Setting aside her curiosity about the way Axl, who so rarely spoke to anyone, had spoken to the young civilian analyst, Zaira went toward the main screen, now filled with a comprehensive list of roughly two hundred permits. “Strike out the properties we’ve already checked, and those linked to anyone in the Ruling Coalition.” Not that she trusted them all, but there was no reason for anyone in power to destabilize the Net.
That still left around a hundred and fifty permits.
“How about the ones related to places like restaurants or other public locations?” Tamar suggested.
“Yes, do it.” She could go back to those later, double-check.
This cut took them under the seventy-five mark.
“The majority look to be small residential dwellings,” Aden said, scanning the list. “We can’t disregard them, not with how easy it would be to turn a basement into a dungeon, but let’s put those ones in a separate group, see what’s left over.”
Fifteen permits.
Seven had to do with a single comm station. It turned out to belong in part to SnowDancer, the rest owned by another changeling pack. “I think it’s fairly safe to disregard that,” Zaira said.
“Agreed.” Aden’s body brushed hers, the living warmth of him welcome. “There’s zero chance Hawke Snow doesn’t have trusted people working at that station—nothing this big could go on under their noses.”
The other eight took more time to break down.
Two were warehouses that appeared likely at first glance, but further digging showed that both had burned down a year ago, the permits for a slightly different rebuild currently in progress. Their locations meant no underground facility was possible.
The third was related to a lab that processed medical specimens and wanted to extend its fumigation and air-conditioning systems. The fourth and fifth involved adding sanitary facilities to the lowest level of a midrise building in a city fringe location. The sixth had to do with the renovation of a store in the main shopping district. The seventh linked to major repair work in a high-rise that had structural issues, while the eighth was a brand-new apartment building to be constructed on a large lot.
“The lab and the midrise,” Zaira said and Tamar threw up records on both properties. “Because why risk applying for a permit anyway? It has to do with something they couldn’t hide or that might attract unwanted attention from the authorities. Plumbing, electrical work, digging for new vents or pipes.”
Aden’s features were grim as he went through all the data they had. “The others are also in difficult locations—too many security cameras, too much foot traffic.”
Pulling back her hair, Zaira secured it with a hair tie she’d had around her wrist. “I’m taking a team and checking out the top possibilities now—I’m going to call in two teleport-capable Tks to transport us.” Speed was of the essence. Persephone’s captors might not kill her, but tonight, Miane had shared something else with Zaira, a secret so big it was tightly, tightly guarded.
When young, she told Aden, having informed Miane he’d have to know, water-based changelings have been known to die after extended periods of not being permitted to shift, and Olivia has no memory of water during her captivity.
Though the Halcyon damage means her memory is suspect, she does remember vividly that it hurt to shift once she was in Venice—and Miane says that only happens after a prolonged period of forced abstinence from shifting.
Every muscle in Aden’s body went rigid. The child has likely not been given the chance to shift since her abduction eight months earlier.
Zaira swallowed the rage in her throat. Miane says children who’ve died previously—after being caught inland in drought zones in past centuries, their parents unable to get them to other suitable water sources in time—lasted seven months at most. Persephone’s living on borrowed time. Her heart will simply give out soon.
“Go,” Aden said, after hauling her close for a hard kiss. “I’ll work with Tamar, coordinate other teams to check out the secondary possibilities.”
“Make sure they don’t betray their presence,” Zaira said, though she knew her squadmates were all trained to be shadows. “And ask Krychek to assist.” She didn’t trust the cardinal, but she’d noticed one thing during the times he was in the valley—Kaleb wasn’t cruel to children.
The fact that he’d grown up under the aegis of a serial killer—a truth Zaira only knew because Aden had obtained certain highly restricted files—could’ve pointed in either direction as to his own inclinations if not for his relationship with Sahara. Ivy and the other Es loved Krychek’s mate; thus, Zaira surmised that the woman wasn’t tainted by evil. Which meant Krychek, deadly though he was, wasn’t a murderous psychopath.
Aden touched his hand to one side of her face. “I’ll call in every resource.”
Chest tight, Zaira hugged him fiercely before walking out on her way to the midrise that struck her as the most likely location. It was isolated, it had a large basement area, and the ownership records were murky at best. Arriving with her team while the area was yet cloaked in the heavy gray of predawn, she spent precious time on reconnaissance. The sheer number of hidden security cameras told her they were on to something.
“Blind the cameras,” she told Mica.
“I can give you five minutes,” he said, already hooked into the system to feed it a loop. “Three, two, one, go.”
Zaira and her team infiltrated the building on silent feet, ghosts in the gray. One half went up, the other down. Zaira was in the latter group, and when she ghosted down the steps into the basement, a single glance was enough to tell her they were too late.