The Heart System Nov Chapter 226

Chapter 226: Chapter 226

With Adam slumped in the chair, Nala, Marcus, and I were huddled around the monitor, watching the footage. The screen flickered, showing

stepping out of the security room and chasing after the mole. He shoved Adam aside and bolted through the door before I could catch him. The cara cut, now outside, capturing the chase in the parking lot. He weaved between cars like a shadow, impossible to pin down, and then, impossibly, he climbed the fence and disappeared onto the sidewalk. The footage froze there. No more caras. Nothing.

"My god," Nala breathed, her hand gripping the edge of the desk. "You could’ve been seriously hurt."

I rubbed the back of my neck, still feeling the rush of adrenaline from the chase. "Yeah... well, luckily, I’m not dead."

"The fuck were you doing?" Marcus growled, turning his glare toward Adam. "Huh? Aren’t you the security?"

Adam shrank in his chair, muttering sothing inaudible.

"I... Mr. Hale, it caught

off guard," he stamred.

"Bullshit," Marcus spat. "You good-for-nothing bastard. You let the mole escape."

Before Adam could respond, Marcus yanked the chair around, forcing him to face him. Adam tried to avert his eyes, like a scared kid caught sneaking cookies.

"You’re working with him, right?" Marcus demanded, jabbing a boot at the chair’s legs. "That’s how he got in here."

"Leave him alone," Nala said sharply. "It caught him off guard—you can see that in the footage."

Marcus’s gaze snapped to her. "We pay him so we aren’t caught off guard, aren’t we, Nala?"

I held up my hands. "Let’s just calm down. Have we called the cops yet?"

"Cops?" Marcus barked. "If cops get involved, we’re fucked. Throughly fucked. No cops. We handle this ourselves."

Shit. That wasn’t exactly reassuring.

"Evan, I’m trusting you on this one," she said, turning to . "Can you... check the room? Maybe the mole left sothing behind. We’ll wait outside."

Adam hesitated. "I—I can help, Ms. Nolin—"

"You aren’t helping anyone," Marcus cut him off. "In our eyes, you could be working with the mole, idiot."

Marcus turned back to .

"We trust you. Do what you gotta do, Evan."

I nodded. "Hmm. Right..."

I watched as Nala and the others left, shutting the door behind them. The silence hit

like a wall. This was my scene now. Ti to think. Step one: retrace the mole’s path. I’d seen the footage, but that only got

so far. Then I heard it—a soft noise from the bathroom.

The stall had been closed when I entered earlier. That could only an one thing: the mole had been hiding here. Worth checking.

"Okay... let’s see," I muttered.

Wow. I really was turning into the lancholic detective the girls teased

about. All I needed now was a pipe and a long brown trench coat to complete the look.

I stepped into the bathroom, eyes scanning quickly. To my left, the sink. Next to it, a countertop. I crouched and opened the cabinet underneath. Just old cigarette packs, so unopened noodle packs, nothing unusual.

I closed it and froze in front of the stall. Bootprints. Two of them on the toilet lid.

The mole had been standing there—or crouching—hiding his feet from view. But... how did he even get in? No keycard, no caras triggered. That didn’t make sense.

I stretched, thinking it over, then climbed carefully onto the toilet lid to inspect the ceiling. Square drop ceiling tiles—your classic office grid—stared back at . One looked slightly misaligned. I reached up, punched it aside, and peered into the space above.

There was enough room to crawl.

I hopped down and grabbed a ladder leaning against the mop bucket. Positioning it under the hole, I climbed carefully, making sure not to disturb the bootprints. My head poked above the ceiling tiles. The space was tight but navigable—a dusty maze of pipes, wires, and HVAC ducts.

"Guess there’s only one way to find out."

Crawling felt awkward at first, my knees scraping against sharp edges of tal and dust falling into my eyes. I forced myself to slow down, adjusting my grip on the ductwork above . The mole had clearly known this space, moving with ease where I struggled. The vent separated into multiple directions, forks branching left and right. The floor below had faint, worn X’s marked on the panels, barely visible. Curious. I decided to follow them, hoping they’d lead sowhere useful.

