All Chapters of The Blood Oath : Chapter 161
- Chapter 170
240 chapters
Chapter 162
The snow in Montreal turned to sleet by midnight, and Kabri’s breath burned like acid in his throat as he emerged from the warehouse. The weight of the past—Evelyn’s betrayal, the child’s false paternity, and Jamil’s smiling face—hung over him like a lead veil. He didn’t speak. Didn’t look back. He simply walked. Fast. Focused. Fueled by one final directive.Find him.The laptop's metadata, extracted with trembling hands, had revealed more than a pre-recorded taunt. It showed a nearby IP address—still active—linked to a satellite transmitter only a few kilometers from the warehouse. Kabri didn’t pause to doubt. His instincts, dulled by lies and softened by Evelyn’s arms, were now back in full, lethal form.Jamil was close. And this time, he would not vanish without consequence.The Final LeadHe hijacked a snow-splashed motorcycle from outside a bakery on Rue de Bullion, leaving a wad of Canadian bills on the ground in penance. The streets blurred past him as he followed the GPS coor
Chapter 163
The wind outside Dakar screamed like a restless ghost. The heat during the day had baked the alleys of Medina dry, but at night the city inhaled a strange, hollow chill. Kabri stood in a rented apartment above a closed electronics store, the window open, letting in the salt-tinged breeze from the Atlantic. He hadn't slept in over forty hours.The flash drive from Montreal still pulsed in his mind—Jamil’s message: "Come to Dakar. When you’re ready."And he had come.But what met him wasn't Jamil.It was her voice.Evelyn’s.The VoicemailHe hadn’t brought a phone for months. But this burner, picked up outside the airport, buzzed unexpectedly at midnight. An anonymous number. Unknown region. The only saved file was a single voicemail—timestamped the same day he’d landed in Senegal.Kabri stared at the screen, thumb hovering.Then pressed play.And her voice filled the room.“Kabri… if you’re hearing this, then you’ve chased too far.”“I warned you once, didn’t I? The man who spends his
Chapter 164
The train to Zurich cut through the Alps like a blade through silence.Snow flurried outside the window, an endless storm of white falling on steel. Inside the first-class carriage, Kabri sat still, hands gloved, hood drawn, watching his reflection flicker and fade with each tunnel they passed through.Evelyn’s voice still echoed in his mind:“I was never yours.”Her breath. Her warmth. Her trembling hands in his. The way she had whispered "I need you" when the monastery bells tolled in Portugal. The way she kissed him after the Hague trial—like a woman choosing the ruins of love over the comfort of safety.But now, every moment they had shared felt like glass over a mask.And he didn’t know what was real.The Train Attendant"Coffee, sir?"Kabri blinked.A young attendant in navy livery stood beside his seat, a silver tray in hand. He nodded once."Black."The attendant poured. Steam curled in the air like ghosts of the past. Kabri sipped and stared back at the snowy world beyond.Hi
Chapter 165
There was no longer grief—only movement.No sorrow, just rhythm.Kabri's boots hit the pavement of Riga with silent purpose, his coat wet from the freezing Baltic rain. It was the second capital in three days. Each night brought him a little closer. Each country whispered her name like a curse.Evelyn.The woman who had cradled him during his most human moments. The woman who had lured him into Jamil’s grand theatre of betrayal.Now she was out there. Moving, hiding. Not with fear, but with control.And he was following the scent of ash in her wake.Latvia: The Safehouse by the DaugavaThe old woman who opened the flat near the Daugava River in Riga didn’t flinch when Kabri showed her the photo of Evelyn.“She was here,” the woman said in broken French. “With a man. Tall. Hooded. She called him Karim.”Kabri didn’t need to ask.Jamil.“How long ago?” he asked.“Two days. She left the baby bottle. Said she won’t need it anymore.”The woman handed Kabri a small, cracked plastic bottle
Chapter 166
Prague was cold that morning.The kind of cold that sat not on your skin but behind your eyes, behind your heart. The Vltava River moved slow and silver, and the sun refused to rise on time. Or perhaps Kabri no longer believed in morning at all.He arrived by rail from Vienna, under a false name stitched into a Croatian passport. The clerk at the station barely glanced up as he crossed the border.Every sound felt rehearsed.Every footstep echoed with intent.The air was too still.Kabri had lived long enough inside war to know what silence meant: someone was waiting.The Message That Lured HimThe encrypted file came at 2:17 AM, hours before the train ride.It was Evelyn’s voice.Tired. Breathing heavily. Shaking.“Kabri… please. Prague. Old Town. The Astronomical Clock. Tomorrow. Sunset. I’ll be there. It’s not too late to end this before Jamil goes too far.”Her voice cracked at the edges—regret? fear? Or a performance?Kabri didn’t know anymore.He only knew the time.Sunset.That
