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Chapter 30
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2025-05-17 18:23:24Chapter 30: The Shards Beneath the Silence
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The rain came softly that night—whispers against the stained glass windows of the safehouse. Vi was asleep on the couch, a gun clutched beneath the pillow. Christopher was at the table, sketching something into a weathered notebook. A map. Lines. Coordinates.
But Isla sat alone, back pressed against the cold marble wall of the hallway, legs pulled to her chest.
Sleep wouldn't come.
Not tonight.
Not with his voice still ringing in her head.
"She looks just like her mother…"
That single sentence had cracked something deep inside her. Because her mother was supposed to be dead. Because Victor wasn’t supposed to remember her. Because no one was.
And yet—
He had said it like he knew.
---
She shut her eyes.
The memories came like wolves.
---
Flashback: Isla, Age 8
The room smelled like roses and metal.
She stood behind a velvet curtain, peeking out at the guests below. They wore diamonds on their throats and hunger in their eyes. The house was always full of strangers.
Always his strangers.
Victor Kane had been a god in those halls.
Her mother—soft-spoken, beautiful, frail—never looked him in the eye.
And Isla had been told not to speak to him unless spoken to.
But one day, he had bent down and tucked a flower behind her ear.
"You're going to ruin men, little dove," he said. "Just like your mother did."
She hadn’t understood then.
But now?
She understood too much.
---
Present Day: Safehouse
The notebook slid shut. Christopher rose and walked over, crouching beside her.
“You haven’t slept in two days.”
“I don’t need sleep.”
“You’re bleeding,” he said.
She looked down. Her nails had bitten crescent moons into her palms.
“I want to remember,” she whispered.
Christopher’s gaze sharpened. “What do you mean?”
“I think I knew him before. Not just as Vi’s father-in-law. I think I saw him—when I was little.”
Silence.
Then: “You think Victor Kane was in your life before your mother’s death?”
She nodded. “And I think my mother didn’t just die.”
---
Scene Switch: Ezra Quinn
A forest in Austria.
A man with ghost-pale skin walked barefoot across frozen ground, humming a lullaby only he remembered. Around his neck hung a locket.
Inside it?
A photo of Isla.
Though he didn’t know her name.
Only that Victor told him to find her.
Break her.
Bring her back.
And if anyone stood in his way—
He would peel their skin off with his teeth.
---
Back to Isla’s Inner World
The nightmares became flashes. Scissors. Blood. A bathtub. Her mother’s scream, muffled in water.
A face.
Not her father.
Not her mother.
But him.
Victor.
She woke up on the floor, gasping.
Vi knelt beside her.
“You’re shaking.”
“I saw him,” Isla choked out. “Not recently. From before. He was there. When she died.”
Vi’s expression changed. Hardened.
“You think Victor killed your mother?”
“No…” Isla’s eyes glazed over.
“I think she loved him.”
---
Cut to: Victor’s Office
Victor leaned back as a fax arrived.
Ezra Quinn had crossed the Rhine.
He smiled.
"Bring her to her knees, Ezra."
Then he poured himself a glass of red wine.
"Like her mother begged me to."
---
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