The moment the chopper landed at the drop-off location, the waiting van burst open and Monica jumped down before the blades had even fully slowed. Max hurried behind her, grabbing her elbow to steady her as the wind whipped her hair around her face. “May I remind you that you’re pregnant?” He scolded under his breath, trying not to sound too harsh. She didn’t answer him. Her eyes were locked on the chopper in front of her, her breath uneven and shallow as the doors slowly opened. She had wanted to go to Aurora more than anything, but Barry insisted she stay. He told her Adrian would skin him alive if something happened to her during the journey. She knew Barry was right, but staying behind had felt worse than any battlefield. Barry and Celia stepped out first, waving at the small group waiting. Then Michael followed, his expression calm but tired. And finally, Adrian appeared at the doorway. The moment Monica saw him standing there, whole and breathing, a shaky breath escaped her

“Not interested.” Adrian said flatly. A quiet reaction rippled through Killian’s men. A few of them chuckled under their masks, others exchanged glances and shook their heads slowly, as if they had expected that answer from the start. Their faces may have been hidden, but their body language carried a certain confidence. They weren’t surprised or worried about his answer. Killian himself remained calm, he didn’t smile but he didn’t look disappointed either. He took another slow step toward the closed gates of the Blackwood mansion. “Adrian Blackwood… Twenty-six years old, last heir of a powerful bloodline, raised in strategy rooms and war councils. Tell me… Don’t you ever get tired of bleeding for someone else’s destiny?” “Not really.” Adrian replied. “It keeps life interesting.” A few of the masked men let out low sounds of amusement as Killian’s lips curved slightly. “For you, maybe.” He said. “For a Blackwood, war is structure, purpose. You were born into it, trained to carry

Sunset City. Scofield Estate. Meeting Room. Michael stood at the head of the long table while Barry leaned over a spread of digital maps projected across its surface. Red markers blinked along supply routes and disputed zones. The war with Mira had settled into a tense rhythm. “At this rate, we’ll corner her eastern line within two weeks.” Barry said, tapping a blinking sector. “If we cut this route, her weapons production slows.” Michael nodded, his expression calm but focused. “She’ll anticipate that. Mira doesn’t let patterns repeat for long.” “Then we hit where she doesn’t expect.” Before Michael could respond, the large monitor mounted on the far wall lit up. An incoming call request flashed across the screen. Snow City. Barry frowned. “That’s unusual.” He tapped the console and accepted the call. The screen flickered, then Monica appeared. Her hair was disheveled, there was a white bandage wrapped around her head, slightly stained at the edge. Her face looked pale and

Sunset City. Scofield Estate. Meeting Room. Barry finished going over the final instructions, “Double patrols on the eastern wall, increase aerial scans every two hours. Anyone sees movement that doesn’t match our intel, you report immediately. No assumptions or heroics, understood?” A chorus of agreement followed. “Good. Dismissed.” Chairs scraped across the floor as soldiers filed out in groups, murmuring quietly among themselves. The tension in the room lingered even after the doors closed. Barry leaned back in his chair and rubbed his face, “I wonder if Mira knows about the incoming threat.” Michael, who had been standing by the large window overlooking the estate grounds, tilted his head slightly. “If she has spies in Snow City, which I very much doubt, then she should be aware.” Barry groaned and dropped his head back. “We seriously cannot catch a break.” Michael gave a faint exhale that almost sounded like a laugh. “Tell me about it.” Silence settled between them fo

Michael and Barry stood in front of the large monitor in the meeting room. Max stood beside it, scrolling through the files that Snow City had sent over. Killian’s face filled part of the screen. Calm eyes, faint scar on his cheek. He had a kind face and a calm expression that didn’t look unstable, which somehow made it worse. “Killian Reid. Thirty-four years old.” Max began, his voice had shifted into full soldier mode. “Former military escort unit leader. He was assigned to transport refugees from high-risk zones to secured settlements during the early months of the war. He led over forty successful evacuations.” Barry let out a low whistle. “That’s not small.” Max nodded. “He was known for taking the more dangerous routes so civilians wouldn’t have to pass through active conflict zones. Reports describe him as disciplined, protective and very hands-on.” Michael listened quietly, his jaw tight. “So he saw a lot…” Barry muttered. “ Of death, chaos and families being torn apart