Dallas reaches the south annex and the place feels abandoned on purpose. Rusted storage units sit in crooked rows under buzzing fluorescents, and the air tastes of oil, damp concrete, and old dust.

Murderbone pads beside him, nose low. Dallas studies the numbers, the locks, the fresh scrape marks on the floor, and the trail stops at 4B.

Inside the unit, a narrow passage drops into a service corridor below the annex. One bare bulb swings over stacked crates, a metal door below the stairwell stands half open, and papers are scattered like they were searched in a hurry.

From the corridor comes a sharp breath, then a man in a maintenance coat stumbles into view, clutching a folder to his chest. He freezes when he spots Dallas and Murderbone.

Murderbone bares his teeth, blocking the corridor. Dallas steps in, and the man backs toward the ajar door below the stairwell, panicked, cornered, and ready to bargain.

Find out who is using the hidden service corridor