The basement smelled like rust and old money.
Scarlett descended the concrete stairs, one hand trailing the wall, the other wrapped around Vincent's crystal key. The air grew colder with each step. Thicker. Like breathing through wet cloth.
Her phone had no signal.
Forty feet down.
Fifty.
The stairs ended at a steel door.
No handle.
Just a keyhole.
Shaped like a crown.
Broken.
She inserted the key.
Turned.
Click.
The door swung inward.
---
The room beyond was impossible.
Scarlett stepped through and forgot to breathe.
The ceiling soared thirty feet overhead, lost in shadow. The walls were lined with screens—hundreds of them—showing every corner of Neon Archipelago. Casinos. Streets. Private bedrooms. Government offices.
The Hollow.
The Ridge.
The Summit.
Everything.
In the center of the room stood a table.
Round.
Red felt.
Cards spread across its surface.
And seated around it, frozen in time, were seven skeletons.
Dressed in tuxedos.
Gowns.
One held a champagne flute.
Another clutched a royal flush.
They'd died mid-game.
Mid-laugh.
Mid-bet.
"Welcome to the original Red Ace."
Scarlett spun.
Knife out.
Heart hammering.
Dominic Thorne stepped from the shadows.
His mechanical arm caught the blue light of the screens.
Whirred softly.
"I told you not to trust me," he said.
"Yet here you are."
"Here I am." Dom walked to the table.
Touched the shoulder of a skeleton.
Gently.
Almost tenderly.
"Vincent's father. Marcus Marchetti. Built this place fifty years ago."
"What happened?"
"They won." Dom turned.
Gray eyes flat.
"Against the wrong people. The Seven Houses didn't exist yet. Just... competitors. Rivals. Men who didn't like losing."
He picked up the champagne flute.
Empty now.
Dust inside.
"Gas. Sealed room. They died thinking they'd beaten the system."
Scarlett lowered the knife.
Didn't sheath it.
"Why show me this?"
"Because you're walking the same path."
"Different shoes."
"Same road." Dom set down the flute.
Moved closer.
Close enough to touch.
He didn't.
"Vincent spent thirty years trying to finish what his father started. Breaking the Houses from inside. Building an army of ghosts."
"Predecessors."
"You've seen the photos."
"Jules showed me."
Dom's jaw tightened.
At the name.
Or the familiarity.
"Jules Sterling. Hacker. Fixer. Obsessed with you since you walked into his pizza shop."
"You know him."
"I know everyone who matters."
"Do you know who killed Vincent?"
Silence.
Long.
Heavy.
"I know who ordered it."
"Name them."
"Margaret Blackwood."
Scarlett blinked.
Asher's aunt.
The woman who'd offered her a way out.
Twelve hours ago.
"Why?"
"Because Vincent was close. To the final file. The one that names the true owners of the Seven Houses. Not the figureheads. The investors. The ones who've been playing this game for generations."
Dom walked to the screens.
Touched one.
It showed Crown Tower.
Margaret's office.
She sat at her desk.
Pouring tea.
Smiling at someone off-camera.
"She doesn't know you're here," Dom said.
"She will."
"Planning to confront her?"
"Planning to end this."
Dom laughed.
Short.
Bitter.
"You sound like Vincent. Like all of them." He turned.
The mechanical arm whirred.
A reminder.
A warning.
"They all thought they could win. Break the wheel. Change the rules."
"And you?"
"I think the wheel keeps turning." He stepped closer.
Close enough now.
She could smell him.
Gun oil.
Leather.
Something underneath.
Grief.
"But I think you might be the one to slow it down."
"Poetry, Dom?"
"Observation."
He reached into his jacket.
Pulled out a phone.
Old model.
Burner.
"Vincent's. Found it in his apartment. Last call was to me. Two hours before he died."
"What did he say?"
"'She's ready. Protect her.'"
"From what?"
"From this."
Dom touched another screen.
It flickered.
Changed.
Showed a room Scarlett recognized.
Her apartment.
From six hours ago.
She watched herself shower.
Dress.
Grab the go-bag.
The angle was wrong.
Too high.
Inside the mirror?
"Bugged," Dom said.
"Since when?"
"Since you won your first fight. March 15th. Vincent placed the camera himself."
Scarlett's stomach twisted.
Three years.
Every moment.
Every vulnerability.
Recorded.
"Why?"
"To protect you. To study you. To know if you were the one."
"The one what?"
Dom didn't answer.
He touched the screen again.
Different footage.
Different room.
A bedroom.
Hers?
No.
Similar.
Same layout.
Different decorations.
A girl sat on the bed.
Red hair.
Green eyes.
Scarlett's face.
But not Scarlett.
"Claire Marchetti," Dom said.
"Vincent's daughter."
