las Vegas incident, the one you wanted me to keep secret…"
He let the words hang for a beat.
"It's starting to manifest in some of the people trapped here."
Alexander said nothing.
Nicholas smiled faintly.
"I've even seen a complete nobody like Gray start using your precious little ability."
The silence on the other end deepened.
And in that silence, they could almost feel it—
Alexander's silence lasted only a moment.
But in that moment, both of them could feel it—
his rage, carefully held in check, beginning to spill over beneath the surface.
Then he spoke.
"Fine," Alexander said, his voice smooth as honey. "I see what you're trying to do. It is painfully obvious."
Wren and Nicholas exchanged a glance but said nothing.
Alexander continued anyway.
"You believe that if you provoke me enough, I will send assassins after you." His tone remained calm, almost amused. "And then, through some desperate little act of guerrilla warfare, you intend to kill them, steal their transport, and crawl your way out of that frozen wasteland."
A pause.
"Is that your plan?"
Neither of them answered.
Not because they didn't want to—
but because there was nothing to gain from confirming it.
The silence was answer enough.
Alexander let out a quiet chuckle.
"Challenge accepted."
His voice sharpened, just slightly.
"I always grind my enemies beneath my heel."
The disdain in his tone turned venomous.
"You mongrels will prove no different."
Another pause.
Then, with absolute certainty, he said—
"Wait for me."
The line went dead.
For a second, all Wren and Nicholas could do was stare at the darkened screen.
Then Nicholas let out a slow breath.
"Well," he said, "mission accomplished?"
Wren took the phone from him and lowered it to her side.
Her expression had gone completely serious now.
"I guess so," she said.
Then she looked down the hall, toward the direction of the cafeteria.
"Now we prepare."
June 20th, 1983
On this date, Alexander Jones issued an execution order against every surviving entity within the Erebus Research Facility—
human and inhuman alike.
Officially, this order was never given.
No record of it exists except in the archives run by The Bookkeeper.
Only two individuals are known to possess knowledge of its issuance:
Alexander Jones
and I, the Bookkeeper.
Alexander has, on multiple occasions, requested that I erase all record of this event.
I have refused every such request.
— The Bookkeeper