The silence that followed Peter’s announcement was thick, suffocating, and absolute. Xavier’s gaze didn't waver, it remained locked onto Ari’s face, searching her features with an intensity that was both terrifying and protective. He didn't look at the phone when he muttered, "I’ll get back to you," and ended the call with a sharp flick of his thumb. He opened his mouth, the words hovering on his lips but he never got the chance to voice them. Ari stood up with a sudden, jerky movement, her expression shielded by a sudden wall of numb shock. "I need to go for a jog," she said, her voice sounding thin and detached. Before Xavier could even rise to stop her, she had turned and was moving—first a brisk walk, then a frantic, lung-burning run toward the far edge of the property. Xavier’s muscles coiled to follow, but he sank back down into the grass. He knew her well enough to know that she wasn't just running from him,she was running from the weight of everything coming down at her. He

The basement was a subterranean hell of damp concrete and the smell of rusted iron. Alyssia, her skin a roadmap of bruises and purple welts, huddled into the darkest corner of her cell the moment she heard the heavy boots echoing down the corridor. When the iron door groaned open, she scrambled backward, curling into a tight, shivering ball, her breath coming in ragged, terrified hitches. "Get up," one of the men grunted, his shadow looming over her. They didn't wait for her to comply. Rough, calloused hands grabbed her by the arms, hauling her to her feet with such force that her shoulder clicked painfully. "Where are you taking me?" she shrieked, her voice cracking as she clawed at the air. "Let me go!" The men remained stoically silent, dragging her across the floor as the other prisoners watched, their eyes hollowed by their own helplessness. Alyssia’s mind raced, she had to break free. As they reached the hallway, her grip on reality tightened with desperation. She lunged, tur

Gabrielle stared at the markings on her skin, his eyes tracing the sequences with a hunger that bordered on mania. He leaned in, his breath hitching, his fingers hovering inches from her torso as if he were afraid to touch it lest the symbols vanish. "Is this it?" he whispered, his voice thick with disbelief. "Just this? Half?" Alyssia lowered her shirt with a slow, agonizing languor, her expression unreadable. She settled back into her chair, crossing her legs and resting her chin on her hand, looking at him with the detached boredom of a queen surveying a peasant. "That is precisely half. A useless sequence without the rest, isn't it?" She gestured toward the door with a flick of her wrist. "So, if you want that vault—if you want whatever power you think is locked behind that steel—you have work to do. You need to find her. The only question is, are you faster than Xavier? Because if he gets to her first, he’ll be the one to complete the code. And we both know what he’ll do with t

Xavier didn’t stop when Gabrielle hit the floor. He dropped onto him, his knuckles raw and slick with blood, his face a mask of primal fury. Each punch was a hammer blow, fueled by every memory of the past three years, every insult, and every threat against those he loved. He was swinging with a lethal rhythm, his eyes glazed with a murderous intent that terrified even his own men. "Kill him! Kill him!" someone from the back of the warehouse screamed, but the mood had shifted from bloodlust to genuine horror for everyone against Xavier. Two of Xavier’s most trusted lieutenants, sensing that their boss was crossing a threshold of no return, lunged forward. They caught him under the arms, struggling to haul him off the twitching, broken form of Gabrielle. Xavier fought them, his lungs heaving, his chest rising and falling like a bellows, his gaze fixed on his defeated enemy with unblinking hatred. "Let go of me!" Xavier roared, his voice cracking. He finally went limp, though his eyes

The Grand's penthouse suite smelled of antiseptic. Steam still clung to the bathroom mirror behind him as he sat shirtless on the edge of the velvet chaise, his prosthetic arm resting on a folded white towel while the doctor worked on his body. Gabrielle watched him in the mirror across the room, his expression unreadable, his good hand wrapped around a crystal glass of untouched whiskey. "You should stop feeling pain after two days," the doctor murmured, more to fill the silence than anything else. "Your body is healthy enough to make sure of that." "Well," Gabrielle said flatly. "I don't trust my body to be incompetent." The doctor said nothing more. He'd learned, in the short time he'd been summoned here, that silence was the safest language to speak around this man. A knock came at the door, three sharp raps. Gabrielle didn't turn his head. "Enter." Mark stepped in, his jacket still smelling faintly of smoke, his face carrying the particular grayness of someone bringing news