"His first student. His first gamble."
The girl on screen laughed at something off-camera.
Young.
Hopeful.
Alive.
"She died two years ago," Dom continued.
"Overdose. Officially."
"Unofficially?"
"Margaret Blackwood. Same poison. Different delivery."
The screen went dark.
Scarlett stared at the black mirror.
Saw herself reflected.
Saw Claire's ghost beside her.
"How many?" she asked.
"How many what?"
"How many of us?"
"Seven. Over thirty years. Vincent called them his aces. His wild cards."
"How many survived?"
Dom's eyes met hers.
"You're looking at her."
---
The screens hummed.
Blue light painted everything in shades of death.
Scarlett walked to the red table.
Touched the felt.
Dust rose.
Settled.
"Why me?" she asked.
Not to Dom.
To the room.
To the ghosts.
"Why did I live when they died?"
"You didn't just survive." Dom's voice came from behind her.
Soft.
Almost gentle.
"You evolved. Claire fought. Elena—number three—she ran. Number four, five, six... they tried to negotiate. Compromise."
"And number seven?"
"Number seven tried to burn it all down." Dom stepped beside her.
"She got close. Close enough to scare them. Close enough to die in a fire that left no body."
Scarlett turned.
"Asher's fiancée."
"Asher's obsession."
"Me."
"You."
The word hung between them.
Heavy.
True.
Scarlett thought of the fire.
Three years ago.
The warehouse.
The gasoline.
The voice on the phone telling her to run.
She'd thought it was Vincent.
Maybe it was.
Maybe it wasn't.
"Who pulled me out?" she asked.
Dom didn't answer.
His mechanical arm whirred.
A tell.
Like Asher's finger tap.
Like her own lack of blinking.
"It was you," she said.
Not a question.
"You were there. You carried me out. You gave me to Vincent. You disappeared."
"Yes."
"Why?"
"Because you weren't ready." Dom turned away.
Walked to the door.
Stopped.
"Because I wanted you to choose this. Not escape into it. Not fall into it. Choose it."
"And if I'd chosen different?"
"Then you'd be dead. Like Claire. Like the others."
He looked back.
Gray eyes burning.
"But you didn't choose different. You chose the game. You chose the crown."
"Broken crown."
"All crowns are broken. The question is who wears them anyway."
Scarlett followed him to the door.
Stopped at the threshold.
Looked back at the skeletons.
At the screens.
At the kingdom of ghosts Vincent had built.
"There's a final file," she said.
"Triple-encrypted. Jules couldn't crack it."
"I know."
"You know where it is?"
"I know what it is." Dom stepped into the stairwell.
Looked up.
Toward the light.
"It's not data. It's not names."
"Then what?"
"Access." He started climbing.
Didn't look back.
"The file is a key. Like yours. But bigger. Older. It opens the accounts where the Seven Houses keep their real wealth. Not casinos. Not property."
"Then what?"
Dom stopped.
Turned.
Smiled.
Rare.
Terrifying.
"People. Debts. Souls. The real currency of Neon Archipelago."
He continued climbing.
Scarlett followed.
Her hand found the crystal key in her pocket.
Felt its weight.
Its promise.
Its price.
---
They emerged in the casino's loading dock.
Morning light.
Gray.
Choked with fog.
Dom's phone buzzed.
He checked it.
Face darkened.
"They know."
"Who?"
"Everyone." He showed her the screen.
Text message.
Unknown number.
She has the key. She has Thorne. She has twelve hours.
Below it, a photo.
Scarlett and Dom.
In the basement.
Five minutes ago.
"Impossible," she said.
"Improbable." Dom pocketed the phone.
"There's a difference."
"Who sent it?"
"Someone with cameras in Vincent's sanctuary. Someone who's been waiting for this moment longer than we have."
He walked to a black motorcycle.
Tossed her a helmet.
"Get on."
"Where?"
"Heart Island. The fights. Kai's territory."
"Why?"
"Because if they know about the basement, they know about Jules. And if they know about Jules..."
Dom didn't finish.
Didn't need to.
Scarlett pulled on the helmet.
Climbed on the bike.
Wrapped her arms around his waist.
Felt the mechanical arm vibrate.
Felt the human warmth beside it.
The motorcycle roared.
They shot into the fog.
Neon Bay blurred past.
Bridges.
Tunnels.
The city breathing around them.
Scarlett's phone buzzed.
She ignored it.
Buzzed again.
And again.
She pulled it out.
Checked the screen.
Elena: Jules is gone. His lab trashed. Blood on the floor.
Asher: Whatever you think I did, I didn't. But I know who did. Meet me. Alone.
Kai: The odds just shifted. You're favorite to die before sunset. Want to change the bet?
Three messages.
Three traps.
