Chapter 23: A Larger Cage

Somewhere in the Pacific Ocean. 04:55 AM.

As the fleet of helicopters soared away from the collapsing island, the first sliver of dawn began to bleed across the horizon. It wasn't a soft, hopeful light; it was a bruised, sickly gray that gradually turned into a violent, arterial red. The rising sun transformed the ocean into a vast, shimmering mirror, reflecting the thirty Black Hawks like a murder of crows returning to their nest.

Skylar sat in the front row of the lead chopper, wrapped tightly in Sebastian’s heavy trench coat. The dark fabric hid the map of scars on her skin, but it couldn't mask the aura of lethal stillness that now radiated from her.

She looked down at Summer, who was cradled in her lap. The girl was still unconscious, her breathing shallow but steady. The bandages on her wrists had been freshly replaced, white and clean against her ghostly skin. Skylar’s fingertips traced a stray lock of hair away from Summer’s forehead, her voice a ghost of a sound.

"Just a little longer," she whispered. "It’s almost over."

Sebastian sat directly across from her. His left arm was held in a makeshift sling, and his silver-gray eyes never left her face. He didn't speak; he didn't need to. He simply reached out and took her freezing hand in his, interlacing their fingers with a bruising grip, as if he could force his own warmth into her veins.

Suddenly, the cockpit intercom crackled to life. The pilot’s voice was high-pitched, vibrating with unmistakable panic.

"Chairman... we’re locked! We’ve been painted! Twenty nautical miles out, six Virginia-class nuclear submarines have just breached the surface. And... God... there’s a Zumwalt-class destroyer ahead! Their fire-control radar is active! We are sitting ducks!"

Skylar’s pupils shrank. She lunged to her feet and strode into the cockpit, staring through the reinforced windshield.

The sight was apocalyptic. At the edge of the world, six charcoal-gray leviathans had risen from the deep, forming a perfect crescent moon of steel that effectively quarantined the entire sector.

And in the center of that crescent sat the Zumwalt—the ghost ship of the navy.

Standing on the high bridge of the destroyer, framed by the crimson dawn, was a tall, solitary figure. He was dressed in an impeccable suit, hands shoved casually into his pockets. He looked up at the approaching helicopters and raised a crystal glass of red wine in a mocking toast.

Landon Voss.

The titanium chain that Skylar had used to collar him only an hour ago was now draped loosely around his fingers, swaying like a tamed serpent. At his feet, a row of mercenaries knelt, bound and gagged—the very men who had "escorted" Summer to the helicopter.

Their throats had been opened. Their blood flowed across the pristine deck, creating a scarlet carpet that led straight to Landon’s polished shoes.

Through the radio frequency, Landon’s voice filtered in. It was smooth, melodic, and terrifyingly intimate, as if he were whispering directly against her earlobe.

"Little Rose... welcome to my second cage."

The blood in Skylar’s veins turned to slush. She turned to Sebastian, her voice trembling. "How... when did he mobilize nuclear subs?"

Sebastian’s silver eyes darkened into a stormy abyss. "At the latest? The moment you locked him into that chair. He let you do it, Skye."

Skylar closed her eyes, the sickening realization washing over her. The dramatic reversal, the shark's explosion, the "surrender" of his men... it had all been a script. Landon had let her "win." He had allowed her to feel the intoxicating rush of claiming her "second drop of blood" just so he could savor the moment he snatched it back.

He had waited until she was at her most triumphant, her most vulnerable, to drop a much larger net over her head.

Landon continued, his tone as tender as a lover’s. "Thirty Black Hawks. A beautiful display, my love. A shame they belong to me now."

As if on cue, the thirty pilots in the fleet raised their hands in unison. On each of their wrists, a red LED ring glowed ominously.

In the next heartbeat, the helicopters veered off course. Manual controls went dead. The autopilot systems engaged, slaving the entire fleet to the Zumwalt's command center. The choppers turned as one, descending toward the massive flight deck of the destroyer.

Sebastian lunged forward, pressing his pistol into the back of the pilot's head. "Who gave the order?! Break formation now!"

The pilot gave a bitter, hollow laugh, tilting his wrist to show the steel micro-needle embedded in the underside of the LED band. "Thirty seconds ago, a neurotoxin was injected. If we deviate from the flight path, we drop dead in our seats. I'm sorry, Chairman. We have no choice."

