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Chapter 48
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2025-05-19 14:58:09Chapter 48: The Nest
The wind howled through the Scottish Highlands like a beast mourning its young. Isla stood at the edge of a winding path that disappeared into fog. Ethan parked the car behind her and stepped out, eyes wary.
“This place isn’t on any map,” he murmured.
“That’s the point,” Isla replied, clutching the envelope Maris had given her. The coordinates had led them to this trail—no signs, no lights, just silence and that eerie sense of being watched.
“You sure about this?” Ethan asked.
“No,” she whispered. “But I have to know.”
He nodded once and followed her as they started walking. The ground was uneven, strewn with stones and roots that threatened to trip them at every step. Trees bent low, like they were eavesdropping. And then the fog thinned, just enough to reveal something ahead.
A house—or more accurately, a fortress disguised as one. All stone, no windows. Iron bars laced into the wood. Ivy climbed the sides, but nothing about it looked welcoming.
“The Nest,” Ethan said. “Just like she said.”
They circled the house. There was only one visible door, reinforced with metal and carved with the same symbol Isla had seen on Christopher’s chest.
She touched it.
The metal felt warm. Alive.
“What is this symbol?” she asked.
“It’s Victor’s brand,” Ethan said, voice tight. “He used it to mark what he believed he owned.”
“And now it’s on Christopher.” Her voice broke slightly. “He didn’t escape.”
“No one really does.”
Isla turned to him. “Then we change that. Starting now.”
—
They entered through the side. The door creaked open with a resistance that suggested it hadn’t been used in months—or maybe Victor never used it at all. Inside, the house was colder than the wind outside. Every inch was deliberate—sterile, controlled, quiet.
There were no photos. No personal items. Just rows of books, files, locked drawers, steel cabinets, and one long corridor leading to a door with a single red light above it.
“That’s where he kept her,” Ethan said softly.
“Her?”
“Your mother.”
Isla’s heart jumped into her throat. “She was here?”
Ethan nodded. “After she tried to leave him the first time. He brought her here for reconditioning.”
Isla’s stomach turned.
The door was heavy, but not locked. It opened with a groan. Inside was a room devoid of warmth—gray walls, a single cot, restraints on the bed. But on the far wall was a mirror. Isla approached it and touched the glass.
“She wrote something,” she said suddenly.
Words had been etched into the glass with something sharp. Scratched, not written.
> “If anyone finds this, know that love is not the cure. It is the weapon. Use it.”
It was signed simply: L. M.
Isla exhaled, tears stinging her eyes.
“She never gave up,” she whispered.
“No,” Ethan said gently. “She gave you everything she couldn’t keep for herself.”
—
They searched the house for hours, discovering rooms filled with surveillance equipment, detailed files on people Isla had never met but whose lives had been cataloged meticulously. He had folders on her too—her schooling, injuries, conversations, even photos taken from afar.
It felt like he’d been watching her since birth.
In one locked drawer, Ethan found a vial.
“What is it?” Isla asked.
He studied it. “Memory suppressant. He used to dose his subjects with this when they got too close to the truth.”
“He used it on my mother?”
“Likely.”
“He probably used it on Christopher too.” Her voice trembled now. “That’s why he has gaps. That’s why his emotions feel… fractured.”
Ethan nodded grimly.
Isla sat down on the floor, surrounded by evidence of a lifetime she never agreed to live.
“How do I fight a man who’s been shaping my story before I even knew I had one?”
Ethan knelt beside her. “You don’t fight him on his terms. You make him come to you. You become the threat. The unpredictable variable.”
“How?”
“By remembering who you are—not what he made you to be.”
She looked down at her shaking hands. “I’m scared.”
“I know,” Ethan said. “But that means you still feel. That means he hasn’t won.”
—
Later that night, Isla stayed in the surveillance room alone. She studied the monitors, most of them dark. One flickered. A hallway. Shadows moved.
She leaned closer.
And then she saw him.
Victor.
Not in the room—but on the feed. Walking calmly through another house. Not the Nest. Somewhere else. He glanced directly at the camera, as though he knew she was watching.
He smiled.
Then the feed went black.
Isla stood up too fast, knocking over the chair. Her heart slammed in her chest.
He knew she was here.
He wanted her to find him.
Or worse—he was already close.
She ran to find Ethan, but the hallway lights blinked out just as she opened the door.
The Nest had been triggered.
Something was coming.
—
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