The Shadow Beneath the Ivy

The basement of the student union at Oakwood University smelled of gasoline and rust, a sharp tang that stung Ava's nose as she followed Ryder and Matt down the creaking service stairs. The faint thump of the masquerade fundraiser pulsed through the ceiling, a distant heartbeat against the oppressive silence below. Ava's flashlight beam danced across the concrete floor, illuminating stacks of crates and coiled pipes, their shadows stretching like claws in the dim light. Her sketch of the fire loomed in her mind—flames licking stone, a figure fleeing—and the flammable labels on the crates they'd spotted confirmed it wasn't just a vision. The Order of the Ivy was here, planning something catastrophic, and Lily's fate hung somewhere in this shadowed maze.

Ryder moved ahead, his gold mask dangling from his belt, the crowbar gripped tightly in one hand. His flashlight swept the room with practiced precision, his posture tense but controlled, a stark contrast to Matt's jittery steps behind her. Ava clutched Lily's phone, its battery at a precarious 18%, the photo of the hooded figure and the flammable crate seared into her memory. Jack Grayson's voice from the masquerade echoed in her ears—Tonight's the night, clean slate—and the urgency of it drove her forward, her boots scuffing softly on the gritty floor.

"Over there," Matt whispered, his voice trembling as he pointed to the stack of crates they'd seen from the stairs. His feathered mask hung askew, half-fallen from his face, revealing wide, panicked eyes. "That's the stuff from her photo."

Ryder nodded, motioning them to follow as he approached the crates. The gasoline scent grew stronger, a heavy cloud that made Ava's throat tighten. He knelt beside the nearest box, his flashlight tracing the label—Flammable. Handle with care—then flicked to a pile of rags and a metal canister tucked behind it. "Accelerant," he muttered, his voice low and grim. "They're not messing around. This'll go up fast."

Ava's stomach twisted, her hand brushing the ivy ring in her pocket. "Lily could be here," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "If they're burning evidence, they might…" She couldn't finish, the thought of Lily trapped in this fire too horrific to voice.

"We'll find her," Ryder said, standing and meeting her gaze. His eyes, shadowed beneath the basement's dimness, held a fierce certainty that steadied her. "Check the corners—any sign of her. Matt, you watch the stairs. Yell if you hear anything."

Matt nodded, stumbling back toward the stairwell, his flashlight beam wobbling as he took up position. Ava moved left, her light sweeping across the cluttered space—old furniture, rusted pipes, a pile of discarded banners from past events. Her heart pounded with every step, her ears straining for any sound beyond the masquerade's muffled beat. She needed a clue, a trace of Lily, something to prove she was still alive.

A faint scrape echoed from the far wall, sharp and sudden, like metal on stone. Ava froze, her flashlight swinging toward the sound, catching a sliver of movement behind a row of crates. "Ryder," she hissed, her voice tight with urgency. "Over here."

He was at her side in an instant, his crowbar raised as they crept closer. The crates formed a makeshift wall, their edges jagged with splinters, and the gasoline scent was overwhelming now, a thick haze that burned her eyes. Ava peered through a gap, her breath catching as two figures emerged into view—hooded, their faces hidden by shadows, their voices low but audible over the basement's stillness.

"Everything's set," one said, his tone clipped and impatient. "Grayson's upstairs, giving the signal soon. We torch it once the crowd thins—nobody'll know till it's too late."

The second figure shifted, his hood slipping slightly to reveal a stubbled jaw—familiar, too familiar. Ava's pulse spiked. The masked man from the path, the one who'd slashed Ryder's arm. "What about the girl?" he asked, his voice a growl. "She's still breathing down here—too risky to leave her."

Ava's heart lurched, her hand gripping Ryder's arm without thinking. Lily—alive, here, in this basement. She glanced at him, his jaw clenched, his eyes narrowing as he listened.

"Doesn't matter," the first man said, waving a hand. "She's tied up, gagged—no screams, no problem. Fire'll take care of her. Grayson wants it clean—her, the ledgers, all of it."

Ryder's grip tightened on the crowbar, his knuckles whitening, and Ava felt a surge of rage and relief crash through her. Lily was alive—hurt, trapped, but alive—and these men, these Order lackeys, were planning to burn her with the evidence. She leaned closer, her flashlight off now, relying on the faint glow from their lanterns to see. The second man knelt, pulling a tarp aside to reveal a stack of folders and a metal box—likely the ledgers from Lily's photo—then stood, brushing his hands on his hoodie.

