Captured

​POV: Jarrah

​I woke up at 04:12 AM to an alarm that sounded like a dying siren.

​It wasn't the perimeter alarm. It wasn't a breach alert at Calaby's front gate. It was the low-frequency, high-priority distress ping broadcasting directly to the tactical smartwatch on my wrist.

​CRITICAL WARNING: BIO-PULSE SIGNAL DISRUPTED. USER: MALIA VANE. STATUS: UNRESPONSIVE / SIGNAL LOST.

​My blood ran cold.

​I threw myself out of the chair, pulled my weapon from the desk holster, and bolted down the hall toward Malia’s quarters. "Malia!" I shoved the door open, my heart hammering against my ribs with terrifying force.

​The room was empty.

​The bed was neatly made, except for a single piece of white stationery resting on the pillow. On top of it lay the platinum promise ring I had given her.

​My hands trembled as I grabbed the paper. I read her words in five seconds flat.

​‘This was never your war, Jarrah. It’s mine.’

​"You idiot," I roared, tearing the paper in half, a raw, primal scream ripping through my throat. "You absolute fucking idiot!"

​I threw the pieces to the floor, pulled up my wrist terminal, and brought up the last known location ping from her ring's distress signal.

​LOCATION: ST. KILDA PIER. TIME: 04:18 AM.

​"Brodie! Marcus! Gear up now!" I screamed into my comms unit, sprinting down the corridor toward the garage. "We have a tactical emergency! Move!"

​Ten minutes later, my armored SUV tore through the rain-slicked streets of Melbourne, red tactical lights flashing beneath the grille, engine screaming at maximum RPM. My fingers gripped the steering wheel so hard the leather cracked under the pressure.

​Every second felt like an eternity. Images flashed through my mind: Malia lying cold on the concrete, Malia shot, Malia, taken. The terror inside me wasn't a soft, paralyzing fear; it was a dark, suffocating rage that consumed every ounce of my humanity.

​We arrived at St. Kilda Pier at 04:31 AM.

​I threw the door open before the vehicle had even fully stopped, racking the bolt of my assault rifle as my boots hit the wet asphalt.

​"Clear the perimeter!" I ordered my men, who fanned out into a defensive wedge behind me.

​The pier was silent. The fog hung heavy over the water.

​I ran down the wooden planks, my eyes searching the gloom. Spent shell casings glinted in the dim light 9mm and 5.56 tactical rounds scattered across the wood. Scuff marks, blood splatters, and burnt chemical residue from flashbang grenades painted a horrific picture of a violent struggle.

​Near the edge of the pier lay her burner phone, crushed beneath a heavy boot heel. Beside it was a single drop of fresh blood.

​She was gone.

​I dropped to one knee, picking up the shattered phone. My hand shook as I pressed the bloody glass to my palm.

​She had walked straight into his hands. She had tried to settle a blood debt alone, and now she was in the custody of a man who killed his own son without shedding a single tear.

​"Boss," Marcus called out, his voice tense as he scanned the tire tracks left in the mud near the pier entrance. "Heavy armored transport vehicle. Dual rear axles. They headed north toward the highway five minutes ago. It’s Alastair’s security detail."

​I stood up slowly. The grief, the panic, the desperate love I felt for Malia, all of it condensed, hardened, and transformed into a cold, terrifying blackness inside my chest.

​I pulled out my secure satellite phone and dialed an unlisted, off-grid number I hadn't used in six years.

​The line connected after one ring. A cold, mechanical voice answered. "Calaby. State your directive."

​"Authorize Protocol Omega," I said, my voice completely devoid of human warmth. "Bring every operative, every heavy weapons team, and every drone asset to Melbourne immediately. We are burning Kilsyth to the ground."

​"Sir," the operator hesitated. "Protocol Omega violates federal security treaties. It will start an open war in the state."

​I looked out at the churning, black sea, holding the shattered remains of Malia's phone in my fist.

​"I don't care," I whispered, hissing the words through my teeth like a curse from the depths of hell. "If he hurts her, I won't just kill him. I'll make sure there's nothing left of his world for God to save."

​Across the bay, high up in the fog-drenched hills of the Dandenong Ranges, an iron gate creaked open to receive the armored van. Deep within the subterranean vault of Kilsyth Estate, a heavy steel door slid shut, locking Malia into the pitch-black silence of her father's lair.