Strike at the Heart

“Are you sure about this, Lawrence ”

Aiden’s voice was low, nearly swallowed by the dim gleam of the underground chamber. The damp air carried the scent of rust, sweat, and something deeper — something like fear.

Lawrence did n’t answer right down. He stood at the edge of the old rustic table, hands braced against the splintered face, eyes locked on the tattered chart spread before him. The fluttering night danced over the lines and markings, each one ...