"Grayson's got the list upstairs," he said, his voice dropping. "Names, dates, payments—everything IVY's been running. Once this goes up, we're ghosts. New slate, new game."

The first man chuckled, a dry, humorless sound. "Good riddance. She poked too deep—thought she could play hero. Should've stayed in her lane."

Ava's blood boiled, her nails digging into her palm. Lily hadn't stayed in her lane—she'd fought, dug, risked everything to expose them, and now they'd kill her for it. She glanced at Ryder, his face a mask of controlled fury, and whispered, "We have to get her out—now."

He nodded, his voice a bare murmur. "They're armed—knives, maybe worse. We need a distraction, then we grab her. Matt's our signal."

Ava's mind raced, piecing together a plan. The crates, the gasoline, the rags—if they could use the Order's own setup against them, they might buy enough time. She pointed to the canister Ryder had spotted, her whisper urgent. "That—knock it over, light a rag. They'll panic, scatter. We find Lily in the chaos."

Ryder's eyes flicked to the canister, then back to her, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. "Risky, but it'll work. You're getting good at this, Grey."

She managed a shaky smile, adrenaline sharpening her focus. "Learning from the best, Carter." She slipped Lily's phone into her pocket, freeing her hands, and nodded toward Matt, still hovering by the stairs. Ryder gave a low whistle, sharp and quick, and Matt jolted, his flashlight swinging toward them.

"Get ready," Ryder mouthed, then crept toward the canister, his movements silent despite the crowbar's weight. Ava followed, her heart hammering as they positioned themselves behind the crates, close enough to hear the men's breathing now. Ryder set the crowbar down, pulling a lighter from his pocket—a beat-up Zippo she hadn't noticed before—and grabbed a rag from the pile. He flicked the lighter, the tiny flame flaring bright in the dark, and held it to the rag until it caught, a small but growing fire licking at the fabric.

"On three," he whispered, his eyes locked on hers. "One, two—"

He tossed the flaming rag toward the canister, and Ava ducked as it arced through the air, landing with a soft thud. The gasoline ignited with a whoosh, a burst of heat and light that sent the two men staggering back, cursing loudly. "What the hell?!" the first shouted, his hood falling as he stumbled, revealing a sharp face Ava didn't recognize. The second man—the masked attacker—drew a knife, spinning toward the flames, his eyes wild.

"Go!" Ryder barked, grabbing the crowbar and shoving Ava toward the gap where the tarp had been. She bolted, her flashlight back on, its beam cutting through the smoke as she searched for Lily. The fire spread fast, licking at the crates, the heat prickling her skin, but she pushed forward, her lungs burning with every breath.

There—behind a rusted pipe, a slumped figure bound with rope, a gag tied tight around her mouth. Lily, her blonde hair tangled, her eyes wide with terror as she spotted Ava. "Lily!" Ava cried, dropping to her knees and tugging at the ropes, her fingers fumbling with the knots. "Hold on—I've got you."

Lily mumbled something incoherent, tears streaking her face, but Ava worked faster, the heat closing in. Ryder appeared beside her, his crowbar slicing through the ropes with a single, sharp pull. "Up," he said, hauling Lily to her feet as Ava yanked the gag free. She gasped, coughing, her voice hoarse as she clutched Ava's arm.

"They… they were going to…" Lily choked out, her legs trembling, but Ryder cut her off.

"Later," he said, his tone urgent. "Fire's spreading—stairs, now."

The basement was chaos—flames roaring, smoke billowing, the two men shouting as they scrambled toward an unseen exit. Ava supported Lily, her arm around her waist, and followed Ryder as he led them back to the stairs, Matt's panicked yells guiding them through the haze. They stumbled up, the heat chasing them, and burst into the service hall, the masquerade's music a jarring contrast to the inferno below.

Matt slammed the door shut, his chest heaving. "What the hell was that?!" he gasped, but Ava ignored him, turning to Lily, her heart pounding with relief.

"You're safe," she said, gripping her friend's shoulders. "We've got you."

Lily nodded, tears streaming, and Ryder met Ava's gaze over her head, his face smudged with soot but steady. They'd heard the truth—Grayson's list, the Order's crimes—and they'd saved her. But the fire was spreading, and the fight wasn't over.