The Palace Blackout

Four hours. That was the length of our deadline. I didn't have the luxury of waiting for the King to return, nor could I trust the guards outside. If I stayed, we would be lab rats by dawn.

I moved to the master bedroom, stripping the bedding to create a sturdy rope. It was a classic, human move, but sometimes the simplest tools were the most effective when dealing with high-tech traps. I checked the windows—they were reinforced, bulletproof, and likely rigged with pressure sensors.

"Mommy, they're moving," Lyra said, her voice small. She was still keyed into the building’s layout. "They’re leaving the basement. They’re coming up the service elevator."

"How many?" I asked, grabbing my coat.

"Three," she replied, her face pale. "They have sharp things."

I nodded, my resolve hardening. I went to the kitchenette and grabbed the only thing that could pass as a weapon: a heavy ceramic knife block. It wasn't much, but it was weight, and in a fight, weight was everything. I positioned the twins behind the heavy, reinforced desk in the study.

"Stay quiet," I warned. "No matter what you hear, do not come out until I call your names."

I turned off the main power breaker. If the suite was a lab, it had to be sensitive to light. Darkness would be my equalizer. I knelt by the door, my heart steadying into a rhythmic, predatory thrum. I didn't have my full power—I still had to be careful not to trigger the King’s internal security sensors—but I had the element of surprise.

The door hissed open.

The guards didn't come in with guns; they came in with canisters. Gas. I held my breath, sliding into the shadow of the foyer. The first guard stepped through, his night-vision goggles casting a sickly green glow over the room. He didn't see me. I lunged, swinging the heavy knife block with everything I had. It connected with his temple with a sickening thud, and he crumpled.

The other two reacted instantly, their hands moving to their belts. These weren't palace guards; they were professionals. I kicked the door shut, locking it with the manual deadbolt. The second guard pulled a stun-baton, the electric crackle illuminating the room. I dodged, the smell of burnt ozone filling my nostrils, and used his momentum to throw him against the wall.

He slid down, groaning, but the third one was already lunging for me. I felt the familiar stir of the Silver Line power—a cold, metallic heat that wanted to burst free. I blocked myself from releasing it, knowing that if I did, the King’s royal wards would detect it instantly, and the entire palace guard would be here within seconds.

I fought like a human, using dirty, efficient strikes I’d picked up from the street-tough accountants at my old firm. I caught the guard's wrist, twisting it until I heard the pop of a dislocated joint, then delivered a sharp strike to his throat. He went down, gasping for air.

The room fell silent. I stood over them, chest heaving, the adrenaline fading into a cold, sharp clarity.

Thump-thump. Thump-thump.

The building vibrated again. But this time, it wasn't the surveillance system. It was the heavy, rhythmic footsteps of someone much more powerful approaching the door. The handle turned, but the deadbolt held.

"Open the door, Seraphina," King Dominic’s voice boomed, amplified by his sheer, crushing authority. "I know you’re awake. And I know you just dismantled my best extraction team."

I looked at the twins, then at the unconscious bodies on the floor. I was caught. If I opened that door, I was surrendering. If I stayed, I was waiting for the Council to try again. I grabbed the twins, my mind racing. There had to be a way out.

"Lyra," I whispered, turning to the glass wall. "Can you open the vents?"

"The ones outside?" she asked.

"Yes. Use your power to push the pressure from the outside in."

As Dominic began to break the door down, the twins pressed their hands to the floor again. I prayed this would work. If they could manipulate the building’s atmospheric pressure, I could create an emergency egress. The glass groaned as the external pressure began to shift, the very fabric of the room warping under the strain.

The glass groaned, a high-pitched whine that signaled the structure was reaching its breaking point. Dominic slammed his shoulder into the door again, the heavy oak splitting down the center. He didn't just walk in; he stormed in, his presence so dominant it physically pushed the oxygen out of the room. He took one look at the unconscious team on the floor and then at me, his eyes burning with a mixture of shock and lethal fury.

"You have no idea what you’ve just done," he growled, stepping over the crumpled guard. "Those weren't guards. They were a Containment Unit. You were supposed to be kept sedated, not left to fend for yourself."

"Is that what the King of the Lycans calls it?" I challenged, not backing down. I positioned myself firmly between him and the children. "Sedation? You let them put surveillance devices in my children’s room. You let them talk about our funeral."

Dominic stopped, his brow furrowing. "What are you talking about?"

"Listen to the walls, Dominic," I snapped, pointing toward the damaged molding. "Your own palace is compromised. The Council has their own eyes in your house, and they’ve been planning to harvest my children since we stepped off the jet."

He looked at the device, then back to me. His expression was impossible to read, a landscape of conflicting emotions. For a moment, the iron mask of the King cracked, revealing a man who looked genuinely betrayed. He stalked over to the wall, ripping the panel open with one hand and crushing the blue chip between his fingers.

"They dared," he whispered, the sound vibrating in his chest like a growl. "They dared to use my own tower against me."

"They don't fear you anymore," I said, my voice cold. "They think you’re weak for harboring a 'dangerous asset.' If you want to rule, you need to stop acting like a King and start acting like a survivor."

Dominic turned toward me, his golden eyes burning. "And you? What are you? A mother, or a weapon?"

"Both," I replied, standing tall. "And right now, I’m the only person in this room who knows exactly who is pulling the strings."

He walked toward me, and for a second, I thought he would strike me. Instead, he pulled a small, jagged piece of metal from his pocket—a keycard marked with the royal crest, but tinted in a strange, iridescent hue.

"This is the master override for the lower levels," he said, holding it out to me. "If you’re right, then they have a staging area on the maintenance level. Go. Destroy them. Use whatever means necessary to strip them of their influence."

"Why?" I asked, hesitating. "Why trust me?"

"Because if you’re lying, I’ll kill you myself," he said, his voice devoid of humor. "But if you’re telling the truth, then you’re the only one who can navigate the digital architecture of the palace without triggering the alarms. I’ll keep the guards busy at the main entrance. You have thirty minutes before the shift change."

I took the card, my fingers brushing his. A static shock arced between us, bright and painful. He didn't pull away. For a heartbeat, the air turned heavy, the scent of cedar and winter frost filling my lungs. Then, he turned and marched toward the door, his royal guard waiting in the hall.

"Don't die, Seraphina," he said over his shoulder. "I have no desire to find a new accountant."

I didn't wait for him to clarify. I grabbed the twins' hands and we vanished into the service corridor. We moved in total silence, the twins mirroring my every step, their ears tuned to the hum of electricity in the walls. We weren't just running; we were hunting.

As we reached the service elevator, I swiped the keycard. The doors slid open to reveal a dark, industrial space filled with monitors and racks of servers. It was the heart of the palace surveillance system. And there, sitting at the desk, was the man from the projection—the one who had been watching us. He turned, his face pale with realization, and reached for the alarm.

I didn't give him the chance. I lunged forward, not with a weapon, but with my mind, tapping into the server’s local network. I didn't need to break him; I just needed to break his connection.