Embers of the Phoenix ch7

The loft smelled of dust and desperation. Faint amber light from the streetlamp outside seeped through moth-eaten curtains, painting shadows across Clara's face as she hunched over her father's journal. Her fingertips traced the jagged edge of a torn page, the paper brittle with age and secrets.

Project Phoenix.

The words glared back at her, ink bleeding into the yellowed sheet like poison. She'd heard her father whisper that phrase once, late at night when he thought her asleep. His voice had trembled—a sound so foreign from the man who'd charmed auction houses and laughed over champagne flutes.

"Anna's late," Jessica said, pacing the cramped room. Her boots clicked against warped floorboards, each step sharp enough to cut the tension. "If that drive is fried, we're back to square one with a corpse's ledger and *his*—" She shot a glare at Simon, who lounged in a creaking armchair, tossing a switchblade in lazy arcs. "—historical talent for trouble."

Simon caught the blade mid-air, its edge glinting. "Patience, Detective. Good tech takes time. Unlike your taste in safe houses." He gestured to the water-stained ceiling. "Charming ambience. Is the 'leaky roof' aesthetic part of the NYPD's witness protection program?"

Jessica's retort died as the door burst open. Anna strode in, her leather jacket dusted with rain and a battered silver case clutched to her chest. "Move," she ordered, clearing the table with a sweep of her arm. Wires, drives, and tools spilled across the wood as she plugged the melted USB into a device resembling a cross between a microwave and a robot heart.

Clara inched closer, her reflection flickering in the machine's blinking lights. "Can you… save it?"

"Depends." Anna's fingers danced across a holographic keyboard. "How sentimental are you about digital ghosts?"

The screen flared to life, pixelated fragments of data swirling like ash in a storm. A face emerged—Marcus Voss, gaunt and haunted, his recorded image warping at the edges.

"If you're watching this, I'm dead."

Clara's breath hitched. Her father's voice, stripped of its warmth, grated like gravel.

"Project Phoenix isn't a weapon—it's a location. *A vault beneath Prague Castle. Inside lies the Eagle's Ash… and the truth."

Static devoured him. The screen died.

For a heartbeat, no one moved. Then Simon laughed—a hollow, mirthless sound. "Of course it's Prague. Because why wouldn't my past dig itself up like a goddamn zombie?"

Jessica stiffened. "You know the vault."

"Know it?" Simon rose, the blade vanishing into his sleeve. "I bled for it. Ten years ago, a man I called a friend swore the Eagle's Ash could end wars. Turned out he just wanted to watch the world burn." His gaze drifted to the blackened USB. "He died screaming. Not my finest moment."

Anna isolated a string of coordinates. "48°51' N, 16°44' E. Temný Les. 'Dark Forest.' Abandoned SS bunkers, according to the archives."

Clara's nails bit into her palms. "My grandfather's journals… He wrote about that place. The Nazis dragged him there in '43. He said they carved symbols into the walls—birds with two heads, swallowing the sun."

Simon went very still. "Habsburg crests. The Nazis looted their relics, repurposed their crypts. Whatever's in that vault, it's older than the war. Older than reason."

Jessica grabbed her coat, the leather creaking. "Then let's dig it up before the bastards framing us do."

---

Temný Les, Czech Republic

The forest swallowed them whole.

Moonlight bled through skeletal branches, painting the van's windshield in claw-mark shadows. Clara pressed her forehead to the cold glass, watching her breath fog the pane. Somewhere in these woods, her grandfather had buried his nightmares. Now she carried them.

"Stop here," Simon said abruptly.

Anna killed the engine. Beyond the tree line, a rusted iron door hunched like a gargoyle, half-buried in rot and ivy.

Jessica clicked her flashlight. The beam sliced through the dark, catching on a symbol etched into the metal—a double-headed eagle, its wings spread wide. "This it?"

Simon brushed his thumb over the carving. "Oh, it's been waiting."

The door groaned open, exhaling a century's breath of damp and decay. Stone steps spiraled downward, the walls studded with Nazi insignia peeled raw by time.

"Stay close," Jessica ordered, her Glock steady.

The vault yawned below—a cathedral of shadows. Amber light flickered to life, revealing glass cases glowing like insect chrysalises. At the chamber's heart, a pedestal held a crystalline orb. Inside it, black ash swirled as if alive.

Clara reached out, hypnotized.

Simon caught her wrist. "Don't. That thing doesn't just kill—it erases. Ask the village that vanished in '45."

Jessica circled the orb. "Then why's it still here?"

"Because it's a key," said a voice behind them.

Lukas Vogel stepped into the light, his trench coat flaring like wings. Mercenaries flanked him, rifles gleaming. Clara recognized his face from her father's warnings—the smile that never touched his eyes, the scar cutting through his brow like a crack in porcelain.

Simon's knife was in his hand before anyone blinked. "Lukas. You're looking… rotten."

"You left me for dead in Berlin," Lukas said, advancing. "But death's negotiable when you have friends in high places." His gaze slid to Clara. "The girl dies first. A blood sacrifice to wake the Ash."

Jessica shoved Clara behind her. "Over my—"

A gunshot cracked.

The orb shattered.

Black tendrils erupted, lashing the air. Clara screamed as the world dissolved into ash and laughter.

To be continued.