Two. WELCOME BACK GENERAL VEE

VIDEL..

I bent down and picked up the folder.

The papers were smooth beneath my fingers, too neat for something meant to end a life. I flipped it open slowly, my eyes moving over the printed lines without hurry.

A lump sum settlement.

Five hundred thousand.

One residential property, transferred upon signing.

No further claims.

That was it.

I stared at the figure for a second longer than necessary. Then a sound slipped out of me.

A laugh.

Hollow. Short. Almost surprised.

Five hundred thousand.

I lifted my head and looked at Eric. “So this is it?” I asked quietly. “This is what you think I’m worth?”

His expression hardened, irritation flashing across his face. “It’s more than generous.”

“Generous?” I repeated softly. I tapped the papers once. “After everything? Or is this all you think you owe me?”

“Don’t start,” he said. “You’re being compensated fairly. Take it.”

My eyes dropped to the figures again, then lifted back to his face.

“Fair,” I echoed.

Three years.

Three years of loyalty, sacrifice, silence.

And a loss he refused to name.

And he thought five hundred thousand and a house balanced it.

I picked up the pen resting inside the folder.

My hand did not shake.

I signed my name once. Then again. Each stroke was steady, deliberate. When I finished, I placed the pen back where it had been.

“I don’t need your money,” I said, snapping the folder shut and tossing it back at him. “Or your house.”

He frowned, then smiled thinly. “Are you sure about that? You’re just a poor little girl without a home. Pride won’t feed you.”

I looked at him for a moment.

Then I turned away from the bed as if neither of them existed.

I went straight to the drawer, pulled it open, and took out the few things that were mine. Documents. A small box. Nothing else. I packed them into my suitcase calmly, methodically.

Behind me, the room stayed silent.

I zipped the suitcase shut.

As I reached the door, Eric’s voice followed me. “Fine then. Don’t regret it. And don’t come begging.”

I didn’t slow down.

I rolled the suitcase down the hallway and down the stairs.

In the living room, Gretta sat exactly where I had left her. Her lips curved when she saw me, smug and satisfied, as if this was the ending she had been waiting for.

I averted my gaze and fixed my eyes forward.

I walked past her without slowing.

Outside, the gatekeeper saw me and moved at once. The iron gates opened without a word. I walked through.

They closed behind me.

I took two steps before it hit.

It didn’t come all at once. Nothing dramatic.

Just a tightness in my chest that stopped me mid-step. My fingers curled hard around the suitcase handle as my breath caught, shallow and unfinished. I stood there for a moment, staring straight ahead, feeling something inside me give way without a sound.

It hurt.

Not the kind that makes you fall apart or cry out.

The kind that settles deep, heavy, pressing inward, like everything I had kept buried finally pushing back.

My throat burned. My eyes stung.

One tear slipped free.

I wiped it away quickly with the back of my hand, almost irritated by it. Letting it fall meant that house still had a claim on me, and I refused that.

I tightened my grip on the suitcase and forced myself forward.

Each step felt heavier than the last, but I kept walking. Slow. Measured. My back stayed straight even as my chest ached with every breath. Whatever I had been inside that house, I was leaving it behind.

The pain followed anyway. Quiet. Stubborn.

I stopped near the curb and pulled out my phone. Scrolling through my contacts, I paused at a name I hadn’t dialed in years. My thumb hovered, then pressed call.

The line rang twice before it was answered.

“General?”

“Jeff,” I said, my voice steadier than I felt. “Get my plane ready. I’m going back to Greeneland.”

For three years, I had lived a life that was never truly mine.

It was time to take myself back.

......

I flagged down a cab to a nearby hotel.

I didn’t trust myself to go straight to the airport. My hands were still trembling, my thoughts colliding too violently to sort through. I needed somewhere neutral. Somewhere quiet to sit, to breathe, to let the world steady itself.

The time was 1:00 p.m. The sun was high, bright, merciless. It shone as if nothing had shattered hours earlier.

I checked into the hotel without really seeing the lobby. The room was clean and impersonal. I sat on the edge of the bed for a long time without lying down, staring at the wall while exhaustion pressed in from every direction.

By the time I checked out, it was nearly 4:00 p.m.

The sky had begun to darken, clouds bruising the horizon in deep shades of gray. I didn’t question it. Nothing felt aligned anymore. Even time seemed off-balance.

The taxi ride to South Town Airport passed in silence.

The private terminal rose ahead of us, sleek and guarded, deliberately distant from the chaos of commercial flights. I stepped out, my suitcase rolling quietly behind me. The air smelled faintly of fuel and the promise of rain.

Inside, everything was glass and steel. Minimal. Quiet. A staff member greeted me with a nod, checked my name once, then gestured for me to follow.

No questions followed.

No hesitation.

The jet waited on the tarmac, lights low, door already open.

I sank into the leather seat by the window, my reflection faint in the glass. Paler than I remembered. Eyes too dark. Too hollow.

The engines hummed to life, smooth and controlled.

“Ms. Videl,” the pilot’s voice came calmly over the intercom. “We’re cleared for takeoff. Flight time to Greeneland is one hour.”

I didn’t answer.

The city shrank beneath us as the plane lifted, lights dissolving into an indistinct blur. For a long moment, I felt nothing at all.

Then, slowly, the tightness in my chest eased. Just enough to breathe.

When the plane began to descend, the darkness outside thickened until the runway disappeared into it.

The wheels hit the ground with a dull thud.

I leaned forward, pressing closer to the window.

Cars.

A line of them stretching along the runway.

Not just one or two.

Too many.

Black. Silver. Midnight blue. Engines running, but quiet. Still. Nothing looked random about it. Everything was spaced just right, like someone had measured the distance by hand.

My brows pulled together before I could stop myself.

The plane slowed. The engines eased down.

Then the door opened.

Cool night air rushed in, sharp and familiar. The smell reached me at once. Salt from the sea. Flowers that only bloomed after dark. I had not realized how much I had missed it until it hit me all at once.

I stepped down the stairs, my suitcase bumping lightly behind me.

That was when the car doors opened.

One after another.

The sound was clean and controlled.

People stepped out and stopped. Straight-backed. Silent. Waiting.

Someone moved.

I recognized the walk before I fully saw his face.

Jeff.

He came to a stop a few steps in front of me and raised his hand in a sharp salute.

“Welcome back, General Vee.”

For a heartbeat, the world held still.

Then voices followed, rising together, steady and sure.

“Welcome back.”