The air in the safehouse was heavy with focus. Morning light filtered through slatted blinds, cutting pale bars of gold across the hardwood floor. Lucien sat at the head of the central planning table, hunched over a file that Matteo had decrypted during the early hours. It was a mess of redacted memos, contract routes, and deployment manifests, each piece a fragment of Tobias Marren's movement pattern.Vincenzo leaned over his shoulder, pointing at a line of numbers."This one repeats. Every third week, same airspace, same burn pattern. He’s using a privately leased jet under the alias Renner Kael."Lucien nodded slowly. "Has the flight touched down?""Ten minutes ago. Tripoli sector, just outside the secondary commercial field. Not a major hub. Private carriers only."Matteo brought up a live feed from a drone circling overhead. On the screen, a man in a dark field jacket and sunglasses stepped down the metal stairs from the jet, flanked by two plainclothes escorts."That's him," Mat
The sound came first. Dull, mechanical, steady.Lucien blinked once.Then again.A slow, rhythmic beeping, like a clock carved from breath and wires. The ceiling above him was soft beige, sterile but not unfamiliar. He inhaled deeply, the sharp tug of a rib injury clenching in protest.He didn’t need to look to know he was in a recovery suite, cleaner than a hospital, quieter than a safehouse. And far too still.His body felt heavier than it should. Sedatives. Monitors tracked the beat of his heart, the rhythm of his lungs.He turned his head.Lucio wasn’t there.Neither was Seraphina.Panic tried to surface, but something stronger held it back. The same thing that had always steadied him when the world burned.Control.He shifted slightly, triggering the soft chime of a proximity sensor. A second later, the door opened, and Vincenzo entered, dressed in black, dark circles under his eyes. But relief crossed his face when he saw Lucien awake.“You’re back,” Vincenzo said, voice low but
The last thing Seraphina remembered was the weight of the detonator in her hand, the heat from Lucien’s blood on her chest, and the way Lucio looked at her, wide-eyed and silent, trusting her in the worst moment of their lives.She’d stood between them and the enemy.Then she pulled the trigger.Silence.And now, cold.Her eyes opened to dim, sterile light, the faint hum of ventilation, and a low ache across every inch of her body. Her shoulder throbbed. Her ribs screamed when she tried to shift. But she was alive.Alive.Which meant someone had a reason to keep her breathing.The room around her was too clean, too controlled. The walls were a dull matte gray. The bed beneath her was standard, thin mattress, single sheet. No visible windows. One door. One camera.Not a hospital.Not a military base.Something in between.She sat up slowly, ignoring the tug of pain. She’d lived through worse.But she’d never felt this kind of stillness before.Then came the knock.Soft. Sarcastic.And
The bulkhead slammed shut behind her like the closing of a tomb.Steel-on-steel. Sealed. Final.Seraphina didn’t flinch.She raised her weapon, eyes sweeping the tight corridor now flooding with footsteps. Her breath was steady. Her heart didn’t race. The chaos didn't shake her. It sharpened her.Two men rounded the corner. Combat gear. Black visors. Rifles raised.She didn’t hesitate.Double-tap. One to the throat, one to the eye.They dropped.The second wave came from the side, closer. One reached for Lucio.He never made it.Seraphina lunged like a shadow and drove her blade between his ribs, twisting up. The man gasped, surprised he was already dying.She grabbed his rifle before it hit the floor.Reloaded.And turned toward the next enemy.Lucien was bleeding badly.He’d dropped to one knee, pressing his arm against the wound on his side. Vincenzo dragged him behind a collapsed piping rig while Lucio crouched next to him, eyes wide, breathing sharp little gasps but not crying.E
Night blanketed Tripoli in smoke and silence.The harbor district had emptied just after midnight. Fishing boats were moored. The street lamps near the grain silos had been cut deliberately. Intentional. From a distance, the facility looked abandoned.But Lucien knew better.He crouched on the ridge with Seraphina, Vincenzo, and three of Vincenzo’s most trusted black ops contractors. A dry breeze stirred dust through the cracks in the cement. The grain silo sat like a monolith against the stars, the corrugated metal sheathing glinting just barely from their NVG lenses.Matteo’s voice crackled in Lucien’s ear.“East side guard loop confirmed. One-minute rotation. Two-man formation. No heat inside the grain bays, but I’m picking up faint signatures in the substructure.”Lucien’s voice was a whisper. “Any sign of Lucio?”“Same signal. Same position. He hasn’t moved in twenty minutes.”That meant sedated. Or worse.He didn’t say it aloud.They crossed the eastern field low, past rusted ba
They found the compound three kilometers beyond the Algerian border—buried beneath a false vineyard, its perimeter disguised as a shuttered agricultural facility.The aerial drone captured faint thermal signatures at the northeast wing. Four guards rotating in a near-military pattern. No visible insignia. No obvious exit points.Inside that pattern, Matteo confirmed: one heat source the size and shape of a child.Lucio.“We go in at 0200,” Lucien said.Vincenzo was already checking the elevation routes. Seraphina studied the satellite floor plan. Matteo synchronized the exit tunnels. Elian arranged for off-grid medevac.No one had to ask what Lucien would do if they failed.He hadn’t spoken since receiving Lucio’s wolf in the torn backpack.Not in words, anyway.Just motion.Every gun oiled. Every knife checked. Every plan spoken only once.He was a man whose rage no longer roa