THE DEVIL'S VOW

The Ghost

Three days passed in a blur of preparation.

Isabella spent most of her time in the lab, using Lucian's resources to dig deeper into David Chen's disappearance. She combed through old emails, financial records, and surveillance footage, searching for any clue that might lead her to her missing mentor.

The official story was that David had died in a boating accident off the coast of Maine. His body had never been found, but his overturned vessel had washed ashore with bloodstains on the deck. The Coast Guard had ruled it a tragic accident.

Isabella had never believed it.

David was an expert sailor. He'd grown up on the water, spent his summers navigating the treacherous currents of the Atlantic. He wouldn't have capsized in calm seas. He wouldn't have gone out alone at night without telling anyone.

Someone had killed him. Or tried to.

"You're staring at that screen like it owes you money."

Isabella looked up to find Lucian standing in the doorway of the lab, two cups of coffee in his hands. He was dressed casually today—dark jeans, a grey sweater that hugged his shoulders—and she felt that familiar flutter in her chest that she absolutely refused to acknowledge.

"I'm trying to find a ghost," she said, accepting the coffee. "It's not easy."

"Ghosts leave traces." Lucian sat on the edge of her desk, close enough that she could smell his cologne—cedar and citrus and something warmer underneath. "You just have to know where to look."

"I've been looking for three days. I've found nothing."

"Then you're looking in the wrong place." He pulled out his phone, scrolling through something. "David Chen's last known location was a small fishing village in Maine called Port Haven. He was seen there two days before his boat washed ashore."

"I know that. I've been to Port Haven. There's nothing there but lobster traps and tourists."

"Did you talk to the locals?"

"Of course I did. None of them knew anything."

"Did you talk to the right locals?" Lucian raised an eyebrow. "The ones who don't talk to strangers? The ones who've been paid to keep their mouths shut?"

Isabella frowned. "What are you saying?"

"I'm saying that David Chen was investigating the Vale Group. And the Vale Group has a habit of making people disappear." He set down his coffee. "But they're not the only ones who know how to find people."

He pulled up a file on his phone and handed it to her. It was a photograph of an older man—weathered face, grey beard, eyes that looked like they'd seen too much.

"His name is Thomas Reilly," Lucian said. "He was a fisherman in Port Haven for forty years. He knew David. He also knew the men who came looking for him after David disappeared."

"How do you know this?"

"I have people." Lucian shrugged. "I made some calls. Thomas Reilly is still alive, still living in Port Haven. He doesn't talk to outsiders, but he might talk to you."

"Why me?"

"Because you're not an outsider. You're David's student. You're the one who's been searching for him for three years." Lucian met her eyes. "He'll want to help you."

Isabella stared at the photograph, her heart pounding. "When can we leave?"

"Now. I have a car waiting."

---

The drive to Maine took six hours.

They left the city in the early afternoon, Lucian driving a black SUV that blended in with the traffic. Isabella sat in the passenger seat, her eyes fixed on the passing landscape—the city giving way to suburbs, the suburbs giving way to forests, the forests giving way to the rocky coastline of New England.

"You're quiet," Lucian said after an hour of silence.

"I'm thinking."

"About David?"

"About everything." Isabella turned to look at him. "About why you're really helping me."

Lucian's jaw tightened. "I told you why."

"You told me you need my connections. You told me you want to take down the Vale Group. But that doesn't explain why you're driving six hours to Maine to help me find a man who might be dead."

"Maybe I just like road trips."

"Lucian."

He was silent for a long moment. Then: "Because I know what it's like to lose someone you love and never get answers. I know what it's like to spend years searching for the truth, only to hit wall after wall." He glanced at her. "I don't want you to go through that alone."

Isabella's throat tightened. "You barely know me."

"I know enough." His voice was soft. "I know you're brave. I know you're stubborn. I know you'd rather die than give up on the people you love." He paused. "And I know that David Chen meant something to you. Something important."

"He was like a father to me." Isabella's voice cracked. "After my dad disappeared, David was the only one who believed in me. He took me under his wing, taught me everything he knew about marine biology. He was the reason I went to Columbia. The reason I became a scientist."

"And then he disappeared."

"And then he disappeared." Isabella wiped her eyes. "I've spent three years trying to find him. Three years of dead ends and false leads and people telling me to give up. But I can't. I can't give up on him."

Lucian reached over and took her hand. His grip was warm, steady, grounding.

"You won't have to," he said. "Not anymore."

---

They arrived in Port Haven just after sunset.

