​The apartment fell into a complete, suffocating silence. No one looked at the remote anymore, and no one paid attention to the shattered walls. Even the flashing police lights outside could no longer steal their attention. Every pair of eyes was fixed entirely on the young man standing calmly in the doorway.​Rainwater dripped from his dark jacket, but his breathing remained steady. Resting in his open palm was the missing red trigger from Adrian's detonator. He smiled—not with arrogance, but with a quiet, deep sadness. He looked like a son who had waited years for this exact moment.​Adrian stared at him in utter disbelief. His fingers slowly loosened around the now-useless remote as his voice came out as nothing more than a ragged whisper. "No... It can't be."​The young man tilted his head slightly. "You seem disappointed to see me."​Adrian took an unsteady step forward, the name catching hard in his throat. "Jacob... I watched you die."​Jacob let out a bitter laugh. "No. You wa

​The apartment had never felt so quiet. Police officers moved through the shattered rooms, collecting weapons and handcuffing the surviving gunmen. Nearby, paramedics rushed from one injured person to another, their voices blending into a meaningless hum. But Selma heard none of it. His eyes remained fixed on Rafael. His father stood motionless beside Adrian's lifeless body, like a man whose entire world had just shifted beneath his feet.​Samuel slowly walked over to him. "What did Adrian say?"​Rafael didn't answer.​Victor stepped closer. "Rafael."​Still, there was no response. After several long moments, Rafael finally lifted his head. His face had turned pale, older, almost frightened. "I prayed he was lying."​Selma frowned. "What did he tell you?"​Rafael looked at his son. His lips parted... then closed again. The words refused to come.​Samuel gently rested a hand on Rafael's shoulder. "You don't have to carry this alone anymore."​"I've carried it for twenty years," Rafael

"Help..." The voice was barely audible, weak, and fragile, yet every person in the room heard it. Selma's heartbeat slammed against his ribs as he dropped to his knees, pressing his ear against the cold concrete floor.​"There! She's underneath us," he cried out as another faint cough drifted through the floor, followed by a desperate, "...Please..."​Rafael staggered forward so quickly that Samuel almost lost his grip on him. "Daughter!" his voice cracked. "Daughter, can you hear me?"​A tense silence followed before a single word shattered him: "...Dad...?"​Rafael collapsed onto both knees, his shoulders shaking violently. She had never seen him, never known him, yet somehow, she had called him Dad. Fresh tears streamed down his scarred face as he rested his trembling hand against the floor. "I'm here. I'm here."​Unlocking the Hatch​The voice beneath the concrete disappeared again, snapping Victor back into action. "We don't have time," he urged as another explosion ripped throug

​The crying echoed through the steel door—faint, fragile, and utterly hopeless.​"Please... it's dark..." another sob followed.​Serena's face lost every trace of color as she slowly stepped away from Selma. "I know those voices," she whispered.​Everyone looked at her, and Victor frowned. "What do you mean?"​Tears welled in Serena's eyes. "They're the children Vivian brought after me. Some were only four, and some couldn't even remember their real names. They called us 'Projects.'"​Gabriel clenched his fists. "My God..."​Serena pointed toward the sealed corridor. "She kept them deeper underground."​"How many?" Samuel asked, staring at the steel door.​Serena closed her eyes. "I don't know anymore," she said, swallowing hard after a painful pause. "But the last time I counted... there were twenty-three."​The number hit the room like a punch: twenty-three children hidden beneath the estate, all while the world believed the mansion belonged to a charitable foundation.​Above them,

​The laboratory fell silent. Only the shrill alarm continued to echo through the underground facility as the countdown ticked away: 07:58... 07:57...​Nobody moved. Nobody breathed. Every pair of eyes remained fixed on the computer screen, where the smiling face of a teenage boy stared back at them. He looked entirely ordinary and calm—the kind of face anyone could pass on the street without a second glance.​Selma frowned. "Who is he?"​Vivian's recorded voice answered from the speakers, as if she had anticipated the exact question. "His real name no longer matters."​The Perfect Infiltrator​The screen shifted to surveillance footage. The boy sat alone in a classroom, reading, listening, and smiling politely at his classmates.​"He was my first success," Vivian’s voice continued. More footage appeared, tracking his life over the years: graduating from high school, entering university, working in an office, and laughing with coworkers. He seemed completely normal. "He doesn't know wh