I stepped in before Athena could finish. “Athena,” I said firmly, giving her a look that warned her to stop.She hesitated for a second before forcing a small smile. “Nothing, Ryan. I just wanted to say that Callum and I are working things out.”Ryan’s expression softened, relief washing over his face. “That’s great. I knew you two just needed time.” He clapped me on the shoulder. “You’re lucky to have my sister, bro. Don’t mess it up.”I gave a tight nod, feeling Athena’s gaze burning into me. I had no choice but to play along, keeping my expression neutral.Ryan smiled, satisfied, before excusing himself. The moment he was out of sight, Athena turned to me, her eyes flashing with anger.I saw the way Athena hesitated before speaking, and I knew exactly where this was going. I couldn’t let her say it—not in front of Ryan.“Athena,” I interrupted, my voice firm but calm. “Can we talk? Outside.”She arched a brow, clearly annoyed, but after a brief pause, she nodded. “Fine.”Ryan glanc
His voice was calm, but there was an edge to it that sent a shiver down my spine. “Just get here. We need to talk.”I felt my heart race, unsure of what was waiting for me when I arrived. The drive to Richard Rhodes' mansion felt like it lasted an eternity, the long, winding road only adding to the unease that had settled in my chest.I parked the car and slowly made my way to the front door, each step heavy with the weight of what was to come.As I stepped out of my car, my hands trembled slightly as I gripped the keys to the mansion. The estate before me, grand as it was, felt far more imposing tonight. The shadows stretching from the towering trees only added to the heavy feeling pressing down on my chest.I took a deep breath and made my way toward the front door, which swung open before I even reached it. He stood in the doorway, his expression unreadable. Without a word, he nodded toward the hallway and turned, expecting me to follow.He led me to the room, the familiar sound of
ATHENA'S POV“Do you think Daniel has a chance with you?” she asked, her tone casual, but her eyes betraying quiet desperation.I didn’t know how to respond. I wasn’t even sure if I had an answer. It was a simple question on the surface, but it carried so much weight. Daniel. His name lingered in the air, and I felt the tightness in my chest when I thought of him. Part of me wanted to say yes—he was kind, thoughtful, and made me feel safe in a way I hadn’t in a long time. But when my mother spoke again, all that calm vanished.“What about Callum?”The question hung in the air like a dark cloud. Callum.“Callum will always be there for you,” she’d told me countless times. And every time, my stomach churned with an emotion I couldn’t name—anger? Resentment? Confusion?“How can you even ask me about him?” I replied, my voice trembling despite my best efforts to stay calm. “You know what he did, Mom. You know how he betrayed me. How many times do i have to tell you?”Her face softened, bu
The sight of Ryan struggling to breathe sent a fresh wave of terror crashing over me. My heart pounded as I knelt beside him, my fingers trembling as I reached for his clammy hand."Ryan, stay with me, okay? Just hold on." My voice cracked, but I forced myself to stay steady for him.I heard my mother on the phone, her voice urgent, but all I could focus on was Ryan. His lips had turned a terrifying shade of blue, and each breath was labored, as if his lungs were failing him."Mom! He's getting worse!" My panic clawed at my throat. My mother turned to me, her face etched with worry as she tried to keep calm."The doctors are on their way," she assured me, but it wasn’t enough. It would never be enough until I saw Ryan safe, until I heard his voice again.Then, his body went still. Too still."Ryan? Ryan!" I shook him, my breath coming in gasps. "Please wake up! You can't do this to me, please!"I barely noticed Callum bursting into the room, his voice a blur in the background. He was
"What did you say?" Callum asked, his brow furrowing."I know you're just using Ryan to get close to Athena," Daniel accused.Callum's fists clenched, his body going rigid beside me. "You don’t get to question my intentions, Daniel. Where were you when Athena was falling apart, trying to hold her family together alone? When she needed someone to step up for Ryan? I was there. Not you."Daniel flinched but quickly recovered. "And what? You think that makes you the hero? That just because you showed up now, she owes you something?""I don’t want anything from her," Callum snapped. "But I won’t let you waltz in here pretending you’re the one she should trust—not when you've barely been around.""I was giving her time!" Daniel shot back, his voice rising. "Unlike you, I know when not to push."Callum's expression darkened. "And yet, here you are," he said coldly. "Showing up when she’s at her weakest, expecting what? Gratitude?" His gaze flickered to me. "Athena doesn’t need a man who wai
The seconds stretched on, each one pulling me deeper into a spiral of confusion and uncertainty. Callum’s words echoed in my mind—I still love you—but they only seemed to make everything worse. The distance between us wasn’t just physical anymore; it was something heavier, something that weighed on my chest every time I tried to make sense of it all. I had no idea what to do with the emotions swirling inside me.Callum took another step closer, his presence overwhelming. I could feel his warmth, and my heart raced. But even that didn’t make things clearer. The closer he got, the more questions flooded my mind. I wanted to ask him everything—the reasons, the motivations, the why behind the cold distance he’d been keeping lately. If he didn’t want to lose me, why was he acting like this?Before I could gather the courage to voice the question that had been burning in me, I suddenly stepped back, breaking the silence."Callum," I said, my voice unsteady."Why have you been so distant? So
