THE SLICK LINE

Samantha's POV I felt my pulse surge with a mix of urgency and panic as soon Alex entered the open. He faced the man from the estate, his voice cool but forceful. "Back off," he said, his posture constant and ready for anything to follow. Raising an eyebrow, the man gently dropped the phone from his ear, a spark of laughter in his eyes. "I was wondering when you may present yourselves. You appear not as proficient in hiding as you believe. "Who were you discussing?" I demanded, coming out from the shadows to stand next to Alex. Though I kept my voice calm, my heart was hammered in my chest. Royce, was it? He turned to look at me, his face insensible. Royce, he added gently, as though he were appreciating the name. "He is constantly there in these small games, isn't he? I would not say, though, that I was chatting with him directly. Not here this time. His response simply made my tummy more uncomfortable. His sentences had layered significance, as though he were trying to gauge our knowledge beforehand. It was terrible—this ongoing dance around the truth, with each response raising more questions. "We don't have time for your riddles," Alex remarked, his voice somewhat annoyed. "You informed us back at the estate that we lacked the readiness for what Royce is hiding." If such is the case, then this location is what? Why are you in this place? The man produced a hesitant, almost pitying smile. "You live in the center of a very old conflict, far older than Royce or even his father. And whether you know it or not, you are already far deeper than you ought to be. His comments lingered weighty in the air, laden with a heaviness that made my gut turn around. "You're implying this surpasses Royce?" Unable to suppress the incredulity from my voice, I questioned. "Much bigger," he said, his eyes straying past us to some far-off recollection that seemed to remain. "Royce is a piece on the board—a strong one, certainly but only a piece. Following a lineage, he is striving to preserve it in his own warped manner. Others, however, have different notions about what that legacy ought to evolve into. Alex's jaw clenched. And on whose side are you? The man's smile darkened as his face grew solemn. I have been on several sides. As of right now, though, let's just say I find the balance interesting. Royce is tilting the balance too far; if he succeeds, it won't simply be you or me paying the cost. As I listened to his remarks, I shivered. With every fresh discovery, the stakes appeared to rise, like removing the layers of a tale I had just now started to grasp. I lowered my voice and moved closer. Then serve us. Help us stop Royce so he cannot succeed. You do not want him to. He laughed faintly, a sour tinge to the sound. "Assist you? You still don't get it, do you? Whether or not you intended to, the instant you chose to rebel against Royce you entered this fight. Nobody can assist you right now; you either manage to survive or you do not. His words' weight sank over me, and for a time I felt uncertainty flutter. Was our struggle too grandiose? Were we truly only puppets in a game started long before we realized it existed? Alex grounded me in the present with his palm brushing mine. His touch was gentle, comforting, a quiet pledge he was not heading anywhere. That we were in this together, irrespective of the depth of the gloom. The man moved back, as though getting ready to depart. "You should go now," he murmured softly. "Before the actual supporters of Royce show up. There are others seeking solutions besides you. "Wait," I cried, desperation driving my voice higher. " Tell us where to go next, if we are in the thick of this fight. Give us something to retaliate with. He hesitated, as if debating whether to provide us one piece of direction. "There is an old archive," he remarked at last. "A place Royce's father used for business and personal records." Not far from here, buried in a neglected wing of a closed law office downtown. Should fortune provide you what you are seeking for? "Why are you showing us this?" Alex asked, his tone suspicious. The man's face softened, a shadow of sadness sweeping across his features. "Because you brought to me someone I used to know. Someone who battled just as fiercely for all the proper causes also lost. His voice dropped to a near whisper as he turned toward the path we had arrived from. "Now get on." He turned and vanished into the woods as though he had never visited at all before we could ask him anything further. Alex and I just stood there for a time, the quiet engulfing us like a weighty blanket. "What do you propose?" I broke the silence by asking at last. Do we have faith in him? Alex focussed his eyes on the area where the man had disappeared. "I'm not sure whether we can trust anyone right now," he replied gently. "We must, however, locate it should there be even a possibility that this archive contains something valuable. Time is running out as well as choices. Tensive stillness permeated the trip back to the city. As the city lights emerged, I gazed out the window and found my head whirling. Every turn the questions in my head simply got louder; each passing street seemed like a step closer to whatever waited for us in that archive. Nobody else was looking for the same responses we were. To keep such responses secret, how far would they go? The building seemed deserted when we at last got to the place the guy had recommended. Its front was fading, the windows coated with dust, and a faded sign over the door stating Lancaster & Foster Legal Services. Though it seemed like an area devoid of life in years, something about it felt alive. As though secrets still floated through its vacant hallways. We moved gingerly, trying the front door. It creaked to start, showing a dimly illuminated reception room coated with a thin dust film. The air was stale, yet somewhere deep inside the structure there was a faint hum—like the far-off echo of a past gone. "This place gives me the creeps," I said, looking about. Alex stepped next to me, his keen eye looking about. His voice low, he said, "Stay close." "We have no idea what—or who—we might come upon." Driven by the man's suggestions and our own instincts, we negotiated the cramped hallways. The more we explored the structure, the more uncomfortable we felt as if the very walls were murmuring things we were not supposed to know. At last we arrived at a door labeled Records Room—Authorized Personnel Only. It locked, but Alex's strong push caused the ancient wood to give way and shatter slightly as it opened. Inside, rows of yellowing documents and dirty boxes packed the room on shelves. Though it was an archive, one that had not been accessed very recently. Stepping inside and brushing my fingertips over the spines of ancient ledgers, I whispered, "This has to be it." "Something has to be here that ties Royce, his father... maybe even that war the man was referring to." Alex started methodically looking at the shelves. Start with anything that seems personal—journals, letters. Royce's father would not have put his secrets out in the open if he was hiding them. In tense quiet, we sieved through the boxes, the minutes running by as the enigma became weighty with every document we came upon but could not comprehend. Then I discovered it, buried in the back of a drawer—a diary wrapped in black leather with handwritten scrawls on every page. The last admission came from more than thirty years ago. I looked at Alex, her hands shaking as she held the diary. "I believe we might be looking for this." Alex could not reply until a loud noise from the front of the structure—footsteps, quick and close in nature—echoed. We looked at one other briefly, the awareness soaking in with an adrenaline surge. We were not by ourselves.