Three versions of the same war.
She turned off the phone.
Looked up.
Dom's shoulders blocked the wind.
Blocked the world.
For this moment.
This breath.
She let herself lean forward.
Let herself need.
Just an inch.
Just a second.
Then the bike slowed.
Heart Island rose from the fog.
Concrete.
Steel.
The sound of fists hitting flesh.
The smell of sweat and adrenaline.
Kai Nakamura stood at the entrance to the Blood Circuit.
Silver-streaked hair gleaming.
Amber eyes amused.
Holding two cups of coffee.
"You're late," he said.
"You're predictable," Scarlett answered.
She climbed off the bike.
Took the coffee.
Black.
No sugar.
Exactly right.
"Jules?" she asked.
"Alive. For now." Kai sipped his own drink.
"Margaret's people have him. They're asking questions about the file. About you. About what Vincent really left behind."
"Where?"
"Blackwood Tower. Asher's territory. Asher's problem."
"Asher's opportunity."
Kai smiled.
"Now you're thinking like a player."
"I'm not playing."
"You're always playing. The question is which game." Kai looked at Dom.
Then back at Scarlett.
"Thorne wants to protect you. I want to use you. Asher wants to own you. Jules wants to save you."
"And what do I want?"
"That's the question, isn't it?" Kai stepped closer.
Close enough to touch.
He did.
One finger.
Under her chin.
Lifting her face to the light.
"Vincent thought you wanted revenge. Claire wanted justice. The others wanted escape."
"What do you think I want?"
Kai's smile widened.
Dangerous.
Hungry.
"I think you want to win. Not survive. Not escape. Win." He dropped his hand.
Stepped back.
"So let's make a deal."
"I'm listening."
"I get you into Blackwood Tower. Past security. Past Margaret's dogs. To Jules."
"Price?"
"The file. When you crack it. I see it first. Before Thorne. Before the hacker. Before anyone."
"And if I say no?"
"Then you find another way." Kai spread his hands.
"Another guide. Another betrayer. I'm sure Dom knows a back door. A secret tunnel. He's full of secrets."
Dom didn't move.
Didn't speak.
But his mechanical arm whirred.
Louder.
Angrier.
Scarlett looked between them.
Past and present.
Protection and ambition.
Safety and risk.
She thought of Jules.
Blood on his floor.
His fingers on his keyboard.
His eyes when he looked at her.
Too soft.
Too seeing.
"Deal," she said.
Kai's smile became real.
"Good. We leave at dusk."
"I leave now."
"Dusk," Kai repeated.
"Margaret's changing shifts at six. Security gap. Ninety seconds. That's your window. Take it or leave it."
Scarlett wanted to argue.
Wanted to charge.
Wanted to burn Blackwood Tower to the ground and pull Jules from the ashes.
But she was learning.
Finally.
Slowly.
She was learning.
"Dusk," she agreed.
Kai nodded.
Walked into the Circuit.
Disappeared into the crowd of fighters and gamblers and ghosts.
Scarlett turned to Dom.
"He's right. About the window. About the gap."
"I know."
"Will you help?"
Dom looked at her.
Long.
Hard.
"Vincent told me to protect you."
"And?"
"And I'm tired of watching you walk into fire."
He climbed off the bike.
Stood beside her.
Close.
Not touching.
"I'll create a distraction. At the tower. Something big enough to pull Margaret's attention."
"Then what?"
"Then you choose." Dom's gray eyes met hers.
Burning.
"Jules or the file. You can't save both. Not in ninety seconds."
"I can try."
"Trying gets you killed."
"Trying gets me there."
She stepped closer.
Close enough to feel his breath.
Close enough to see the scar beneath his collar.
The one she'd given him?
Maybe.
Probably.
"Vincent chose me because I don't quit," she said.
"Vincent chose you because you don't know when to quit."
"Same thing."
"Different outcomes."
Dom reached out.
Human hand.
Warm.
Rough.
He touched her face.
One second.
Two.
Then dropped his arm.
Stepped back.
Mounted the bike.
"Six PM. Blackwood Tower. Don't be late."
He roared away.
Into the fog.
Into the city.
Into the war that had started before she was born.
Scarlett stood alone.
Heart Island breathing around her.
The Blood Circuit pounding in her bones.
She pulled out the crystal key.
Held it to the light.
Broken crown.
Sharp edges.
Perfect weapon.
Six hours.
One rescue.
One file.
One choice that would define everything.
Scarlett Vance smiled.
Cold.
Calculated.
Ready.
"Let them wait."
She walked into the Circuit.
To train.
To prepare.
To become the weapon Vincent had gambled everything on.
The real Red Ace wasn't a casino.
Wasn't a basement full of screens.
It was her.
And she was done being hidden.