Untouched," Elias had whispered, his face pale. The word hung in the air, heavy with unspoken history. Anya watched him, a cold dread coiling in her gut. His reaction confirmed it. This wasn't just a historical curiosity; it was a live wire. "We need to get to it," she urged, her voice low. "Before anyone else does." Elias nodded, already moving. He strode to his desk, pulling out a burner phone. His fingers flew across the keypad. "Only my most trusted," he muttered, not to her, but to himself. "No one else can know." He made a series of rapid calls, his tone clipped, urgent. She heard fragments: "Discreet... immediate... foundation stone... orphanage grounds... night operation." Within the hour, a small, highly trained team was assembled. Men and women Elias had personally vetted over decades, their loyalty unquestioned, their skills precise. Anya felt a flicker of hope. With Elias's resources, they could secure it. They had to. Later that evening, dressed in dark clothing, Elias and Anya stood on a hill overlooking the old orphanage. Below, a cluster of figures moved like shadows, their equipment glinting faintly in the moonlight. They worked with practiced efficiency. Ground-penetrating radar units were deployed. Specialized digging tools appeared. The air hummed with hushed activity. Minutes stretched into an hour. Two. Suddenly, a voice crackled over Elias's earpiece. "Boss, we've got company." Elias stiffened. "Explain." "Perimeter breach. Unmarked vans approaching from the south road. They're well-equipped. Looks like a professional outfit." Anya's heart hammered against her ribs. Vance. It had to be him. "Abort," Elias commanded, his voice tight with frustration. "Extract immediately. Leave no trace." Below, the shadow figures dispersed with startling speed, melting back into the darkness. Vans that had just arrived spun around, tires squealing, vanishing as quickly as they appeared. Frigid air bit at Anya's cheeks. Elias's jaw was clenched, a muscle twitching near his temple. "Too fast," he ground out. "How did he know?" He had deployed his most discreet assets. The operation had been planned in a secure room, no digital footprint. Only a handful of people knew. A chilling realization began to dawn. "A leak," Anya whispered. Elias’s eyes, usually so sharp, were clouded with a dangerous suspicion. "Inside Thorne Industries. There's no other explanation." His network, vast and impenetrable, was compromised. This wasn't just about a time capsule anymore. It was about trust, betrayal, and the very foundation of his empire. Returning to his penthouse, the silence was heavy, charged with unspoken accusations. Elias paced, a predator trapped in a cage. "Every move," he murmured, "anticipated." He reviewed his recent interactions, his calls. Who had access to his secure lines? Who knew about his interest in the orphanage, even vaguely? Anya's mind raced. The locket. Katya. The orphanage fire. Everything seemed to converge on this one buried artifact. "What do we do now?" she asked, her voice trembling slightly. Elias stopped pacing, turning to her. His gaze was intense, analytical. "We change tactics. We bait the trap." A risky game. But they were out of options. Vance was a step ahead, always. Days crawled by, filled with a suffocating tension. Elias put out false leads, carefully crafted whispers designed to mislead. He watched his inner circle, observed their reactions, their subtle tells. Anya tried to help, sifting through historical documents, looking for any other obscure references to the orphanage's past, anything Vance might have missed. She felt like she was drowning in a sea of secrets, each wave pulling her further under. Katya's fragile life hung in the balance. The truth about her mother, about *her* history, was locked away. Elias called another meeting with his inner circle, his expression inscrutable. He spoke of new investment opportunities, a shift in strategy. He watched their faces, searching for the tell-tale flicker of recognition, the subtle shift that would expose the traitor. But everyone was a master of their craft. No one betrayed a hint. The wall of secrecy was too strong, or the mole too good. Anya felt increasingly isolated. The world outside their penthouse seemed to shrink, replaced by the oppressive weight of their hidden battle. Every shadow held a potential threat, every message a coded warning. She found herself checking her phone constantly, a nervous habit. What if Vance contacted her directly? What if he made another move against Katya? One afternoon, a chill wind whipped through the city. Anya was in the library, surrounded by dusty tomes, when her phone buzzed. It was an unknown number. Her breath caught in her throat. Hesitantly, she tapped the screen. The message was short. Brutal. 'You're running out of time. So is Katya. Vance knows everything.'

Chapter 34: Race Against Time