The unmarked car door shut with a soft, decisive click behind Alex, sealing him into the cold mist of London rain. Shallow puddles rippled underfoot, the grey sky above mirrored in fleeting, distorted reflections. Ahead, The Vault loomed, a monolith of weathered red bricks and industrial grime. Overhead, seagulls wheeled in restless arcs, their cries sharp against the mechanical drone of cargo equipment and the occasional metallic clang echoing from the Thames.

  Blue emergency lights stuttered through the drizzle, casting fleeting cobalt streaks across the rain-slicked asphalt. Police tape flapped in the wind, held taut by temporary barriers that held back an audience of passersby and journalists. The crackle of radios and clipped commands underscored the urgency hanging in the damp air.

  Alex pulled his coat tighter, his breath fogging faintly as he assessed the scene. From the outside, The Vault was unassuming—just another warehouse in a sea of warehouses. But the slight irregularities betrayed its secret: mortar subtly fresher in places, reinforced hinges almost invisible beneath layers of grime, and cameras discreetly hidden among industrial fixtures. The building was a fortress cloaked in ordinariness, designed to be overlooked.

  A second car door slammed, the sound quickly swallowed by the rain. Riley stepped beside Alex, pulling his jacket close against the damp chill.

  “Nice morning. Bit underwhelming for all the fuss,” Riley murmured, rocking slightly on his heels. “Just another warehouse.”

  Alex’s lips quirked in a faint smirk. “That’s the point. The best-kept secrets don’t announce themselves.”

  Across the police line, DI Sam Ward’s sharp voice rang out. “Jenkins, get that perimeter secured, now! And someone sort out the camera crews—behind the tape, or off the site entirely!” Her commanding tone carried easily, cutting through the persistent drizzle. Officers scurried to comply.

  Sam’s hand froze mid-gesture as her gaze found Alex. Her posture stiffened, her jaw tightening with the irritation radiating through her entire frame. He recognized that twitch in her expression, a hallmark of Detective Inspector Sam Ward, unimpressed and barely containing her frustration.

  “Here we go,” Riley murmured under his breath, the corner of his mouth curling in amusement as he watched her approach. Alex shot him a warning glance, but Riley was already thumbing his tablet, feigning focus on the task at hand.

  Sam’s boots struck sharp notes against the pavement as she closed the distance, the wind tugging at her coat. When she stopped in front of Alex, her arms crossed in a broad, grounded stance, her glare was enough to peel paint.

  “Interpol.” She practically spat the word, her voice thick with derision. “Because apparently, Scotland Yard needs help babysitting its cases now.”

  Alex met her gaze evenly, his voice calm but firm. “I don’t make the calls, Sam. You know that.” He hesitated for just a beat, softening his tone. “It’s been a while.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “Two years, eight months,” she said crisply. The precision of her correction wasn’t lost on him. Still, any flicker of unspoken sentiment vanished as quickly as it had appeared.

  “Riley Foster.” Riley raised a hand with an easy grin. “Tech guy. Think of me as the cherry on top. Twice the brainpower, half the paperwork.”

  Sam’s glare flicked to Riley before returning to Alex, her scowl softening just enough to suggest Riley’s attempt at humour hadn’t entirely fallen flat. Her shoulders remained square, though, the tension in her frame unchanged.

  “Let’s get something straight,” she said. “This is my investigation, Wolfe. You’re here because someone upstairs thought it was a good idea. Don’t make me regret tolerating it.”

  Alex inclined his head, the faintest shadow of a smirk playing at his lips. “Noted.”

  You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

  Silence hung between them for a moment, punctuated only by the rain drumming against their coats. The vault loomed behind them, its weathered exterior offering no clues to the secrets within.

  “Right.” Sam broke the silence, stepping toward the entrance. “Since I’m stuck with you. Follow me.”

  Alex followed, the corners of his mouth twitching in a small, private smile. This was the Sam Ward he remembered, relentless, sharp, and fiercely territorial over her cases. Their methods might have clashed in the past, but he knew their differing styles could complement each other when it mattered.

  Alex adjusted his coat as the rain intensified, drumming louder against the building’s fa?ade, as he followed Ward inside.

  ****

  The vault door groaned shut behind Alex, its hinges echoing through the cold, sterile chamber. Fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, casting a stark, clinical glare against the steel-lined walls. The air carried a metallic tang, sharp and acrid, laced with a faint chill that seemed to cling to his skin.

