The Return Of The War god

8

Chapter 8:

 Three weeks later, the city was still burning.

 Not literally. But the fallout from the gala had spread like wildfire. Victor Sterling's arrest had triggered a chain reaction — senators resigning, CEOs fleeing, judges under investigation. The news cycle couldn't keep up. Every day, a new name. A new crime. A new scandal.

 Amelia had been called to testify before a federal grand jury. She'd agreed. She'd also agreed to give interviews — her face on every screen, her voice on every station. She wasn't hiding anymore.

 Elena was running cleanup. Tracking down the remaining members of Sterling's network. Hunting them one by one. She didn't sleep much. Neither did he.

 And Adrian—

 Adrian was sitting in a cemetery.

 The grave was simple. A headstone. A name. Two dates. No flowers. No visitors. Just cold marble and silence.

 Michael Cole. Beloved Father. 1960–2024.

 Adrian had been here for two hours. He hadn't said a word.

 Finally, he spoke.

 "I'm sorry."

 The wind rustled through the trees. No answer.

 "I'm sorry I wasn't there. I'm sorry I let them lie to you. I'm sorry you died thinking I was already gone."

 He reached out. Touched the headstone. The marble was cold against his fingers.

 "They're all going down, Dad. Kane. Sterling. Everyone who had a hand in it. It's not enough. It'll never be enough. But it's something."

 Silence.

 "You always told me that a man's legacy isn't what he leaves behind — it's what he stands for. You stood for honesty. For hard work. For family." Adrian's voice cracked. "I didn't stand for anything. I was a weapon. Pointed and fired. I lost myself."

 He closed his eyes.

 "I'm trying to find myself again. I don't know if I can."

 Footsteps behind him. Soft. Slow. He didn't turn.

 "You shouldn't be here," he said.

 "I know," his mother replied. "Neither should you."

 She sat beside him on the cold ground. Didn't touch him. Just sat.

 "You've been gone for six years, Adrian. You came back, you saved us, you destroyed the people who hurt us. But you haven't come home."

 "I don't know where home is anymore."

 She was quiet for a moment. Then she spoke.

 "Your father used to tell me that home isn't a place. It's a feeling. It's the people who know you and love you anyway. It's the place where you don't have to pretend."

 She looked at him.

 "You've been pretending for six years. Pretending to be dead. Pretending to be a soldier. Pretending to be a weapon. When are you going to stop pretending and just be my son?"

 Adrian didn't answer.

 She reached over. Took his hand. Held it.

 "I'm not asking you to be okay. I'm not asking you to forget what happened. I'm just asking you to stay. Not for revenge. Not for justice. Just... stay."

 Adrian stared at the headstone. At his father's name. At the dates that marked the beginning and end of a life.

 "I don't know how."

 "Neither do I. But we can figure it out together."

 He looked at her. Really looked at her. She was older than he remembered. Tired. Worn. But her eyes were the same — warm, kind, patient. The eyes of a woman who had lost everything and still found a reason to keep going.

 "Okay," he said quietly.

 "Okay?"

 "I'll try."

 She smiled. It was the first genuine smile he'd seen from her in years.

 "That's all I ask."

 ---

 The sun was setting when they finally left the cemetery.

 Adrian drove his mother home — a small house on the outskirts of the city. Not the mansion. Not the estate. Just a simple place with a garden and a porch swing.

 "I bought this place after your father died," she said. "I couldn't stay in the old house. Too many memories."

 "It's nice."

 "It's small. But it's mine."

 He walked her to the door. She stopped on the threshold.

 "Are you coming in?"

 Adrian hesitated. "I have things to do."

 "You always have things to do." She touched his face. "Come for dinner. Tomorrow. Six o'clock. No excuses."

 He nodded. "Okay."

 She kissed his cheek. Went inside. The door closed.

 Adrian stood there for a long moment. Then he pulled out his phone.

 "Elena."

 "Here."

 "What's the status?"

 "We found another one. Judge Harold Finch. He was on Sterling's payroll for fifteen years. I have evidence. Enough to bring him down."

 "Good. Send it to the FBI. Let them handle it."

 "Adrian... there's something else."

 He paused. "What?"

 "You need to see this."

 ---

 Elena was waiting for him at the safe house.

 She looked tired. Stressed. More than usual.

 "What's going on?"

 She turned her laptop toward him. A video. Grainy. Dark. A man sitting in a chair. Bound. Blindfolded.

 "I received this an hour ago. Someone sent it to the secure channel."

 Adrian watched. The man struggled. Mumbled something.

 Then a voice spoke from off-camera.

 "Adrian Cole. You've taken everything from me. My money. My reputation. My power. But you forgot one thing. I still have people. I still have resources. And I still have the one thing you can't live without."

 The camera panned. A second figure appeared. A woman. Tied to a chair. Gagged.

 Adrian's blood ran cold.

 "Your mother."

 The video cut off.

 Adrian stared at the screen. His hands were shaking.

 "Where is she?"

 "We don't know. We've been trying to trace the signal. It's coming from somewhere overseas. But the encryption is—"

 "Where. Is. She."

 Elena shook her head. "Adrian, we'll find her. But you need to stay calm—"

 "Calm?"

 He grabbed the laptop. Slammed it against the wall. The screen shattered.

 "Calm? They took my mother. They took the only person I have left. And you want me to be calm?"

 Elena didn't flinch. "I want you to think. Reacting emotionally is exactly what they want. They want you to make a mistake. They want you to be reckless."

 Adrian stood there, chest heaving. His fists clenched. His mind raced.

 "Who sent it? Was it Sterling?"

 "Sterling is in federal custody. No contact with the outside. It's not him."

 "Then who?"

 Elena hesitated. "There's only one person with the resources to pull this off. Someone who knows about your mother. Someone who's been watching you."

 Adrian's eyes narrowed.

 "Victoria."

 "She's been missing for two weeks. We thought she ran. But what if she didn't? What if she's been planning this? What if she's working with someone?"

 Adrian didn't answer. He was already moving. Grabbing his coat. His keys.

 "Where are you going?"

 "To find her."

 "Adrian, wait—"

 He stopped at the door. Turned.

 "I spent six years in hell. I survived a bullet to the spine. I watched my wife betray me. I buried my father. I destroyed the most powerful man in the country. I am not going to lose my mother."

 He opened the door.

 "Tell everyone. We're going hunting."