Nicolas left the others behind on the balcony without looking back. The echo of his boots on the factory's upper walkway was sharp, deliberate.
'He should be here…' he thought, scanning each hallway as he moved. 'All his valuables are here. This is his main operation. And he strikes me as the kind of man who values material wealth more than his own life.'
Room by room, he searched. Storage closets filled with crates. Side offices stacked with ledgers and betting slips. Locked chambers that yielded nothing but spare equipment. One by one, he crossed them off the list until only one remained.
Torwan's office.
The door was thick, reinforced with steel bands, and shut tight. Nicolas didn't bother with the handle. He raised his hand, muttering the incantation under his breath.
"Stone Lance."