The town was small—a cluster of weathered buildings huddled against the rocky shore, their windows glowing with warm light. The smell of salt and fish hung heavy in the air, and the sound of waves crashing against the cliffs echoed in the distance.

Lucian parked outside a modest inn and killed the engine.

"We'll stay here tonight," he said. "Tomorrow, we will find Thomas Reilly."

Isabella nodded, her heart pounding. She was close. She could feel it.

The inn was cozy, with creaking floorboards and a fireplace that crackled in the lobby. The owner—a plump woman with kind eyes—gave them a room on the second floor, overlooking the harbor.

"One room?" Isabella asked, her voice sharp.

"I'm sorry," the woman said. "It's the off-season. We're fully booked."

Isabella turned to Lucian, her eyes blazing. "You planned this."

"I did not." But there was a hint of a smile on his lips. "I'll sleep on the floor."

"You'd better."

The room was small but comfortable—a queen bed, a dresser, a window with a view of the moonlit harbor. Isabella stood by the window, watching the waves crash against the shore, while Lucian unpacked his bag.

"You can have the bed," he said. "I'll take the floor."

"I'm not going to let you sleep on the floor."

"Then we'll share." He met her eyes. "I'll stay on my side. I promise."

Isabella hesitated. The thought of sharing a bed with him—of feeling his warmth, his breath, his body close to hers—sent a shiver down her spine. But she was exhausted, and the bed was big, and she was tired of fighting.

"Fine," she said. "But if you snore, I'm kicking you out."

He laughed—a real laugh, warm and unexpected. "Deal."

---

She woke at 2 AM to the sound of whispering.

Isabella's eyes flew open. The room was dark, lit only by the moonlight streaming through the window. Lucian was still beside her, his breathing steady, his body relaxed in sleep.

But the whispering continued.

Carefully, she slipped out of bed and walked to the window. Below, in the shadow of the inn, two figures stood talking. She couldn't make out their words, but she could see their faces—one was the innkeeper, her expression worried. The other was a man, tall and broad, with a beard that glinted silver in the moonlight.

Thomas Reilly.

Isabella's heart stopped.

She turned to wake Lucian—and found him already standing behind her, his eyes fixed on the scene below.

"Someone's here," he murmured.

"I know. It's Thomas Reilly."

"The innkeeper called him." Lucian's jaw tightened. "She must have recognized you."

"I need to talk to him." Isabella moved toward the door, but Lucian caught her arm.

"Wait. Something's wrong."

"What do you mean?"

"Look at them." He pointed. "They're not just talking. They're arguing."

Isabella looked again. The innkeeper was gesturing frantically, her voice rising. Thomas was shaking his head, his expression grim.

Then the innkeeper said something that made Isabella's blood run cold.

"She said 'they're here.'"

"Who's here?" Isabella whispered.

Lucian was already moving, pulling on his jacket, checking the gun he kept in his shoulder holster.

"Stay behind me," he said. "And don't make a sound."

---

They crept down the back stairs, avoiding the creaking floorboards, their footsteps silent on the worn carpet. The lobby was empty, the fireplace reduced to glowing embers.

Outside, the night air was cold and sharp, carrying the scent of salt and danger.

Thomas and the innkeeper had moved to the edge of the parking lot, their voices low but urgent. Isabella and Lucian stayed in the shadows, close enough to hear but not be seen.

"—told you not to call me," Thomas was saying. "If they find out I talked to anyone—"

"They're here for him," the innkeeper hissed. "They're asking questions. You have to warn him."

"Warn who?" Thomas demanded. "David's been gone for three years. There's no one left to warn."

"You know that's not true." The innkeeper grabbed his arm. "He's still alive, Thomas. You know he is. And if they find him—"

A gunshot rang out.

Isabella flinched, her heart slamming against her ribs. Thomas and the innkeeper froze, their faces pale in the moonlight.

Then the headlights came on.

Three black SUVs, parked at the edge of the lot, their engines roaring to life. Doors opened, and men in dark clothing poured out—six, seven, eight of them, all armed, all moving with military precision.

"Run," Lucian breathed.

But it was too late.

One of the men spotted them—a tall figure with a scar across his face—and raised his gun.

"Thorne!" he shouted. "We know you're here. Come out, and we won't hurt the girl."

Lucian pushed Isabella behind him, his body a shield.

"Stay back," he said. "Whatever happens, don't move."

"Lucian—"

"Trust me."

He stepped out of the shadows, his hands raised, his expression calm.

"I'm here," he called. "Let the others go. They have nothing to do with this."

The scarred man laughed. "You're in no position to negotiate, Thorne. The Vale Group sends their regards."

And then he pulled the trigger