Chapter 167
The snow came early to the Alpine village.It blanketed the cabin roof with a soft, deceptive peace. The mountains were calm. A fire crackled low inside the cottage, casting flickering shadows against the stone walls. Kabri had barely slept. His shoulder throbbed where the Prague ambush left its mark. Evelyn’s scarf, now ash, had offered no real answers. The letter from Jamil? A riddle disguised as a dare.And now, Amir was late.Too late.An Empty BedKabri stood by the boy’s room, hand resting on the doorknob longer than it should’ve taken to twist it.The door creaked open.No scent of sleep. No scattered books. No half-finished drawings.Only cold sheets.Amir’s hiking boots were gone. So was his canvas backpack.But something remained: a single page ripped from Malik’s diary—Kabri’s own memoir.It read in Amir’s careful script:“If I don’t come back, don’t follow. I need to know who I really am.”Kabri crushed the note in his fist.Too calm. Too neat.Not Amir’s tone.Signs of a
Chapter 168
The wind outside the Vladivostok terminal lashed sideways like knives of salt. Kabri stepped out of the black cab and stared at the horizon where snow met sea. This was the edge of the earth—where the East dissolved into frozen stillness, and the ghosts that haunted him had names, eyes, and cold smiles.But the ghost that waited inside wasn’t Jamil.It was Evelyn.The Envelope in the IceboxRoom 407 of the Amber Port Hotel was stale with heat. Too clean. Too silent.Kabri’s senses sharpened the moment he pushed the door open.The light on the minibar blinked red.Inside, hidden beneath two vodka minis, was a plain envelope with his name typed across it in that clean, brutal font he knew too well.KABRI MALIKInside: a keycard, a note, and a strip of ultrasound film.The note read:“Test subject. Condition: stable. You lasted longer than projected. –E”He stared at the ultrasound image.It wasn’t Evelyn’s.And it wasn’t real.A Woman at the DockThe coordinates on the keycard led to
Chapter 169
The tunnels beneath Montreal weren’t supposed to be alive.They weren’t supposed to breathe.But to Kabri Malik, crawling through the arteries of a forgotten city, every pipe seemed to hiss with breath, every drip felt like sweat, and the stench of old war mixed with the lies Evelyn had just uncoiled into his skull.The sewers under Rue de la Commune were his only route now—a channel dug in the 1950s and long since removed from city maps. A betrayal echo chamber. A coffin with arteries.And Jamil had rigged it with death.The Map That Wasn’t a MapThirty minutes earlier, Kabri had received a handoff from a cloaked runner outside a jazz club in Mile End. The boy couldn’t have been more than sixteen—shivering, terrified, holding a flash drive shaped like a crucifix.“Your brother said to give this… if you were still breathing.”Kabri plugged it into his portable tablet. What unfolded was a blueprint—not of buildings or compounds, but of emotions.Every betrayal. Every step Evelyn had ta
Chapter 170
The radio crackled with static.A dull hiss, like breathing through broken glass.Then a voice.Faint. Warped by distance. Dragged across damaged frequencies like a ghost in chains.“Uncle... Kabri... please…”Kabri froze.The pistol in his hand nearly slipped. His pulse stopped—then doubled.Amir’s voice.A boy’s voice. But one carved by pain. Hollowed out.He was alive.But not safe.Three Hours Earlier – The Ruins of ExpoThe Montreal Expo grounds had long become a skeleton—fenced off by rusted gates, hollow halls colonized by ivy and vermin. It was a graveyard of 20th-century ambition.But beneath the shattered pavilions, beneath the tangle of weeds and steel, Jamil had dug a new kingdom.The Asylum.A ghost facility used once by intelligence agencies for psychological testing during the Cold War. Long buried. Now revived.Kabri and Renna crouched near a concrete vent, thirty meters from the southeast perimeter.The girl handed him a scrambled radio receiver.“Only way in without b
Chapter 171
The Chamber was colder than death.Thick steel walls, double-reinforced. A single overhead light swinging like a slow pendulum. The floor, scuffed with chains. And in the center—a rusted desk with a sealed metal box atop it.Kabri didn’t touch it at first.He stood there, breath fogging in the low temperature, trying to guess what sort of mind game Jamil had planned this time. Every step deeper into this asylum had felt like a descent through his own guilt—and now, in this final room, silence screamed louder than any accusation.Renna circled behind him, scanning the air vents and pressure plates with a handheld reader.“Clear,” she whispered. “But something’s off. That box—feel it?”Kabri nodded slowly. It hummed with familiarity. Not mechanical.Emotional.Like it had weight beyond its metal.He stepped closer. Let his fingers brush the latch. Then, gently, lifted the lid.Inside:Letters.Dozens.Yellowed with age. Some torn. Others neatly folded.And every single one addressed to