"It's gone," I whisper, my voice swallowed by the heavy silence of the archive. "He ripped it out."
I’m staring at the jagged edge of the paper in the 2004 ledger. The dust motes dancing in the single bulb's light seem to mock me. I found the tomb, but the body has been moved.
"Alina."
Stavros steps out of the shadows. I didn't hear the elevator. I didn't hear his boots on the concrete. He moves like smoke in this underworld. He walks toward me, his face grim in the harsh light.
"You found it?" he asks.
"I found a hole," I say, slamming the book shut. Dust puffs up, smelling of rot and old secrets. "Damon was the relief officer. The roster says it. But the page detailing the shift? The times? The authorization? Torn out."
I lean back against the metal shelving unit, feeling the cold
