Adventure of Dallas Fontaine 2

Dallas studies the camera bank. The casing is opened with a thin, precise pry line, not a smash job. Whoever did it knows these hallways, and they wanted the lenses blind for a reason.

Murderbone growls at the service elevator. A faint click answers from inside the shaft, then silence. At the far end of the hall, the elevator indicator flickers once in the dark.

A hotel staffer steps from the elevator shadow, one hand empty, the other holding a folded packet of routing slips. His badge is turned backward, his smile thin with fear. He is not here to fight, he is here to pass along a warning.

Dallas takes in the torn camera casing, the service elevator, and the packet in Milo's hand. The last remnants of the conspiracy are still moving, and they are moving toward the future he is trying to keep.

Dallas steps in and strips the packet from Milo’s hand. The papers slide free in one clean motion, and Milo flinches back like he expected a fight, not a professional grab.

A folded page slips loose as Dallas catches the packet, and the exposed note shows a hallway camera maintenance stamp with names written beneath it.

Murderbone plants himself between Milo and the elevator, low and steady, while the service shaft gives off one hard mechanical thunk from below.

Dallas has the packet now, but the hallway sconce nearest the elevator pops and dims, as if someone deeper in the system just noticed the handoff.

Dallas lowers his gaze to the packet and scans the names in silence. The list is short, tidy, and bad, a chain of hotel staff, service clerks, and one routing contact that points straight back into the hallway camera work.

The handwritten entries match the maintenance stamp, and one notation repeats beside two different slips, a quiet sign that the same hand keeps moving people through the same corridor.

Murderbone stays planted between Milo and the elevator, eyes fixed downward as the shaft gives another dull mechanical thunk.

Dallas folds the packet with the list exposed on top, keeping the names in his hand instead of the wall.

At the far end of the corridor, a door latch clicks once, then stills. Somebody is close enough to hear the paper move.

Dallas slips the loose page free and tucks it into his inner pocket, where it disappears beneath the coat. The packet stays in his other hand, folded flat and heavy with names.

Murderbone shifts one step closer to the elevator, still barring the way, while the shaft answers with another blunt mechanical thunk.

At the far end, the door latch clicks again, sharper this time, and a thin band of light leaks under the frame.

Dallas closes his hand over the pocket, and the hallway seems to hold its breath around the dim sconce and the silent camera bank.