A Kiss In The Moonlight

The Unveiling

The armoured vehicle pulled into an underground garage in Thorne Industries' private tower, a glass and steel citadel that appeared to scoff at the mayhem Elara had just avoided. The door slid open, and Julian Thorne stepped out first, his tall, lanky body a dark shape in the harsh, artificial light. Elara came out after him, her head still reeling from the discoveries about her father and Arthur Sterling. The debt was now terrifyingly clear.

Julian led her through a labyrinth of bare, silent corridors more akin to a vault than a home. They finally arrived at a private elevator that deposited them on the highest level, a breathtaking penthouse office, spacious in minimalist style and providing a bird's-eye view of the city. The moon, now directly above, was close enough to touch through the floor-to-ceiling windows.

This is where you'll be working, Julian said, nodding toward a clean, vacant desk with a view of the city. And living. Temporary, for now.

Elara whirled on him, the anger she had been keeping in check finally bursting free. Living? You want me to come live here? Be your captive?

Guest, Julian corrected his voice level. Until the public hysteria dies down and until you complete the project. Your choice, Elara. The streets, or a gilded cage and all the resources you might possibly need. He walked to a secure, biometric safe in the wall, his back to her. "I don't expect gratitude. Just results.

While he fiddled with the safe's complex lock, Elara's eyes scanned the room, taking in the subdued opulence and the icy exactness. There were no whispers of personality, no warmth. This was a room of power, not comfort. A shiver coursed down her spine. She was a prisoner. But then a flame of indignant determination flared within her. She would not be just his prisoner; she would make the best of this situation. She would unearth her father's legacy, understand its truth, and then she would break free.

Julian's safe opened. He reached inside, pulling out a slender leather portfolio. "You wished to know about the 'Aethel' project," he began, turning to face her, portfolio held out. Your father's grand concept. The one Sterling sabotaged. Here it is.

Elara stopped, then took the portfolio, her hands trembling as she opened it. Recognisable sketches within, innovative concepts, and then something new. Page after page of complex mathematical equations, energy flow diagrams, and bioluminescent urban planning. This wasn't a structure; it was a self-sustaining ecosystem, a blueprint for a future city powered by an unknown, revolutionary energy source. It was more sophisticated than anything her father had ever publicly revealed.

This. This is impossible, she whispered, her architect's mind racing to marvel at the genius but also the sheer impossibility of its scale. How did you get hold of this? This looks like classified research.

Julian's eyes, usually so cold, held a spark of something unreadable, a mix of challenge and some deeper, secret knowledge. Your father didn't just design buildings, Elara. He unearthed something far more, something powerful enough to shift global power struggles. And something very dangerous. He stepped closer, his voice dropping to a near whisper that made her jump. Sterling buried this because it jeopardised the entire industry he was in. But he wasn't alone in wanting to keep it under wraps. There are others. Very powerful others, who will do anything to ensure that 'Aethel' never gets any light of day.

He reached out, offering one very old, ornate key, nothing like anything found in the modern penthouse. "This key," he told her, his eyes locked on hers, "doesn't open a door." It activates the heart of the power source of the 'Aethel' project. Your father entrusted it with my family, in confidence, before his accident.

Elara gazed at the key, then at Julian, her thoughts spinning. Her father's accident. Not a failed project, but a premeditated act. A murder? The ramifications were enormous. Julian Thorne wasn't just collecting a debt; he was collecting justice, maybe even revenge, for an even larger, darker conspiracy.

She had no time to absorb the gravity of this new, horror-filled fact before a shrieking, deafening siren wailed from just beneath the penthouse. Not a civic warning, this was an internal warning of an intruder. Julian's entire demeanour changed in an instant, his eyes narrowing, his hand moving to his side, although no weapon was apparent.

They're here, he growled, his confidence a low, menacing snarl. He grabbed her arm and pulled her toward a hidden doorway that all but blended into the wall. It looks like our little party has attracted the wrong sort of attention. And Elara, these aren't the type of people who care about your good reputation.

As the secret door groaned open to reveal a dull, functional corridor, a loud, metallic bang echoed from the front door of the penthouse, accompanied by the definite sound of splintered wood. Somebody was breaking in, and they were certainly not trying to do so quietly. Elara staggered after Julian, the weighty portfolio still grasped in her hand, the ancient key now searing into her palm. Her own life had been shattered, rebuilt, and now was under overt assault. And the man who held the secrets of her past was the same man who was enticing her into a future that was fraught with deadly peril. She had no alternative but to go along.