2025-11-06 04:33:06The safehouse door blew inward, sending shrapnel-like splinters flying. Barking from his AR-15, Grayson charged through the smoke. Flashes of muzzles swept through the dark living room. Before they cleared leather, two of Harrison's guards fell; one was shot three times in the chest, while the other was shot in the eye.
"Leave clear!" Grayson let out a yell.
Alexander, Glock spraying fire, leaped the couch. With his knife out, a third guard sprang from the corridor. Alexander swerved and pushed the man's throat with his elbow. The cartilage crunched. The guard fell and gurgled.
Mira gripped tightly as Tatiana ran past. "Basement!"
Victoria kept her weapon steady and covered the back. "The stairs are really hot!"
The drywall over her head was eaten by an automatic fire. She rolled and fired back two accurate rounds. With a lurch, the gunman on the landing fell down the stairs.
The basement door was kicked open by Grayson. The air was stale, with bleach, mildew, and fear. Lucy Martin was kneeling next to a cot, holding a syringe above Mira's small arm. The girl's chest was twitching and her eyes were hazy.
“Get out of here,” Grayson growled.
Lucy's hand shook. She is a source of leverage. Benjamin assured my boy, " Lucy's temple was cooled by Tatiana's Glock. "Leave it."
The needle rattled. Lucy broke the silence with a sob. "All I have is him."
Alexander pulled her to her feet and zip-tied her wrists. My daughter was sold by you. Engage in conversation.
Lean, tall, and sporting Benjamin's hawk nose on a youthful face, Harrison Whitmore burst out of a side door. The knife flashed. The former Ranger's clothing was soaked in hot blood after he cut Grayson's flank.
Grayson whirled and groaned. Harrison ran to the rear exit.
Victoria made one firing. Harrison was hit in the calf by the round. Crashing through the door, he screamed.
After placing Mira on the cot, Tatiana took a look at her pulse. "She is collapsing."
With blood dripping between his fingers, Grayson pushed a palm to his side. The medicine pack has an antidote. top shelf.
Vials clinking, Alexander tore open the cabinet. The needle was shoved into Mira's thigh by him. The girl's cheeks flushed as she gasped.
While wearing the zip-ties, Lucy thrashed. Jacob, my son, fosters a home in Baltimore. Benjamin stated that if I gave birth to the child,
Tatiana gave her the backhand. "You handed her off to a monster."
Harrison's knife wound in Victoria's shoulder was leaking as she hobbled down the stairs. He is no longer there. took the van.
Grayson tapped his communications. "Intercept, Cole. Whiskey-Hotel-six plate on a black panel truck.
Not moving. Cole then said, "On it." Two miles away.
Mira's little body was limp yet breathing when Alexander lifted her. "We are extracting." Right now.
With Grayson's weight sinking, Tatiana held him up. "You're heavily bleeding."
"A wound made of flesh." Continue to move.
They went up the steps. The smell of copper and gunpowder filled the living room. The bodies were twisted. Victoria cleared the entrance door and kicked a corpse aside.
The night closed in outside. In the distant, sirens cried out. Cole was driving the Suburban as it idled at the curb.
"Get loaded!" Cole shouted.
Mira was placed into the rear seat by Alexander. After that, Tatiana climbed in with her daughter in her arms. Grayson fell down next to them, his clothing drenched and red.
Victoria grabbed the shotgun and shut the door. "Drive."
Cole blew it away. The tires screeched. With flames licking from a damaged window, Grayson's parting grenade, the safehouse appeared smaller in the rearview mirror.
Tatiana applied bandages to Grayson's side after tearing open a trauma kit. "Remain motionless."
He flinched. "Had been worse."
Alexander's cell rang. Not sure. He replied.
Harrison's gasping voice. Phantom, tick-tock. Before the sedative burns her heart, she may have an hour.
The plastic was cracked by Alexander's grip. "Where are you?"
"A place you'll never locate." Inform Benjamin that his bonus has doubled.
The call went dead.
In the mirror, Tatiana's gaze locked with Alexander's. "He is telling lies. Mira's stable.
Alexander smashed the phone. It doesn't matter. Tonight, we come to an end.
Cole took a detour to the parkway. "Tunnel metro in five."
With blood streaming from her shoulder, Victoria reloaded. "Lucy speaks, and we locate Jacob." Exchange the boy for Harrison's address.
With her wrists severed by zip-ties, Lucy wailed from the floorboards. "He'll murder him."
Tatiana had a steely voice. "So you'd better hope we're quicker."
With its headlights slicing through the darkness, the Suburban rushed into the tunnel opening.
Dark and spreading, blood gathered beneath Grayson.
With taillights that winked like dying stars, Harrison's van drove off in the distance.
