The doors slid open with a soft hiss, releasing John into a floor that felt nothing like the rest of The Crest. Floor Thirty-Two was normally a high-level research division filled with analysts, long glass tables, and thin screens glowing with algorithmic models.
Tonight, everything was dark.
Every light was off except the faint emergency strips along the walls. They cast a pale glow, enough to see the shapes of inactive monitors and silent desks stretching into the distance like abandoned battlements.
John stepped forward slowly, his footsteps echoing with a sharp clarity that made the entire floor feel hollow and empty.
He listened.
The hum of distant servers.
The faint tension in the air.
A soft vibration beneath his feet, like the building itself was awake and watching.
But not a single human voice.
Not yet.
He walked deeper into the floor, past row after row of unused workstations. Everything felt staged, arranged, prepared for him alone.
Which meant Celine Archer was close.
A soft click echoed from somewhere ahead.
John turned his head slightly, not startled, not tense, but aware.
Another sound followed.
A heel tapping against the tiled floor. Slow. Measured. Confident.
Then a woman stepped out from the shadows between two glass panels.
Celine Archer.
Her silhouette emerged with effortless control. She wore a fitted dark suit tailored so precisely that it almost looked like armour. Her hair was pinned neatly at the back of her head. Her glasses caught the dim emergency light, reflecting it like small shards of ice.
She moved with the calmness of someone who had already won.
"John," she said softly. "You came."
John did not move. "You asked."
Celine approached a few steps, stopping where the light barely touched her face. "Your father would have ignored the summons. The Benefactor would have turned it into a show of dominance. But you came alone. As yourself."
John's expression did not change. "Is that why you stole from the Founder Vault. To see which man I was."
Celine's lips curved faintly. "I stole nothing. Harold left that tablet for the one who understood what this place truly is."
John took one step forward. "You erased logs. You shut down feeds. You hid your tracks. That is theft."
Celine raised a brow. "Or preservation."
She walked toward a glass table and placed her fingertips lightly against its cold surface.
"You remind me of Harold," she said. "He always wanted to protect everyone, even from truths that would break them. He thought he could outrun history."
John's voice sharpened slightly. "He trusted you."
Celine laughed softly. "Harold did not trust anyone. He only believed some betrayals had purpose and others did not."
John stared at her. "Then tell me why you erased the logs."
Celine looked him directly in the eyes now.
"To protect you."
John said nothing.
Celine continued, "There are factions inside this building you have not yet seen. The Benefactor was not the beginning. He was not even the most serious threat. Harold knew this. He created the Vault because he feared what would happen if his enemies outlived him."
John stepped closer. "You have one minute. What did you take?"
Celine's tone remained calm. "I took the last record he made before he died."
John's chest tightened for a moment. "A recording."
Celine nodded. "A confession."
Silence crashed between them.
John forced his voice steady. "Play it."
Celine tilted her head slightly. "No."
John's jaw tightened. "Why?"
Celine walked slowly around the table, circling him in quiet steps.
"Because you are not prepared to hear what he said. Not yet. You just survived the Benefactor's war. Now you want answers you cannot carry."
John stepped forward and stopped her movement with a single stare. "I carried fire. I carried betrayal. I carried loss. I can carry his truth."
Celine examined him closely.
"Your father believed the same thing. Until the day he broke."
John's voice lowered dangerously. "I am not him."
Celine's smile was barely there. "That is what I am testing."
She moved to a control panel and pressed a small button. A single light flickered on across the room, illuminating a long corridor that led deeper into the floor.
Celine gestured to it.
"Walk with me."
John did not move. "Not until you tell me what you want."
Her expression shifted. For the first time, the calm cracked slightly, replaced by something colder and far more dangerous.
"What I want," she said slowly, "is for you to decide what kind of leader you intend to be. The Benefactor wants to control you. The board wants to manage you. The shadows want to test you. And I want to see if you deserve what Harold left behind."
She stepped closer, invading his space just enough to make the air feel colder.
"But understand this, John. If you fail this test, I will not allow you to destroy the legacy your father built."
John's eyes did not waver. "And you think you can stop me."
Celine smiled.
"I already have."
A sudden noise hummed behind him.
John turned sharply.
The elevator doors had locked.
The emergency lights flickered.
Rita's voice would not reach him.
Morgan's trackers would not breach the floor.
Celine had isolated the entire level.
She walked past him, moving into the illuminated corridor.
"You came alone," she said without looking back. "Now walk alone."
John followed.
Not because she commanded him.
But because he sensed the truth in the air.
The woman knew something Harold never said.
Something the Benefactor feared.
Something the tablets upstairs hid.
And whatever that truth was, it lived in the darkness ahead.
On Floor Five, Cassandra stared at her surveillance board, jaw tightening.
All signals from Floor Thirty Two vanished.
Completely gone.
She whispered, "Celine shut it down."
She turned toward her assistants.
"No one touches that floor. No override. Not yet."
She knew what Celine was doing.
She was pulling John into the deeper war.
The old war.
The one Harold never finished.
And the one only his heir could survive.
If he was strong enough.
On Floor Nine, Rita paced back and forth, fists clenched.
"He has been up there too long. Something is wrong."
Morgan checked the dead signal again. "There is nothing. She cut everything. Celine is playing a different game."
Rita slammed her hand against the glass wall.
"Then we break the rules."
Morgan stared at her. "Rita. You cannot breach a full isolation lock. Not even I can hack it without tripping the security purge."
"I am not asking if we can," Rita said. "I am saying we will."
Morgan swallowed. "You want to force the lock."
"Yes," Rita snapped.
Morgan froze.
Floor Thirty Two was a sealed environment.
Breaking the lock could trigger countermeasures.
Countermeasures that might kill everyone on that level.
He stared at Rita, horrified. "If we force the lock, we could kill him."
Rita's jaw trembled for a moment, but she kept her voice steady.
"And if we do nothing, we lose him to her."
Morgan looked at her and whispered, "Rita. We cannot win this time."
Her voice dropped to a whisper.
"I am not trying to win. I am trying to reach him."
Morgan stared at her.
He knew she was right.
And that she was terrified.
And that she would risk the entire building to keep John alive.
Back on Floor Thirty Two, Celine walked deeper into the hallway, each step echoing like a challenge.
John followed, steady and silent.
They finally entered a room at the end of the corridor, lit only by a single overhead lamp.
In the centre of the room sat a metal case.
Celine stopped beside it.
"This," she said softly, "is what your father died protecting."
John stared at the case.
Celine placed her hand on it.
"And this is the night you learn why."
The room darkened.
The case clicked open.
And Harold Raymond's true legacy finally stirred.