After a few tense minutes, I ca to a dead end. My stomach dropped, and I swore under my breath, feeling frustration mix with exhaustion. I leaned against the side of the vent, taking a mont to breathe. My chest heaved, sweat dripping into my eyes, making them sting. I pressed my forehead against the cold tal and tried to calm down. This wasn’t just a vent—it was a labyrinth, and one false move could land

in a ss I didn’t want to think about.

"Huh?"

Then I looked up. A rope dangled from the ceiling above, frayed but surprisingly sturdy. My fingers trembled slightly as I reached for it. I took a deep breath, planted my feet on the vent floor, and hoisted myself up. The climb was short, but my forearms scread from the effort, and the rope swayed slightly with each movent. I winced as my knuckles scraped against the rough fibers, leaving tiny streaks of blood.

When I reached the next section, I paused, letting my legs dangle for a mont, catching my breath. The air here was even drier, dust swirling in the faint light filtering through the tiles above.

"Gotta move. Co on, Evan."

I crawled again, muscles burning, sweat slicking my palms. The vent twisted sharply to the right, forcing

to pivot awkwardly, knees scraping tal. My breathing ca in short, ragged bursts. The further I went, the tighter the space beca, the tal walls pressing in on . Each inch forward was a fight against fatigue, dust, and the claustrophobic weight of the ceiling.

Another fork appeared. I paused, noting more faded X’s on the panels below. I followed them. A few minutes later, I hit another dead end. Damn it.

Then I saw it: another rope, hanging from above, thicker this ti. Unlike the last one, it wasn’t frayed, just dusty. I tested it gently. Solid. Thank god. I wrapped my hands around it, took a deep breath, and began the climb. My legs kicked weakly against the vent floor, scraping gravel and tal, but I kept my balance, slowly pulling myself higher. At the top, I stretched my arms over a support beam, hoisting my body fully onto it. My chest burned, lungs screaming, but I forced myself to pause, letting my body settle before moving again.

Crawling resud, slower now. And it lasted for fucking hours... or so how it felt. I’d co to another dead end, and find another rope. Climb, continue. The sa shit.

Finally, I reached the end. Only one exit remained. A small grate, ceiling-level, stared at

like a portal to freedom. I rested my forehead against it, taking a long, shaky breath. Kicking it hard, it popped out with a tallic clang, startling . The sudden rush of fresh air hit my face, a mix of wind, ozone, and the faint scent of rain.

I slid through the opening, muscles trembling from the exertion, heart hamring in my chest. I lay flat for a mont, catching my breath, letting the cool air wash over , eyes scanning my surroundings.

I was on the roof.

The city sprawled around . Dim lights reflected off glass and concrete, the hum of traffic far below. Satellite dishes and HVAC units crowded the space, steam rising from vents like ghostly tendrils.

"Fucking hell."

A door caught my eye—plain, nothing fancy, just the kind of simple, beige tal door you’d see on any office building. I walked toward it, boots crunching against the gravel, the wind tugging at my hair. I reached for the handle and tried it. Locked.

I stepped back, brushing dust off my jacket, eyes sweeping across the rooftop. Pipes, vents, and AC units sprawled out like a tiny city, their shadows stretching across the gravel. Through the narrow window in the door, I could just make out a flight of stairs leading down into the building.

I tried the handle again. Locked.

I forced it harder. No give.

No way it was opening, this thing was solid. Which ant the mole had access. He had a key.

I exhaled hard, the kind of breath that carried the last mile of the chase with it. My hand slipped into my pocket, fingers brushing past lint before finding my crumpled cigarette pack. I tapped one out, lit it, and drew in a slow breath as the smoke curled into the night.

Below, the neon city glowed, sharp, loud, alive, nothing like how I felt after chasing that damn mole across half the district.

"Well," I muttered, a grin tugging at my lips despite the exhaustion. "Shit just got interesting..."

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