The seconds felt like hours as I stood frozen in the middle of the office, feeling as though every eye in the room was focused on me, watching the aftermath of my failure. The weight of the humiliation Callum had thrust upon me felt like a physical burden. My chest ached with a mixture of frustration, confusion, and disbelief. I could still hear his voice echoing in my ears, sharp and unforgiving, his words a bitter reminder of how far I’d fallen from grace in his eyes.I wanted to scream. I wanted to tear into him, confront him, demand an explanation for this sudden, brutal shift in his behavior. But I couldn’t. I stood there, paralyzed by the sting of his words and the tears that threatened to spill from my eyes. I wasn’t sure if I was angry at him for the way he treated me or at myself for letting it get to this point. The powerlessness I felt in that moment was suffocating.The office buzzed around me—people pretending not to notice, the hushed whispers lingering in the air. The l
The silence that hung in the office after Claire's departure felt suffocating, as if the weight of all my unanswered questions had filled the room, pressing down on my chest. I stared at the screen before me, my eyes unfocused. The numbers, the emails, the work—everything had lost meaning. Nothing seemed important in that moment except Callum, and the rift that had grown between us.I wasn’t sure how much time had passed when my phone buzzed, breaking my thoughts. It was a message from Callum—an invitation to meet him in his office. My heart skipped a beat. He had never reached out like this since the incident in the elevator, since the words he had thrown at me that had cut so deeply. He had been so cold, so distant, almost as if he wanted me to disappear. But now, he wanted to meet? It didn’t make sense.The buzz of my phone was almost surreal, like a lifeline I wasn’t sure I wanted to grasp. But I had no choice. I couldn’t ignore this. I had to go.Standing up, I gathered my things
The snow came in thick that morning.It blanketed the ridge in silence, muting the world until everything beyond the windows blurred into shades of white and grey. Callum stood outside, barely a silhouette against the swirling flakes, wrapped in that old green coat he found in the closet and claimed as his own. I watched him through the frost-laced glass, my hands cupped around the ceramic mug—his coffee, still bitter, still undrinkable.But I sipped it anyway.Because he’d made it for me. Because the effort mattered more than the taste.I opened the door slowly. The cold slapped my skin, immediate and bracing.“Morning,” I called.He turned slightly, his breath visible in short puffs. “Didn’t want to wake you.”“You didn’t.” I stepped beside him. “You okay?”His jaw tensed. “I’m… almost.”I waited. We’d fallen into a rhythm like that—one of pauses and offerings. No pressure. Just space, held gently.He finally said, “I dreamed I was back in the vault. But this time, I walked in willi
The safehouse in the Scottish Highlands didn’t look like much—half-buried in moss and stone, tucked beneath a crooked ridge. But after what we’d been through, it felt like the world’s last cathedral. Quiet. Empty. Untouched by programs and wires and memories that weren’t ours.Callum barely spoke the first day. He slept. For once, real sleep—not the restless, drug-induced recovery that followed every mission. I watched him from the armchair across the room, wrapped in the heavy plaid blanket someone had left behind, eyes tracking the rise and fall of his chest as if I still didn’t quite believe he was breathing freely.I wanted to reach for him. But after Reykjavik, after the screaming and seizures and crimson light inside that vault—I was afraid of shattering something fragile. Not him. Us.So I waited.On the third night, the fireplace crackled back to life, and so did he.“You should sleep,” Callum murmured from where he stood by the window, arms crossed loosely over his chest. “I
The corridors beneath Reykjavik were colder than death. The walls hummed faintly with latent energy — the kind that made your skin crawl, like the building itself remembered violence.We’d split into two groups. Julian and Will were planting the disruptor arrays across the upper levels. Sage was syncing the transport failsafe. I stayed with Callum.He was quiet beside me, moving slowly but steady, hand trailing lightly against the steel walls like he needed to touch something real. The tremors in his body had lessened, but I could still see the fatigue in his eyes.“Pain okay?” I asked, adjusting my grip on the rifle slung across my shoulder.He gave me a faint smile. “Manageable. I’ve had worse.”That much was true — but it wasn’t his body I worried about. It was what they had done to his mind. What they had put inside him.We reached a chamber lit only by our headlamps. The walls narrowed here, funnelling down into the main vault. The Eidolon core was just beyond.Callum paused at t
