NO WAY OUT BUT THROUGH

The Spotter

Kane drove.

Slade sat in the passenger seat, watching the city blur past. The Grand Verance Hotel was ten minutes away. Behind them, Dante’s garage shrank to a dot in the rearview mirror.

Ember was in the back, silent. Her eyes moved between the two men.

The atmosphere inside the SUV was thick. Slade hadn’t mentioned The Minotaur’s message about Kane. Not yet. He was waiting. Watching. Seeing if Kane would say something first.

Kane didn’t say anything. He just drove.

The hotel rose against the evening sky. Twenty-three floors of glass and steel. A valet stand at the front. Security cameras on every corner. Inside, a hundred wealthy donors would soon gather to support Arthur Delgado’s reelection campaign.

And somewhere in that crowd, a killer was waiting.

Slade checked his watch. 5:47 PM. The fundraiser started at 7:00. Delgado would speak at 8:00. They had two hours to get into position.

“Pull into the service alley,” Slade said.

Kane turned the wheel. The SUV rolled past a dumpster and stopped behind a catering truck. No cameras here. Just a steel door marked *Employees Only*.

Slade got out. He wore a black suit—tailored, expensive, borrowed from Dante’s closet. The jacket concealed a Glock and two extra magazines. His earpiece was hidden beneath his collar.

Kane wore a maintenance uniform. Gray coveralls. A tool belt. His prosthetic leg was hidden beneath the fabric. His rifle was disassembled in a duffel bag.

Ember wore a black dress. Simple. Elegant. No weapons. Her role was to blend in with the guests.

“Remember the plan,” Slade said. “Kane, you find the spotter. Take him out quietly. No blood. No bodies. Just a nap.”

“Pharmaceuticals,” Kane said, patting a syringe in his pocket. “He won’t remember a thing.”

“Ember, you go through the front door. Mingle. Keep your eyes open. If you see Sloane, don’t engage. Just say ‘red’ in the earpiece and find cover.”

“And you?” Ember asked.

“I’ll be in the service corridor. Waiting.”

Ember nodded. She adjusted her dress and walked toward the hotel’s main entrance. Her heels clicked on the pavement. She didn’t look back.

Kane watched her go. “You trust her now?”

“No,” Slade said. “But I trust her fear. She’s scared of The Minotaur. That makes her predictable.”

“Fear makes people stupid too.”

“Then we hope she’s smart.”

Kane hoisted the duffel bag over his shoulder. “I’ll take the north stairwell. The spotter will be somewhere with a clear view of the stage. Probably the balcony.”

“Go.”

Kane disappeared through the service door. Slade followed a moment later.

---

The service corridor was narrow and cold. Fluorescent lights hummed overhead. Pipes ran along the ceiling. The air smelled of bleach and old food.

Slade walked slowly, his footsteps muffled by rubber-soled shoes. He passed a kitchen. A laundry room. A security office with a sleeping guard inside.

He found the junction point—where the service corridor met the ballroom’s backstage area. A heavy curtain separated him from the main event. He could hear voices on the other side. Laughter. The clink of champagne glasses.

He pressed his back against the wall and waited.

The earpiece crackled.

Kane: “I’m in position. North balcony. No spotter yet.”

Ember: “I’m in the ballroom. Delgado is working the room. Lots of security. Plainclothes.”

Slade: “Stay visible. Don’t hide. You’re a guest.”

Ember: “Understood.”

Silence. The minutes crawled.

Slade checked his phone. 6:30 PM. No new messages from The Minotaur. That was unusual. The pattern so far had been constant contact. Constant pressure.

Maybe that was the point. Make him wait. Make him nervous.

He focused on his breathing. Slow. Deep. Controlled.

Then Kane’s voice: “I see him. Southeast corner of the balcony. Male. Dark suit. Red tie. He’s watching the stage but his hand keeps going to his ear. He’s communicating with someone.”

Slade: “That’s the spotter. Can you get to him?”

Kane: “There’s a service door behind him. I can come up from the stairs. But I need a distraction. Something that makes him turn around.”

Slade thought for a moment. “Ember, can you drop something? Make a loud noise near the stage?”

Ember: “I’m carrying a clutch purse. I can ‘accidentally’ knock over a champagne tower.”

Slade: “Do it in three minutes.”

Ember: “Copy.”

Slade looked through the curtain. He could see the edge of the stage. A podium. Microphones. American flags.

Three minutes.

Two.

One.

