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CHAPTER 39 – THE EMPTY TOWER

Auteur: Mercy V.
last update Date de publication: 2026-02-11 15:14:11

Time blurred.

The tower did not.

It changed.

Two months after Lysandra Petrov vanished, Petrov Tower felt less like a headquarters and more like a fortress wound too tight.

Security doubled on every floor.

Cameras—visible and not—multiplied in corners and hallways. Metal detectors appeared at entrances that had once been for VIPs only. Random checks stopped being random.

Staff whispered in break rooms and service corridors.

About the boss whose wife had betrayed him.

About how he hadn’t thrown
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    The first collapse came in the middle of a sentence.“We need to reroute—” Lys started, hand tracing a rough arc over the table’s map.Then the room tilted.The map blurred. The table surged up to meet her cheek. Sound stretched, voices smearing into a low, distant roar.For a heartbeat, she thought she’d just lost her balance.Then everything cut.***She woke to the smell of burned dust and old coffee.Her face was pressed against something rough—threadbare fabric over lumpy stuffing. Couch, not table. Her neck ached. Her tongue tasted of copper.“Welcome back,” Aria said tightly. “That was… longer than I like.”Lys blinked.The ceiling above her was wrong—different discolorations, a different crack running from the light fixture to the far wall. Different safehouse.“How long?” she asked.There was a pause.“Four hours,” Aria said. “Give or take.”Lys pushed herself up on one elbow.Her body protested. Every joint felt misthreaded. Her left arm tingled; her right leg hesitated befo

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  • The Pleasure Directive   CHAPTER 55 – RECALL ORDER

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  • The Pleasure Directive   CHAPTER 54 – THE GHOST IN THE MACHINE

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  • The Pleasure Directive   CHAPTER 52 – SACRIFICE & FLIGHT

    Darkness, at first.Then sound. Muffled. Distant.A low, continuous hum. A drip. Someone breathing too fast.Lys floated in it for a while, unmoored. Nobody. No edges. Just the echo of pain burned into absence.Then weight came back.Her lungs remembered they were supposed to move. Air scraped down her throat, cold and metallic. Her chest ached like she’d been punched from the inside.She tried to open her eyes.The right one obeyed slowly. Blurry light resolved into the stained ceiling of Vance’s bunker, lamp still blazing overhead. The left showed nothing but a smear of grey.She was half on the chair, half slumped to one side. Someone must have unstrapped her and lowered the back; her shoulder complained where bone had met metal.A rough hand tapped her cheek.“Don’t sleep,” Vance said, voice hoarse. “Brain’s got enough bad habits already.”She blinked, trying to focus on him.He looked wrecked.Sweat glued his shirt to his spine. His pupils were blown wide, rimmed in red. Thin lin

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