The inner room goes dead quiet, except for the far-off groan of stressed steel. Red light dies on the panels. The trapped Mercer men are cut off behind the locked door, and the customs annex feels like a sealed tomb.
Jackson Temple
That seal holds for now. But if the relay was tied to the grid, somebody out there is going to notice.
Elena Vane
Then we do not give them time. We take whatever proves who built this and get it out before the building turns into a crime scene.
Murderbone
Low, warning rumble. Eyes on the door. Guard Dallas.
Jackson keeps one hand on the buckled frame, listening for a rush on the other side. Elena sweeps the room, tense and ready, while Murderbone plants himself at Dallas's heel like a living barricade.
Dallas Fontaine
The relay is contained. The real question is what it was hiding, and who gets blamed when the lights come back on.
Behind the sealed door, something bangs once, then settles. The annex waits, silent and exposed. Dallas stands at the center of it all, evidence in hand, with the final call still his to make.
“Is there another copy of the evidence here?”
YES (Likely, rolled 49)
Dallas shifts his weight, his boot catching on a loose floor plate near the relay housing. As the metal clatters, he notices a secondary compartment beneath the floorboards, its edge lined with the same occult-mechanical hum that defined the chapel device.
Dallas Fontaine
The relay was just the distraction. The real records are tucked away in the subfloor.
Jackson Temple
Dallas, look. There is a duplicate manifest bundle tucked into the foundation. It is a complete set.
“I hand Jackson the manifest bundle”
SUCCESS (Legendary Agility, rolled +0)
Dallas lifts the manifest bundle from the glowing cache and passes it into Jackson Temple’s waiting hands. The paper edges flash red as Jackson catches the weight of it, careful and quick.
Jackson Temple
I have it. This is the clean set, Dallas.
Jackson thumbs through the top pages, then stops on the same tucked-in routing slip Dallas found earlier. His face tightens as a name at the margin matches the one on the operatives’ list.
Jackson Temple
My name is on their paperwork. They were tracking me from the start.
Murderbone presses close to Dallas’s leg, still staring at the sealed door. Behind it, the lock gives a soft internal click, then settles.
Elena Vane
We have enough now. Enough to pin them, enough to leave.
Dallas’s hand comes away empty from the handoff. Jackson folds the manifest bundle against his chest, and the pried-open floor cavity keeps spilling its pale glow over the three of them.
For a beat, nobody moves. The room holds, the evidence secured, the sealed door quiet at last.
The annex went dim, steel door sealed, evidence in hand.
Jackson Temple
My name on the slip. They meant to bury me in paper.
Dallas Fontaine
Then we pulled it up by the roots.
Elena Vane
Move. Before the rest of Mercer finds this room.
Murderbone
Alert. Exit. Protect Dallas.
Dallas Fontaine left the customs annex with the truth under one arm and the night still buzzing around him. The Mercer conspiracy had lost its cover, and Jackson Temple was no longer a name on a forged list but a man exposed and alive. Behind them, the sealed room kept its secrets no longer, and the city could finally begin to count the damage.