A crash echoed through the ballroom. Glass shattered. Voices rose in alarm. People shouted.

Kane: “He turned. I’m moving.”

Slade watched through the gap in the curtain. The chaos was working. Security guards rushed toward the sound. Guests crowded around a toppled champagne tower. Ember stood in the middle, apologizing profusely.

Kane: “I’m behind him. Syringe is in. He’s going down… now.”

A soft thud. Then silence.

Kane: “Spotter is down. I’ve got him propped in a chair. Looks like he’s sleeping. No one will check for an hour.”

Slade: “Good. Now find Sloane. She’ll be moving. Her spotter just went offline.”

Kane: “Scanning.”

Seconds passed. Then Kane’s voice, tense: “Slade. She’s not in the ballroom. I’ve got eyes on the whole floor. No woman matching her description.”

Slade’s stomach tightened. “Then where is she?”

A new voice came through the earpiece. A woman’s voice. Low. Calm. Not Ember.

“She’s behind you.”

Slade spun.

Sloane Vance stood three feet away, a silenced pistol aimed at his chest.

She was smaller than he expected. Five-five. Lean. Dark hair pulled back in a tight bun. Her eyes were cold, flat, empty. The scar on her upper lip was visible even in the dim light.

“Don’t move,” she said. “Don’t speak. Don’t even breathe too loud.”

Slade’s hand was inches from his own weapon. Too far. She’d shoot him before he cleared the holster.

“Your spotter is down,” Slade said.

“I know. I felt him go offline. That’s when I knew someone was hunting me.” She tilted her head. “You’re Slade Crowe. I’ve heard stories.”

“All lies.”

“Probably. But the lies about you are still terrifying.” She stepped closer. The pistol didn’t waver. “Why are you here?”

“To stop you from killing Delgado.”

“I’m not going to kill Delgado.”

Slade frowned. “What?”

“The contract changed this morning. New target. Someone else.” She smiled. It was a thin, cruel smile. “Guess who?”

The answer hit Slade like a fist.

“Me.”

“Ten million dollars for your head. Alive or dead. But alive pays double.” Sloane’s eyes flicked to his earpiece. “Tell your friends to stay where they are. If I hear footsteps, I pull the trigger.”

Slade didn’t move. His mind raced. The Minotaur had set him up. Sent him to capture an assassin who was now hunting him. That wasn’t a circle. That was a trap.

“Who changed the contract?” Slade asked.

“Someone called The Minotaur. Paid double my usual rate. Asked me to make it look like an accident.” She shrugged. “But I don’t do accidents. I do messages.”

“What message?”

“That no one is safe. Not even the players.”

Slade’s hand drifted toward his belt. Slowly. Imperceptibly.

“I wouldn’t,” Sloane said.

“You haven’t shot me yet. That means you want something.”

“I want to know who you are. Why someone would pay ten million for a washed-up interrogator with a death wish.” She studied his face. “And I want to know if you’re worth more alive than dead.”

“That depends on who’s buying.”

“The Minotaur isn’t buying. He’s betting. On the forum. He’s put two million on you surviving the next circle.” Sloane laughed. “He’s betting against his own assassin. That’s either very smart or very stupid.”

Slade processed the information. The Minotaur had hired Sloane to kill him, but placed a bet on his survival. That meant The Minotaur didn’t actually want him dead. Not yet. The game needed a player.

“He wants you to test me,” Slade said. “Not kill me.”

Sloane’s smile faded. “You’re smarter than you look.”

“Then let’s stop pretending. You’re not going to shoot me. If you do, you lose the bet. And The Minotaur probably has a way to collect.”

Sloane was silent for a long moment. Then she lowered the pistol.

“I hate smart men,” she said. “They’re unpredictable.”

“So am I.”

She holstered her weapon. “The Minotaur told me to give you a message. He said: ‘The third circle is a lie. The real test is whether you can turn an enemy into an ally.’”

Slade stared at her. “He wants me to recruit you.”

“He wants to see if you can. I’m not easy to recruit.” She crossed her arms. “I’ve killed seventeen people. I’ve never worked with a partner. I don’t trust anyone.”

“Neither do I.”

“Then we have something in common.”

The earpiece crackled. Kane’s voice: “Slade, we’ve got a problem. Hotel security is moving toward the service corridor. Someone saw the spotter.”

Slade looked at Sloane. “I need to go.”

“Go where?”

“Away from here. With or without you.”

