The Icebound Conspiracy
Dr. Ethan Carter adjusted the sleeve of his worn leather jacket as he stepped into the grand lobby of Langley Industries. The towering glass walls reflected the London skyline, the city’s evening lights casting sharp streaks across the polished marble floor. He felt out of place here—more accustomed to the dust of excavation sites than the sterile perfection of a billionaire’s corporate fortress.
A young assistant in a crisp gray suit led him through a series of security checkpoints before ushering him into a dimly lit office. The room was designed to intimidate. Floor-to-ceiling windows loomed behind a massive mahogany desk, offering a commanding view of the Thames. The man seated behind it barely acknowledged his presence.
Victor Langley.
Billionaire. Collector. A man whose name was spoken in hushed tones among archaeologists—usually with resentment or caution.
“Dr. Carter,” Langley said finally, his voice smooth as silk. “It’s an honor.”
Ethan wasn’t sure he believed that. He had spent years unearthing lost civilizations, preserving history. Langley and his kind were the ones who bought, stole, or buried it for their own gain.
“Your invitation wasn’t exactly optional,” Ethan said, crossing his arms.
Langley smirked, his fingers laced together. “I prefer to think of it as an immediately recognized. His pulse quickened.
“This is Himalayan script,” he murmured, stepping closer despite himself. “This… this is centuries old.”
Langley leaned back in his chair, watching him. “Tell me, Dr. Carter, have you ever heard of the Kanjir Citadel?”
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