The chopper thumped across the burning skyline like a bleeding heartbeat, rhythmic and urgent. I sat beside Callum, cradling him against my side, his blood soaking through my sleeves. He was slipping in and out of consciousness, and every time his eyes fluttered open, I reminded him, “You’re safe. I’ve got you.”Julian sat across from us, checking a battered tablet that had somehow survived the inferno. The glow on his face was pale and grim.“We didn’t get it all,” he muttered. “Their central servers were offline before we reached the lab. Everything in Callum’s head may be the last uncorrupted copy.”Will glanced over his shoulder from the cockpit, voice tense. “And now they know that. Which means we’ve got a target painted on our backs the size of a continent.”I turned my head, looking back at the black column of smoke curling into the sky. Calidus wouldn’t mourn the loss. They didn’t grieve — they adapted. A fallen lab was just another lesson. A reminder to harden the next one.B
He looked at me like a dying man trying to remember sunlight.The flickering fluorescent light above cast shadows across his face, deepening the hollow beneath his cheekbones, making the bruises bloom darker on his skin. I reached out, but he flinched.“Callum,” I said again, gentler this time. “I know what they’ve done. I see it. But they don’t get to keep you.”He swallowed, and the sound felt deafening in the silence. “You don’t know what I’ve given them, Athena. What I had to give.”Julian appeared behind me, scanning the room with his weapon drawn, tense and ready. “We need to move. This place won’t stay quiet for long.”I looked back at Callum, still shackled to the cot. “We can’t leave him like this.”“There’s no time,” Will’s voice crackled through my comm. “Guards converging. Eastern hallway. You’ve got five minutes, max.”I turned to Julian. “Cut him loose.”Julian hesitated only a second before crossing the room. “He’ll slow us down.”“Then we’ll move slower,” I snapped.Ca
And he was trying to reach me.“I thought he died,” Will said, hands trembling as he decrypted the next packet.“He was supposed to,” I whispered. “He wanted us to believe it.”Julian joined us ten minutes later, still bruised but sharper than ever. He scanned the metadata twice before nodding.“This wasn’t sent from the convoy,” he said. “It came from inside the Calidus fallback grid. Probably rerouted through a relay station using a clean identity.”“So he’s behind enemy lines,” I said.“Or being kept alive by someone with an interest in not killing him.”“Leverage,” Will said. “Or… bait.”The thought made my stomach clench.“Either way,” Julian added, “he sent this for a reason. He’s telling you he made it. That he’s waiting.”I looked at the screen again.Echo. Down. Survived.Not help. Not run. Not goodbye.Just three words.A signal in the dark.We flew to Montenegro the next day.Julian tracked the signal’s bounce path to a portside comms hub buried in a crumbling Cold War-era
Three days had passed since Will told me Callum was dead.Three days since the convoy firestorm — since the smoke, the silence, and the sound of nothing on the other end of the line. We buried his name in an encrypted memorial on the darknet, posted beneath a single phrase: Some ghosts burn brighter than the living.The world kept moving.The children were safe — scattered across hidden sanctuaries with new identities and guardians who still believed in justice. Nora-3 was adapting faster than we thought possible. Her neural scans had begun to normalize, as if freedom was rewriting her brain.But me?I was static.Functioning. Breathing. Moving.But not feeling.Not really.Until the ping.It came through Will’s system at 2:17 a.m. — a ghost packet embedded in a relay node we’d used back in Prague, long since scrubbed and mothballed.I was the one who saw it.The days were a blur of comms and half-formed plans. Every hour that passed with Callum’s message sitting like a hot ember in m
There’s a kind of silence that doesn’t feel empty.The kind that wraps around you after a moment so sharp, so unforgiving, that your brain hasn’t caught up yet. Like the second after a gunshot, or the pause before someone says, “It’s not what you think.”I sat in that silence, staring at the message on Callum’s encrypted tablet.It had lit up when he stepped away to take a call — some logistics check-in with Will. He’d left it open. That alone should’ve been a red flag. Callum never left anything unsecured.But maybe… maybe part of him wanted me to see it.The message was from Lara.Lara: The flight from Riyadh is booked. If we do this, there’s no turning back.Below that, a location ping.Not Novus-related. Not a safehouse.A villa. Remote. Coastal. Private.There was a follow-up message, timestamped an hour earlier.Lara: Are you sure about her? You said she’d never find out.And then — the worst part — the reply.Callum: She’s distracted with the child protocols. Let’s finish this
I didn’t leave Berlin.Not really.I stayed close enough to watch Callum from a distance — to feel the gravity of him without getting pulled back into orbit. He didn’t chase me. That was worse than if he had. Because it meant he knew I wasn’t ready to hear anything that would make this less real, less raw.I stayed in an old Cold War-era substation the resistance had converted into a shelter for journalists and data couriers. The air smelled like copper and engine oil. The beds were steel slabs with thin foam. It was perfect. Unemotional. Unattached.I needed that right now.Because I couldn’t stop thinking about the messages.Not just the words Lara wrote — but the pauses. The silences in between. The way Callum had answered her, and more damning: the way he hadn’t.He hadn’t denied it meant something.He hadn’t told her to stop.He hadn’t told me the truth.I’d trusted him with my life. With my mind. With my body. And in the end, it was something so simple — a lie by omission — that