Nobela ni Favour

Smoke curled through the shattered corridors of Ashridge’s eastern wing, laced with the sharp tang of burning metal and scorched data cores. The alarms had long since faded into a low, pulsing hum that echoed like a heartbeat through the smoldering ruins. Damien Voss led the way, every inch of his body tensed like a coiled wire ready to snap. Behind him, Layla and Lucien dragged Julian between them, his blood soaking through the remnants of his tactical vest. Celine stayed close, one hand clenched over the black box drive Damien had thrust into her care moments before the detonation.They had barely escaped the data vault.Aria was still inside.Damien’s mind raced as he navigated the collapsing infrastructure. The AI system had activated a lockdown protocol, triggered not by the Black King but by Aria herself. She had sealed them out to seal herself in. And the voice—that chilling whisper that said, "You’re too late"—still clung to the edges of his mind l

The cold wind bit through the cracks in the tunnel, and the faint smell of damp earth was all that lingered around them. The vault door had closed behind them with a finality that left no room for retreat. Aria stood at the center of the dimly lit corridor, staring at the faint outline of the frost-covered walls. Her pulse raced in her veins, still quick from the near-death encounter with the Shade.She clenched the flash drive tighter in her hand, the weight of the moment pressing down on her. Every part of her screamed to leave—to run, to vanish and never look back. But there was no time for fear, no time for hesitation. They had crossed the point of no return.Damien Voss, the only person who had once managed to make her heart flutter, now stood across from her, his gaze piercing. His mask was cracked—a symbol of the chaos that had erupted since their entry into Ashridge. His jaw was set in stone, but the intensity in his eyes spoke volumes. No words were necessary. They both knew

The air inside the Ashridge Estate hung thick with expectation. Tonight was not merely a gala—it was the convergence of rival empires, secrets carved into bloodlines, and enemies cloaked in satin and silver. It was a night no one would leave unchanged.Aria Vale stood at the top of the marble staircase, her emerald gown hugging her figure like a whispered threat. Her mask, a delicate cascade of silver filigree and emerald stones, was the perfect disguise for someone used to keeping her truths buried. But beneath it all, her mind was sharp, calculating, cataloging threats and opportunities with every breath.Across the room, Damien Voss entered like a storm subdued. His suit was black velvet trimmed with gold, his mask a solid obsidian crescent hiding the cold fury in his eyes. As the crowd parted in recognition or fear, he made no effort to greet anyone. His eyes found Aria’s immediately.They hadn't spoken in two days—not since the rooftop in Vienna. Not

Midnight painted the city of Dravaria in hues of steel and blood.Aria Vale moved like a phantom through the crumbling alleys of Sector 9—once a thriving industrial heart, now a rotting carcass of Syndicate failure. The shadows whispered secrets she didn’t want to hear. Every step echoed the past—of operations gone wrong, of soldiers who disappeared without a trace, of forbidden experiments buried in classified vaults.And now, a message. One line. Come alone. Sector 9. Midnight.Signed with Damien Voss’s encrypted code.She should’ve ignored it.But Aria never ignored ghosts—especially not the ones that wore Damien’s voice.She arrived at the designated coordinates: a derelict biotech facility, half-swallowed by time. Rusted gates stood ajar, and the sign above them flickered dimly: ORACLE INITIATIVE – LIVE HUMAN TESTING PROHIBITED.The name made her blood freeze.Project Oracle.The Syndicate’s biggest secret.And her sister’s last known location.Her hand hovered over her concealed

The invitation had arrived on blood-red parchment, sealed with an emblem of a coiled serpent wrapped around a dagger—one of the Syndicate’s oldest symbols, reserved only for events meant to divide, seduce, and destroy.Aria Vale turned it over in her gloved hands, heart thudding beneath her ribs. The date and location were vague—deliberately so. Only coordinates. No name. That was how the Syndicate liked it: cryptic, deadly, exclusive.She stood in the vast dressing chamber of Voss Manor, clad in a floor-length gown the color of onyx, its corseted bodice laced tight enough to draw blood. Her black mask was feathered with sharp edges that caught the light like blades. Beautiful, lethal.“You’re really going,” Soren said, leaning against the carved doorframe, his tone a mix of admiration and dread. “Even after Damien warned you not to?”“He didn’t say not to,” Aria replied, adjusting the twin daggers concealed beneath her gown. “He just said if

Damien Voss stood at the edge of the royal observatory, wind curling through the High Tower like whispered secrets. Below him, Voss Citadel pulsed with restless life—an empire built on ash and ambition. The throne may have been gilded, but Damien knew better than most: gold rusts just as blood stains. He hadn’t slept in two nights. The storm was coming. “Report,” he said, not bothering to look over his shoulder. Kael Draven stepped from the gloom. The King’s enforcer moved like shadow given form—loyal, merciless, and bound to Damien since the Fall of Thorne Valley. “She burned your note. No hesitation,” Kael said. A flicker of something unreadable passed across Damien’s face. “Good.” Kael waited, but his king said nothing more. “The Council is restless,” Kael added. “Alec suspects you’re grooming her.” “Alec suspects everyone. It’s why he’s survived this long.” “And if Aria