She watched the direction the car had disappeared, her jaw clenching with jealousy.A nice car. A personal bodyguard. The confidence that came with having protection.Everything Emma didn't have and desperately wanted.Emma turned and walked in the opposite direction from where she'd claimed to live, pulling out her phone as she moved.Inside the car, Aria glanced at Alessia through the rearview mirror before refocusing on the road ahead.Her expression remained neutral, but Alessia could feel the weight of unspoken judgment."Go ahead," Alessia said with a sigh. "Say it. I know you're thinking something.""I didn't say anything," Aria replied, her tone carefully neutral."You don't have to," Alessia countered. "Your silence is loud enough. You don't trust Emma.""No, I don't," Aria admitted bluntly.Alessia rolled her eyes. "Aria, you're being too hypersensitive. Not everyone is a threat. Emma is just a scared college student trying to make friends. That's all.""Is she?" Aria's tone

The masked figures exchanged glances with one another, their body language shifting from confident aggression to uncertain hesitation. Darius's countdown had ended, and something in his tone—that absolute certainty, that complete lack of fear—made even trained operatives pause."What are you waiting for?!" the leader barked at his team. "Take him!"Four of the attackers moved immediately to surround Douglas, weapons trained on him as they forced him to the ground with brutal efficiency. The Major General hit the pavement hard, grunting as his face pressed against the cold asphalt, hands yanked behind his back."Don't resist, sir!" one of the attackers warned Douglas. "Or we'll break your arms!"The remaining four turned their full attention to Darius, spreading out in a tactical formation—two approaching from the front, one flanking left, one flanking right. Professional movement. Military training evident in every step."Last chance to surrender peacefully," the leader said, raising

Ribs shattered.The sternum fractured. Internal organs ruptured from the hydrostatic shock wave that rippled through the leader's torso.He flew backward six feet and hit the ground in a heap, blood pooling beneath him as his punctured lungs filled with fluid.Silence fell over the scene.Eight attackers lay broken and dying around Darius, who stood among them looking as composed as when the fight began. No sweat on his brow.No labored breathing. No wrinkles in his clothes.He might have been out for an evening stroll rather than having just systematically destroyed eight trained operatives.Darius looked down at the carnage with undisguised contempt. "Pathetic," he said coldly. "You thought eight of you would be enough? Your organization should have sent eighty. Maybe then you'd have lasted two minutes instead of one."He walked among the broken bodies, assessing each one with clinical detachment.Most were dying—fatal injuries that would kill them in minutes without immediate medic

Douglas swallowed hard, his throat still tight with shame and confusion.He looked around the interior of the car again, then back at Darius, trying to piece together what had happened during the time he'd been unconscious."War God," Douglas said carefully, his voice still hoarse, "what exactly happened? The last thing I remember is being grabbed, and then something hit my head and everything went black. How long was I out? Where are the attackers? Did—did backup arrive?"Darius didn't answer immediately. Instead, he simply raised one hand and pointed out the window toward the side of the road.Douglas's gaze followed the direction of Darius's finger. His eyes widened.Bodies. Eight of them, sprawled across the pavement in grotesque positions. Arms bent at impossible angles.Legs twisted in directions they weren't meant to go.Some lay completely still, others twitching weakly, all of them clearly incapacitated beyond any ability to fight or flee."Those are—" Douglas started, then s

The military base's interrogation wing was located three levels underground—a deliberately isolated section where sound didn't carry and what happened in the rooms stayed buried beneath layers of concrete and steel. The fluorescent lights cast harsh shadows, and the air smelled of disinfectant failing to completely mask older, more unpleasant odors.Douglas dragged the unconscious operative through the corridor, the man's boots scraping against the polished floor. Despite his earlier shame, Douglas handled the prisoner with professional efficiency, his military training overriding his embarrassment.They reached Room 7—the largest interrogation space, equipped with a metal chair bolted to the floor, restraints built into the arms and legs, and a drain in the center of the concrete floor for easy cleanup.Douglas secured the prisoner to the chair with practiced movements, checking each restraint twice to ensure there would be no possibility of escape. The man's head lolled forward, sti