The Foundry was a skeletal remains of twisted steel and charred brick. Four months ago, it was the heart of the Vance empire; tonight, it was a graveyard.
Renzo didn't help Elara out of the black SUV. He stepped out first, his boots crunching on the glass and ash. The wind whipped his charcoal coat around his legs, making him look like the reaper returning to his harvest.
"Four months ago, at 2:17 AM, this building became a furnace," Renzo said, his voice cutting through the hollow whistle of the wind. He didn't look at her. He looked at the collapsed roof of the main floor. "Beppo was in the basement. My best man. My brother in Belgrade. He didn't stand a chance."
Elara hugged her silk coat—the one Renzo had forced her into—tighter against her chest. The cold here wasn't just in the air; it was in the ground. "My father was here, too, Renzo. He barely escaped with his life. He wouldn't have killed his own legacy."
Renzo turned, his silhouette sharp against the moonlight. "Then show me the 'Third Party.' The servers in the sub-level were shielded. If your father was the genius everyone claimed, the logs are still there."
He led her into the ruin. They reached a heavy, reinforced steel door that had warped from the heat but held firm. Renzo didn't use a key; he used a crowbar with a brutal, rhythmic force that made Elara flinch with every strike.
When the door gave way, they descended into the dark.
The sub-level was freezing. The air was thick with the smell of ozone and burnt plastic. Renzo clicked on a heavy tactical flashlight, the beam cutting through the dark like a blade. He pointed it at a sleek, black terminal in the corner—the "Sovereign Mind's" altar.
"Log in," he commanded.
Elara sat at the cold metal chair. Her fingers, still trembling from the memory of Vico's blood in the cellar, hovered over the keys.
"I need your hand," she whispered.
Renzo froze. "What?"
"The biometric override. It requires a Valenti and a Vance signature. My father set it up that way after the exile. He... he always hoped you'd come back to help him lead."
For a heartbeat, the "Devil" cracked. Renzo's jaw tightened, a flash of something that looked like raw pain crossing his face before the ice returned.
He stepped behind her. He didn't just give her his hand; he leaned his chest against her back, reaching around her to press his palm onto the scanner next to hers.
He was so close she could feel the heat radiating off his body, a stark contrast to the frozen room. His breath was a warm ghost against her neck.
ACCESS GRANTED.
The screens flickered to life, bathing them both in a cold, blue glow.
"There," Elara breathed, pointing to a hidden directory labeled [11:TH HOUR]. "Someone accessed the internal thermals five minutes before the explosion. From an IP address inside this building."
Renzo's grip on the desk tightened, his knuckles turning white. "Someone who wasn't your father. And wasn't Beppo."
"Renzo..." Elara turned her head, her nose inches from his. "There was someone else here. Someone who stayed behind to make sure it burned."
Renzo didn't move away. He looked down at her, his eyes dark and unreadable. The "starvation" for a kind word was agonizing—the moment was perfect for him to say he believed her.
Instead, he straightened up, pulling his warmth away instantly.
"Find the name, Elara. If you're lying to protect a dead man's ghost, I'll find out. And the cellar will feel like a playground compared to what comes next."
He walked toward the exit, leaving her in the blue light of the digital grave.