Chapter 114

Chapter 114

Luca didn't hear the rest of the conversation.

Not really.

Voices continued around him.

Questions.

Speculation.

Analysis.

All of it faded into meaningless noise.

Because one name kept repeating inside his head.

Isabella.

Impossible.

Absolutely impossible.

The girl was dead.

He had seen the body.

Hadn't he?

Luca's hands clenched.

A cold sensation crawled through his chest.

Because suddenly

He wasn't sure.

Memory was a strange thing.

Especially memories born inside the Program.

Pain distorted details.

Fear erased entire days.

Trauma shattered timelines.

There were years Luca barely remembered.

Years he wished he didn't remember.

And now one of those forgotten pieces was crawling back to the surface.

Dangerous.

Painful.

Necessary.

"Luca."

Damon's voice.

Closer now.

Real.

Luca blinked.

The operations room returned.

Everyone was staring at him.

Nova.

Cassian.

Mira.

Seraphine.

Hale.

And Damon.

Always Damon.

"What do you know?"

Hale asked.

Luca swallowed.

Hard.

Then looked at the photograph again.

The image showed a young girl.

Dark hair.

Bright eyes.

A face that should have disappeared years ago.

Yet somehow hadn't.

For several seconds, Luca couldn't speak.

Because memories were surfacing.

And they hurt.

God, they hurt.

Finally he exhaled.

"I knew her."

The room fell silent.

Every person listening.

Every person waiting.

Luca stared at the photograph.

And for the first time in years

Allowed himself to remember.

The Program was cold.

Not physically.

Emotionally.

Everything felt cold.

The walls.

The people.

The voices.

Even kindness felt cold because it never lasted.

Luca had learned that early.

Very early.

Nothing survived there.

Not friendships.

Not hope.

Not innocence.

Nothing.

Then Isabella arrived.

Luca remembered the day clearly.

Which was strange.

Because most memories from that time existed only as fragments.

But not this one.

Never this one.

She had been crying.

Terrified.

Small.

Ten years old.

Maybe younger.

A new intake.

Another child dragged into hell.

The sight should have been ordinary.

Children arrived all the time.

Children disappeared all the time.

Yet something about her had felt different.

Maybe because she talked.

Most children stopped talking after a few weeks.

The Program taught silence quickly.

Brutally.

But Isabella talked anyway.

Constantly.

She asked questions.

Told stories.

Complained about everything.

Especially the food.

The memory almost made Luca smile.

Almost.

"She hated the food."

The words slipped out before he realized he had spoken them.

Nova blinked.

"What?"

Luca looked down.

A faint sadness crossing his face.

"She hated the food."

Silence.

Then Mira smiled sadly.

Because somehow that tiny detail made Isabella feel real.

Not a file.

Not a victim.

A child.

A real child.

Luca continued.

"She used to complain every day."

A pause.

"Every single day."

Cassian laughed softly.

Despite the circumstances.

Despite the grief.

Because that sounded exactly like something a ten-year-old would do.

Luca stared at the photograph.

And suddenly he could hear her voice again.

Clear as day.

"When I escape, I'm eating cake."

The memory hit like a knife.

Because she had been serious.

Completely serious.

Cake.

That had been her dream.

Not revenge.

Not freedom.

Cake.

The simplicity of it nearly broke him.

"She wanted to be a veterinarian."

Nobody spoke.

"She loved animals."

Another pause.

"She was terrified of needles."

His voice cracked.

Just slightly.

Enough.

Enough to tell everyone exactly how much this memory hurt.

Because Luca remembered.

He remembered all of it.

The stories.

The laughter.

The ridiculous plans.

The promises.

And most of all

He remembered the last time he saw her.

His breathing faltered.

Immediately.

Because that memory was different.

Darker.

Bloodier.

The room seemed to sense it.

Nobody interrupted.

Nobody moved.

Then Luca spoke.

"They took her."

Silence.

"They came for her during the night."

The words felt heavy.

Ancient.

Like they had waited fifteen years to be spoken aloud.

"I remember hearing her scream."

Mira looked away.

Immediately.

Tears filling her eyes.

Luca barely noticed.

Because he was somewhere else now.

Back in those hallways.

Back in that nightmare.

"I tried to follow."

A humorless laugh escaped him.

"Stupid idea."

The Program punished curiosity.

Severely.

He had learned that lesson many times.

But that night

He followed anyway.

Because Isabella was different.

Because she was his friend.

Perhaps his first friend.

Maybe his only one back then.

The memory twisted painfully.

"I found the medical wing."

Silence.

"The guards caught me."

His jaw tightened.

The next memory came in flashes.

Hands grabbing him.

Shouting.

Pain.

A locked room.

Darkness.

Days alone.

Punishment.

By the time they released him

Isabella was gone.

Completely gone.

No explanation.

No answers.

Nothing.

Then weeks later

Someone showed him the body.

Or what he believed was the body.

The memory suddenly stopped.

Like a record scratching.

Luca froze.

A terrible realization creeping into place.

Slowly.

Horribly.

"Oh God."

The whisper escaped before he could stop it.

Everyone looked at him.

Immediately.

"What?"

Damon asked.

Luca's face had gone white.

Actually white.

Like all the blood had drained from his body.

"I never saw her face."

Silence.

Nobody understood.

At first.

Then understanding spread.

One person at a time.

Like ice across water.

Luca stared at the photograph.

Horrified.

"The body."

His voice barely worked.

"The body was covered."

No.

No.

No.

The memory sharpened.

Cruelly.

A small form beneath a white sheet.

Doctors talking.

Guards watching.

Someone telling him she was dead.

And he'd believed them.

Because why wouldn't he?

Children didn't question authority.

Not after enough punishment.

Not after enough pain.

The realization hit with devastating force.

He had never actually identified Isabella.

Never confirmed it.

Never seen proof.

Just a story.

A story told by the Program.

A story he'd accepted.

For fifteen years.

The room remained silent.

Because everyone understood what this meant.

If the death had been staged

If the records were manipulated

Then Isabella might still be alive.

Somewhere.

Somehow.

The possibility felt impossible.

And yet

So did everything else involving Vale.

Damon watched Luca carefully.

The revelation had shaken him.

Deeply.

More deeply than the mission file.

More deeply than Vale's threat.

Because this wasn't about war.

This was personal.

Painfully personal.

A ghost returning from the dead.

Then Hale spoke.

"We found another record."

Everyone turned.

Immediately.

Hale opened a classified file.

One buried beneath dozens of security encryptions.

A transfer order.

Dated fifteen years earlier.

The same week Isabella supposedly died.

The room became very still.

Because the destination field wasn't empty.

There was a location.

A real one.

An active one.

The island.

Nobody breathed.

Not a single person.

Because suddenly the impossible wasn't impossible anymore.

Suddenly the evidence pointed in only one direction.

Isabella never died.

She was transferred.

Hidden.

Preserved.

For reasons nobody understood.

For reasons only Vale knew.

Damon looked toward Luca.

The pain in his expression was obvious.

Because hope could hurt too.

Especially after fifteen years.

Especially when attached to someone long believed dead.

Then the alarm on Hale's system suddenly activated.

A sharp electronic warning.

Everyone jumped.

Immediately.

"What now?"

Cassian groaned.

Hale stared at the screen.

Then froze.

Completely.

"Oh no."

The room went cold.

"What?"

Seraphine demanded.

Hale looked up slowly.

His face pale.

Terrified.

"We've been compromised."

Silence.

Then:

"How?"

Hale swallowed.

Hard.

Because the answer was worse than anyone expected.

"Someone just accessed our network."

The room froze.

"From inside the safehouse.”