Sloane considered. Then she nodded. “There’s a freight elevator at the end of the hall. Takes you to the parking garage. My car is there.”

“Why are you helping me?”

“Because The Minotaur is paying me to. And because I want to know who wins. You or the maze.” She walked past him toward the elevator. “Coming?”

Slade followed.

---

The freight elevator was slow and noisy. Sloane stood in the corner, arms crossed, watching him. Her pistol was back in her hand, but pointed at the floor.

“You’re not what I expected,” she said.

“What did you expect?”

“Someone broken. Guilty. Afraid.” She looked at his hands. “You’re not afraid.”

“I’m terrified. I just don’t show it.”

“That’s the difference between survivors and victims.”

The elevator stopped. The doors opened onto a dim parking garage. A black sedan was parked near the exit. Sloane walked toward it.

Slade followed. “Where are you taking me?”

“Somewhere safe. The Minotaur has eyes everywhere. Hotels. Safe houses. Even your friend Dante’s garage.” She opened the driver’s door. “Get in.”

“I don’t get into cars with assassins.”

“Then walk. But the security team upstairs has your description now. They think you’re the one who drugged their man.” She started the engine. “Last chance.”

Slade got in.

The sedan pulled out of the garage and into the night. Sloane drove fast, weaving through traffic, checking her mirrors constantly.

“The Minotaur said you have a partner,” she said. “Kane. Former military. Prosthetic leg. He’s loyal to you.”

“He is.”

“He lied to you. About the Caucasus. About Mira.”

Slade’s jaw tightened. “Everyone keeps saying that.”

“Because it’s true. I don’t know what he did. But The Minotaur knows. And he’s going to use it to break you.” She glanced at him. “The question is: what will you do when you find out the truth?”

“I’ll deal with it.”

“That’s not an answer.”

“It’s the only one you’re getting.”

Sloane drove in silence for a few minutes. Then she pulled into an underground parking structure beneath an old office building. She killed the engine.

“We’re here.”

“Where is here?”

“My safe house. Well, one of them.” She got out. “Follow me. Don’t touch anything.”

They walked through a door, down a hallway, and into a small apartment. Sparse. Functional. A bed. A table. A wall of weapons.

Sloane sat down on the bed. “Now we talk.”

“About what?”

“About how we’re going to beat The Minotaur.”

Slade sat across from her. “I thought you were working for him.”

“I work for money. He has money. But he also has enemies. And I’ve been watching him longer than you have.” She pulled out a tablet and opened a file. “The Labyrinth Society. Twelve members. All anonymous. They meet twice a year in different locations. The Minotaur is their champion—the one who runs the games.”

“How do you know all this?”

“Because I was hired to kill one of them. Two years ago. A man named Jonathan Vane. Hedge fund manager. He was a member.” She showed Slade a photo. “I killed him in his penthouse. But before he died, he told me something. He said the Society wasn’t just about betting on games. It was about something bigger. Something called ‘The Event.’”

“What event?”

“He died before he could tell me.”

Slade studied the photo. Jonathan Vane. Middle-aged. Wealthy. Dead. “Why didn’t you go after the others?”

“Because I couldn’t find them. They erased themselves after Vane died. New identities. New locations. New everything.” Sloane set down the tablet. “Until you came along. The Minotaur made a mistake. He got sloppy. He wanted to play with you so badly that he left traces.”

“And you want to use those traces to find the Society.”

“I want to kill every last one of them.” Her voice was flat. Cold. “For Vane? No. For me. Because they hired me to do a job and then tried to kill me to cover their tracks. No one does that and lives.”

Slade leaned back. “So we have a common enemy.”

“Temporarily.”

“That’s all I need.”

His phone buzzed. A new message.

**Unknown:** You turned her. Impressive. The third circle is complete. But the fourth is already waiting. In forty-eight hours, you will receive a new target. Someone closer to you. Someone you love.

**Unknown:** And Slade? Kane knows about Sloane. He’s already on his way to kill her. You have ten minutes to decide who to save.

**Unknown:** Tick tock.

Slade stood up. “We have to go.”

Sloane reached for her weapon. “Why?”

“Because Kane is coming. And he’s not coming to talk.”

A sound echoed from the hallway. Footsteps. Heavy. Deliberate.

Then a knock on the door.

“Slade,” Kane’s voice said. “Open up. We need to talk about Mira.”

Slade’s hand went to his gun.

Sloane raised her pistol toward the door.

And the world narrowed to a single, impossible choice.