Chapter 12
Author: Gem
last update2025-04-30 04:52:54

News spreads like wildfire: Mad Tiger has been captured.

It breaks the internet within hours. Local headlines scream about a daring military operation, about precision and strategy, about Major Irene Lockhart leading the charge like a seasoned war hero. She's called a legend. A symbol of power. A woman who doesn't take prisoners.

And Irene? She doesn’t say a word.

She doesn’t correct them.

She lets the world believe she brought down Mad Tiger.

But it eats at her. Every second. Every whisper of praise is another needle under her skin.

Because she knows it wasn’t her.

She hadn’t even stepped inside that godforsaken house before it was all over.

The forums explode first.

"A-class menace finally subdued!"

"Military strikes again—justice served!"

"Mad Tiger neutralized. Thank God."

And then, the conspiracy theorists crawl out from under their digital rocks.

A few grainy screenshots begin making rounds—still frames taken from neighborhood security cams. One in particular sparks interest: a
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  • Chapter 104

    The forest swallowed the remnants of moonlight, turning their soaked figures into silhouettes against the dark underbrush. Beverly leaned on Davion’s arm, each of them breathing like runners at the finish line—exhausted, raw, and alive.“Are we… safe?” she whispered, voice like a trembling leaf.Davion didn’t answer fast. He scanned the forest, chest rising and falling. The adrenaline still buzzed through him. Our fight’s just beginning, his eyes seemed to say. Finally, he nodded. “For now.”Wilson groaned, leaning backs against a gnarled tree trunk. He pressed a bloody cloth to his side. “Ribs,” he muttered. “Worth it.”Reika crouched nearby, her bow drawn but eye gentle. “Anyone see movement?”“No one,” Davion said. “We cleared the lake. They’ll think that was it—fresh chaos and we disappeared into the night.”Beverly shivered. Her teeth chattered, but the cold didn’t numb her fire. “They won’t stop, though. We hit them, but they’ll come back.”“Then we hit harder,” Davion replied.

  • Chapter 103

    The internet burst into flames when Beverly hit post. Notifications exploded. Comments poured in—some supportive, some hateful. But Davion didn’t wait for responses. He loaded a rifle borrowed from a hidden compartment under the cabin floor.“You ready?” he murmured.Beverly’s voice shook, but her grip never wavered. “Always.”Lightning cracked overhead as the storm rolled in, perfect cover. Rain pelted the lake-house windows. They bolted up the stairs, Davion’s rifle heavy in his arms, Beverly’s sidearm ready.“Eyes open,” he hissed, pushing the door open.Silence. Too quiet.Then, a thump. Someone behind the cabin. Davion ducked, Beverly dropping low behind him.Out of the shadows, figures sprinted—black-clad, faces covered. More than ten of them.“Shit,” Davion hissed. He fired into the darkness—one shot, two shots. A man crumpled. Spray of water and dirt.Beverly squeezed the trigger. Another attacker went down.The cult had found them fast.Davion vaulted over a railing, stepping

  • Chapter 102

    The car ride back to town was mostly silent, except for the squeaky wipers smearing rain across the windshield. Beverly gripped the steering wheel like it owed her something—like if she let go for even a second, everything would fall apart again.Davion sat in the passenger seat, head leaned against the cold window, hoodie soaked through. His breathing had evened out, but she could still see the way his fingers twitched—like his body hadn’t realized it was safe yet.“You okay?” she asked, not looking at him.“Define ‘okay,’” he murmured.She smirked, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “You hungry?”“Starving. But I don’t think I can taste anything that’s not adrenaline or blood.”“We’ll get you a burger or something. Grease fixes a lot.”They pulled into a gas station parking lot that smelled like wet asphalt and old fries. Beverly ran inside and came back with a hoodie two sizes too big, a bag of snacks, and a Gatorade. Davion stared at her like she’d hung the moon.“You steal this hoodie

  • Chapter 101

    The hospital room was too quiet after Wesley left.Beverly stared at the ceiling, hands clenched under the covers like maybe if she held on tight enough, the pain in her chest would stop expanding.But it didn’t.It just burned.She threw the blankets off and sat up too fast. Her vision swam, but she didn’t stop.The beeping monitor beside her protested. Her body protested harder. But her head? It was screaming one name.Davion.She swung her legs off the bed and stood. Her knees buckled — the IV line tugged at her arm — but she gritted her teeth and ripped the tape free. The machine whined louder. She didn’t care. She found her hoodie crumpled on a chair and pulled it on, wincing at the weight of the fabric.“Beverly, what the hell are you doing?” Margaret’s voice came sharp from the hallway, just as she shoved the door open.Beverly didn’t even look at her. “I’m leaving.”Margaret stepped in her way. “You are not going after him.”“Yes,” Beverly said, voice steel under glass, “I am.

  • Chapter 100

    The first thing Beverly noticed was the beeping. It was soft, steady — like a weird lullaby for people on the edge of something.Her eyes felt heavy. Her lips were dry. Her throat burned like she’d swallowed nails.She blinked slowly.White ceiling. Blurred lights. Hospital air — cold and sterile, like it didn’t belong to anyone.She tried to move her hand, but it tugged against something. An IV line. Her fingers twitched weakly.Then the pain hit her chest. Not sharp. Not dramatic. Just this weird, dull ache, like her whole body had been hollowed out and stuffed with sand.“Beverly?”The voice came from beside her. Shaky. Familiar.Her mom.Beverly turned her head slightly.Margaret was already leaning forward, gripping her hand, tears running down her cheeks.“Oh my God,” Margaret whispered. “You’re awake. You’re okay. You’re okay.”Beverly’s throat was too raw to talk, so she just blinked once. Slowly. Then again.She remembered…Bits and pieces. The ritual. The cold surface under

  • Chapter 99

    The hospital room smelled like antiseptic and dread. Beeping machines filled the silence, their rhythms the only proof that Beverly was still here — still holding on. Barely.Davion sat beside her bed, one hand loosely wrapped around hers. His hoodie was stained — blood, ash, something dark from the altar — but he didn’t care. He hadn’t said a word since the nurses left. Just stared. Just waited.Her skin was still pale. Eyes shut. Tubes in her arms, oxygen under her nose. She looked so still it scared him.“I should’ve gotten there sooner,” he whispered, his voice hoarse.The door creaked open behind him.He didn’t turn.“I said no visitors,” he muttered, assuming it was a nurse.But it wasn’t.“Where is she?” a woman’s voice cried out.Davion stood slowly, turning toward the door — and his stomach dropped.It was Margaret. Beverly’s mom.She rushed in like the floor was on fire, her heels clacking, her face crumbling the second she saw her daughter in that bed.“Bev…” she breathed.

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