LOGIN“This first sequence was successful,” Dr. Patel said quietly, closing the chart with a soft snap that sounded too loud in the hushed room. He looked up at Kieran and Genesis, who stood side by side at the foot of Donald’s bed. “Vitals are stable. Pain managed. No immediate complications.”The private treatment room, once a suite, now a fortress of blinking monitors, IV poles, and softly humming machines felt smaller than it had a week ago. Or maybe that was just the weight of everything that had happened since.Donald lay propped against crisp white pillows, skin still pale but no longer translucent. The sharp edges of his cheekbones had softened slightly; color had crept back into his lips. He looked… tired, but alive. More alive than he had in weeks.Genesis’s hand tightened in Kieran’s. She hadn’t let go since they’d entered the room.Donald’s gray eyes, still piercing even through exhaustion, flicked between them. A faint, familiar smirk tugged at one corner of his mouth.“Don’t l
“Cut the crap, Keenan, and go straight to the point. What the hell do you want?” Jaden snapped, shifting uncomfortably in the leather seat. The dim light of the penthouse living room cast long shadows across his face, highlighting the tension in his jaw and the way his bandaged right hand rested awkwardly on his thigh.Keenan leaned back in the plush armchair opposite him, stretching one arm along the backrest, a lazy smirk playing on his lips. He looked utterly amused, like a cat toying with a half-dead mouse.“That’s no way to talk to your older brother, is it?” Keenan drawled, arching a single brow high in mock offense.Jaden’s face twisted into a scowl, irritation flaring hot in his chest. “Stepbrother,” he corrected sharply, biting off the word like it tasted foul. “And please, just get to the point. I have other things to do.”Keenan’s eyes gleamed with dark humor. He nodded slowly, almost indulgently, then let his gaze drift downward, deliberately slow to Jaden’s bandaged hand.
“This first sequence was successful,” Dr. Patel said quietly, closing the chart with a soft snap that sounded too loud in the hushed room. He looked up at Kieran and Genesis, who stood side by side at the foot of Donald’s bed. “Vitals are stable. Pain managed. No immediate complications.”The private treatment room, once a suite, now a fortress of blinking monitors, IV poles, and softly humming machines felt smaller than it had a week ago. Or maybe that was just the weight of everything that had happened since.Donald lay propped against crisp white pillows, skin still pale but no longer translucent. The sharp edges of his cheekbones had softened slightly; color had crept back into his lips. He looked… tired, but alive. More alive than he had in weeks.Genesis’s hand tightened in Kieran’s. She hadn’t let go since they’d entered the room.Donald’s gray eyes, still piercing even through exhaustion, flicked between them. A faint, familiar smirk tugged at one corner of his mouth.“Don’t l
“What still puzzles me about this case is that we have zero leads on Aiden Reeves or on where the hell these tapes even came from,” Special Agent Carla Ramirez said, leaning back in her chair with her arms crossed tight over her chest. The fluorescent lights in the FBI’s New York field office conference room buzzed overhead, throwing stark shadows across the cluttered table: towering case files, grainy stills from security footage, cold coffee cups, and a laptop frozen on a blurred frame that no one wanted to look at too long.The room carried that particular heaviness that settled in when agents spent too many hours staring pure evil in the face.Lead Investigator Marcus Hale rubbed his temples, loosening the knot of his tie like it was strangling him. “No leads?” he echoed, voice rough from too little sleep. “We’ve got over two hundred tapes, Carla. Two hundred. Girls aged seven to sixteen, drugged senseless, assaulted in his exam room like it was just another Tuesday. Some of them
“What still puzzles me about this case is that we have zero leads on Aiden Reeves or on where the hell these tapes even came from,” Special Agent Carla Ramirez said, leaning back in her chair with her arms crossed tight over her chest. The fluorescent lights in the FBI’s New York field office conference room buzzed overhead, throwing stark shadows across the cluttered table: towering case files, grainy stills from security footage, cold coffee cups, and a laptop frozen on a blurred frame that no one wanted to look at too long.The room carried that particular heaviness that settled in when agents spent too many hours staring pure evil in the face.Lead Investigator Marcus Hale rubbed his temples, loosening the knot of his tie like it was strangling him. “No leads?” he echoed, voice rough from too little sleep. “We’ve got over two hundred tapes, Carla. Two hundred. Girls aged seven to sixteen, drugged senseless, assaulted in his exam room like it was just another Tuesday. Some of them
The gunshot rang through the room, twice.Amelia’s eyes squeezed shut, her body bracing for the impact, waiting for the bullets to tear through her….But nothing came.No pain. No fire. Nothing.Her heart slammed wildly against her ribs as she sucked in a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. Slowly, she opened her eyes.They went wide.Standing a few feet away was Kieran.The hitman staggered, a broken gasp tearing from his throat as blood poured from his mouth. He collapsed in a heap, the phone slipping from his hand and clattering against the floor. Kieran watched him with bored, almost detached eyes before calmly sliding the gun into his slacks.Hospital staff burst into the room moments later, skidding to a halt at the sight of the blood-soaked scene.Kieran stepped forward just as the hitman twitched, trying to lift his head. He bent down, plucked the fallen phone from the floor, and brought it to his ear.He caught the voice mid-breath.“Your turn.”Kieran’s lips twitched