  Sam’s boots clicked against the polished concrete as she turned sharply to face him. Her silver warrant card swung from her neck, catching the harsh light. “Here’s the situation,” she began. “Security footage? Blank. Every camera is missing the data for the time of the breach. 30 minutes is missing. We are guessing wiped but haven’t dug in deep yet. No signs of forced entry, just these...” She gestured toward the vault door, her frustration barely contained. “Scorch marks. That’s all we’ve got.”

  Alex crouched near the door, his sharp gaze scanning the intricate patterns etched into the steel. The marks were unlike anything he’d seen. Deliberate, almost ritualistic. He reached out, letting his fingers hover above the surface. The metal felt brittle as if the scorch marks had drained something vital from it.

  “This isn’t just sabotage,” he murmured. “It’s too precise.”

  Behind him, Riley swept a UV light across the floor, revealing faint traces of blue residue radiating outward in a near-perfect circle. “Looks like someone didn’t care about subtlety,” Riley quipped, though his voice lacked its usual humour. “Whatever they used, left a right mess.”

  Sam crossed her arms, pacing nearby. “Whoever did this wiped the scene clean. No fingerprints, no DNA, nothing. It’s like they were ghosts.”

  “Not ghosts,” Alex said, standing and brushing his hands against his coat. He gestured to the residue. “This wasn’t about covering their tracks. It was about precision. Whoever did this knew exactly what they were doing.”

  Sam raised an eyebrow but said nothing, her scepticism evident. Instead, she turned and gestured toward the interior of the vault. “Come on. You’ll want to see this.”

  They moved deeper into the vault, the air growing colder as the narrow corridor opened into a cavernous room lined with pristine shelving units. The shelves stretched floor to ceiling, filled with artefacts encased in reinforced glass or resting on velvet-lined pedestals, except for four glaringly empty spaces.

  Alex’s gaze settled on the gaps, his mind racing. The empty pedestals were spotless, devoid of dust or disturbance. “Four items,” he said, his voice calm but heavy with meaning. “Nothing else touched. This wasn’t opportunistic, it was surgical.”

  “Or they didn’t have time to grab more,” Sam countered, though her tone lacked conviction.

  “No,” Alex said, stepping closer to one of the gaps. “They planned this. They knew exactly what they wanted and how to get it. That kind of focus isn’t about time. It’s about intent.”

  Riley appeared beside him, tablet in hand. “If they could breach this place,” he said, nodding toward the vault’s defences, “they could’ve taken everything. Instead, they cherry-picked. Feels more like... curation.”

  Alex nodded, running a hand along the edge of the empty pedestal. “Precisely. This isn’t a simple heist. There’s something personal about it.”

  Sam’s jaw tightened as she leaned against a nearby shelf, her arms crossed. “So we’re dealing with someone who knows the vault’s inventory and defences.” Her gaze flicked toward Alex. “You think it’s an inside job.”

  “It’s a possibility,” Alex replied evenly. “But we need more.”

  Riley’s fingers flew across his tablet, his brow furrowed in concentration. “About that footage,” he began, glancing at Sam. “When you say it’s wiped, you mean ‘to the untrained eye,’ right?”

  Sam’s frown deepened. “If you think you can pull something from a blank system—”

  “Wiped doesn’t mean gone,” Riley interrupted, his tone mischievous. “Not entirely. Let me poke around. Might find some echoes.”

  Alex caught the flicker of irritation in Sam’s expression but stepped in before she could respond. “Let him work,” he said calmly. “We’ve both seen stranger things lead to breakthroughs.”

  Sam hesitated, her lips pressing into a thin line. Finally, she sighed and waved a hand. “Fine. But if this turns out to be dead end—”

  “It won’t,” Alex said firmly. “This is bigger than we think. We just need to follow the threads.”

  “Fine,” Sam said reluctantly. “The security room is this way.”

  Riley followed Sam out of the main chamber and into a side stairwell leaving Alex stood alone in the vast room.

  The scorch marks, the precise theft, the erased footage. None of it sat well. Alex’s gut told him they were only scratching the surface of something else. For now, he allowed himself a flicker of hope. If there was a clue hidden in this vault, Riley would find it. And when they did, the real work would begin.