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Chapter 190: Sealed Breath
In the sudden silence, the seed's pulse sounded like a silent thunderclap. It wasn’t a threat. It was true. There was a period at the end of a sentence, but it had rolled under the desk and was just waiting to be picked up. They didn’t speak. They merely stared at the little, black glimmer on the white sand. It was beneath the slide, or where the slide had been, but it was now only a metal curve protruding from the dune that had been washed by the sand. “We could leave it,” Alexander remarked, his voice scratchy. He wrapped a protecting arm around Mira, who was quiet, watching the seed with a child’s somber interest. “Bury it deeper. Forget it’s here.” “It would grow,” Tatiana responded, her own voice weary beyond measure. "In the dark." without anyone to observe it. What kind of story blooms in the dark, alone?” She thought about Benjamin, nurturing his hatred in seclusion. "A perverse one." A spiteful one. Thus, we demolish it. Right now. He took a step toward it, his foot sinki
Chapter 189: Death Fruit
The playground was eerily quiet. There was no longer any wind. The distant sounds of the suburb were gone. On the wood chips, it was just the three of them: Tatiana on her knees, a sobbing seven-year-old Mira clutching to her, and Alexander Harrington's elderly, breathless husk with a jar of his final sigh sitting on his ribcage. The floating orchard was gone. The sky was a neutral, flat blue. The golden swing lay neglected, its chains now dull and inactive. All that existed was this finale. CHAPTER 400. Tatiana stared at the jar. The label was final. Absolute. This was not feasible. It was a receipt. For all the struggles, loops, and love that had unavoidably brought us to this point. To a playground where her spouse died of old age in minutes, his life-force robbed to pay the mortgage of 215 destroyed tragedies. Mira’s small hands clutched her mother’s arm. “Is Daddy sleeping?” The innocent question was a knife. Tatiana said in a cracked voice, "No, sweetheart." “He’s… gone.” I
Chapter 188: Sky Swing
The fruit was a gut-punch of recollection made tangible. Tatiana could hear the ghost of her own cry, feel the slick heat of Alexander's blood through her clothes, and smell the cordite and champagne from the gala. Trapped in that sphere of smoked glass, it was all there, a museum display of her biggest failure. To reach Mira, she would have to fly past it. Its proximity seemed toxic, a psychological radiation that threatened to suck her back into that moment, to make her feel the death that had defined so much of their war. Mira swung, heedless in her enchanted sleep, a trapped princess in a floating necropolis of horrible endings. This is his creation, Tatiana realized, hovering, her twilight wings beating the thin air. In order to trap her among the ruins, he enticed her up here. To remind me of the cost of every victory. Benjamin weaponized their own past since he was no longer able to prevail in a straight fight. She gazed from the Death Fruit to her daughter. A choice. Confr
Chapter 187: Swing Altar
The sight of their daughter, ankle-locked to a golden swing and soaring into the heavens with a puppet’s laugh, broke something in Alexander. The cool, strategic half of him was destroyed, leaving only raw, paternal terror. He yelled, "MIRA!" and lunged for the swing set. However, the swing was no longer fixed to the playground's typical A-frame. The cables stretched skyward, unimaginably long, vanishing into the cloud layer. The actual machinery was someplace in the heavens; the set was really a stand-in. Harrison-13 stood back, his hands in his pockets, gazing with a peaceful, inquisitive look, as if seeing an interesting science experiment. He was no longer the shy boy next door. He served a purpose. A plot device. Tatiana didn’t spend breath on shouts. She stared down at her own body, at the ripped bridal robe. She focused on the region between her shoulder blades, where the storm-cloud wings had erupted. They were gone, but the canal was burnt open. The phantom agony served a
Chapter 186: Priest Smile
The word “granddaughter” hung in the fragrant air of the false cathedral, a spider’s thread of possession. Benjamin’s smile returned, thinner now, harsher. The rebellious bride, Tatiana, was not in his line of sight. His sights were on the prize, the heir. Standing motionless in her maid of honor's gown on Mira-20. Benjamin reiterated, his voice a calming, toxic tune, "The story must go on." We transplant to another branch if one fails to produce fruit. The tree is alive. The orchard endures.” He extended a hand toward Mira. “Come, child. Take your mother’s place at the altar. Accept your legacy. After all, you have a birthright to it. Mira remained still. Her eyes were wide, fixated on Tatiana. She was the seventy-year-old female who had nibbled the apple from Chapter 1. She was aware of the price of legacy. Alexander discovered his voice, a rough rasp of sound. “You don’t touch her.” Benjamin’s gaze flicked to him, amused. “Or what, Alexander? Will you use your naked hands to de
Chapter 185: Gold Wedding
It was triggered by the taste. A circuit was finished when a synapse fired. The rented ranch house, the stormy backyard, the chain-link fence, all of it melted like a watercolor painting in the rain. The sensations from the fruit became reality. The aroma of myrrh and orange flowers permeated the thick, fragrant air of a large, packed room. The sensation of silk became the heavy, structured weight of a wedding gown on her torso. The organ's sound gave way to the grand, soaring sounds of Wagner's "Bridal Chorus." Tatiana blinked. In a vast, gothic church, she stood at the end of a long, red-carpeted aisle. Stained glass windows portraying not saints, but elaborate, abstract patterns of thorns and roses, reflect colored light on the stone floor. Hundreds of guests sat in pews, their faces a jumble of happiness and sorrow. All were dressed in impeccable, formal clothing. She was clutching a bouquet of white roses and black calla lilies. She looked to her left. Alexander stood there
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