Skylar watched the red countdown on the pilot's wrist. 00:00:28... 00:00:27...

She began to laugh. It started as a soft titter and grew into a full, melodic laugh that brought tears to her eyes.

"Brilliant," she whispered, her voice carrying a chill that made the air in the cockpit feel like ice. "Landon Voss, you win this round."

She reached out and keyed the all-channel broadcast. "All Black Hawks, follow the descent. Proceed as planned. Anyone who resists... I’ll kill them myself."

Sebastian stared at her, his voice low and ragged. "Skylar..."

She turned to him, a flash of genuine madness dancing in her eyes. "Don't you see, Sebastian? The bigger the cage... the more room there is to hunt."

---

Fifteen minutes later, the thirty Black Hawks were lined up on the Zumwalt's deck like trophies.

As the bay doors hissed open, over a hundred heavily armed Marines swarmed the deck. They didn't open fire. Instead, they lowered their weapons by exactly thirty degrees in a synchronized, ancient gesture of fealty.

Landon stood at the head of the formation, his suit jacket draped over his arm, his shirt collar unbuttoned to reveal the raw red marks on his neck. He wore the titanium chain like a necklace, the end of which held Skylar’s blood-stained platinum ring. The inscription inside the band caught the morning light, glinting like a cold promise.

He opened his arms wide, grinning like a king welcoming home his wayward queen. "Welcome home, Little Rose."

Skylar stepped off the ramp, barefoot once more. Sebastian’s black coat billowed behind her in the sea wind like a tattered battle flag.

She walked toward Landon, her pace steady and rhythmic. She stopped exactly ten paces away and looked up at him. Her voice was a purr.

"Dog. Kneel."

The entire deck went silent. The only sound was the howling of the wind and the crashing of waves against the hull. Landon stared at her for three heart-stopping seconds. Then, slowly, deliberately, he sank to one knee.

He reached out, took her bruised, blood-flecked foot in his hand, and pressed his lips to the skin.

"Woof," he whispered, a sound of pure, unadulterated submission.

The silence was absolute. Landon Voss, the man who held the world's economy in his fist, was kneeling in the blood of his own men for a woman in a torn coat.

Skylar looked down at him, her fingers sliding into his dark hair. The gesture was almost affectionate, but her voice was a razor. "Good. From this moment on, you have exactly one life. And it belongs to me."

She tilted her head, looking back at Sebastian. Her lips moved in a silent, imperceptible ghost of a phrase: The third drop. I have it.

Sebastian’s silver eyes were a chaotic storm of pride and agony. He stepped forward, taking his place half a step behind her—her shadow, her guardian, her weapon.

But the game wasn't over.

From the dark waters to the starboard side, a ghost-like submarine, painted in a matte black that seemed to swallow the light, breached the surface. On its conning tower was a stark, white emblem of a serpent with its jaws wide.

The hatch opened, and a man stepped out into the wind. He was leaning against the railing, a cigarette dangling from his lips. He was rugged, handsome in a way that spoke of bar fights and lawlessness.

Kai Reyes.

He flicked the ash into the ocean and smiled, his teeth bright against his tanned skin. He looked at the destroyer, at the helicopters, and then at Skylar.

"Well, well," Kai called out, his voice carrying easily over the water, brimming with a dangerous, roguish charm. "Looks like I missed the appetizers."

He whistled at Skylar, a sharp, appreciative sound. "Little beauty, it looks like it’s finally my turn to join the table."

The wind picked up.

Three factions. Six nuclear submarines. One Zumwalt destroyer. Thirty Black Hawks. And the Serpent sub. The Pacific had become a living chessboard, and Skylar Vance was the queen standing in the center of the board.

She felt the wind whipping her hair around her face. She looked at the three men who would tear the world apart for her—or because of her.

And for the first time, Skylar truly laughed. It was a sound like breaking glass falling into fine whiskey.

Under the gaze of a thousand soldiers and three monsters, she leaned back and kissed the hollow of Sebastian’s throat. Then, she turned and kissed Landon’s forehead. Finally, she blew a mocking kiss toward Kai Reyes on the distant submarine.

She threw her arms wide, her voice ringing out across the deck like a clarion call.

"Come then! Whoever wins... gets to be my dog."

The sea turned into a sheet of torn black silk. In the eye of the storm stood Skylar—dark hair, blood-red lips, a rose that had finally bloomed in the heart of a wasteland.

The real game had only just begun.