UNDER THE DON’S PROTECTION의 모든 챕터: 챕터 171 - 챕터 180

Amara’s POV(Word count: 2 012)The trawler rocks in the swell two miles offshore. Engine off. Lights off. We float like a dead thing waiting for the tide to decide.Inside the small cabin, the only illumination is the blue glow from the vial pouch on the table. It pulses faintly—steady, cold, alive. I haven’t taken it off in thirty-six hours. The lead-lined fabric is warm now from body heat, like the thing is trying to match my heartbeat.Leo sits across from me—elbows on knees, staring at the deck. Zara leans against the bulkhead—arms crossed, eyes on the horizon through the porthole. Kai is on the laptop—screen light carving shadows across his face as he cycles through every camera feed we still control: the atoll dock (empty), Abuja warehouse (burned), Singapore NexGen ruins (still smoldering twelve hours later). Elena is silent on the encrypted line—her breathing the only proof she’s still listening.Tunde is on deck—rifle across his lap, scanning 360 degrees. He hasn’t spoken si

Amara’s POVThe private charter touches down at Seletar Airport at 08:14 local time—runway still wet from overnight rain, air thick with jet fuel and equatorial humidity. No customs line. No baggage claim. Kai’s forged documents hold like wet concrete: we are four business consultants from Dubai, here for a one-day meeting with a “pharmaceutical supplier.” Leo carries the duffel of suppressed weapons disguised as camera gear. Zara has the encrypted drives in a false-bottom laptop case. Tunde walks last—silent, eyes scanning every face in the terminal. I keep the vial pouch tight against my sternum—lead-lined, heartbeat-locked, dead-man switch still synced to Elena’s tablet three thousand kilometers away.We split immediately. Leo and Zara take a taxi to a budget hotel in Geylang—crowded, anonymous, perfect cover. Tunde and I rent a white Toyota from a cash-only lot near the terminal—plates swapped before we leave the lot. We drive straight to Jurong Island.The biotech corridor is qui

Amara’s POVThe trawler rocks in the swell two miles offshore from the atoll’s northern reef. Engine off. Lights doused. We float in black water under a moonless sky, low clouds choking the stars. The only light inside the cabin is the faint blue bleed from the vial pouch resting on the scarred wooden table between us. It pulses once every few seconds—steady, cold, alive—like a second heartbeat that refuses to sync with mine.I haven’t taken the pouch off in thirty-six hours. The lead-lined fabric is warm now from body heat, almost feverish. The dead-man switch is still synced to Elena’s tablet in Abuja: thirty seconds of flatline and the casing ignites. No recovery. No reverse-engineering. Just ash and salt water.Leo sits across from me—elbows on knees, staring at the deck planks as if they owe him answers. Zara leans against the bulkhead—arms crossed, eyes fixed on the porthole where the atoll should be visible if the clouds would part. Kai is hunched over the laptop—screen light c

Amara’s POVThe trawler’s deck was slick with salt spray and tension. I stood at the bow, the lead-lined pouch heavy against my chest like a second, colder heart. Two miles out, the atoll was a dark silhouette against the night—our home, our sanctuary, now deliberately bait. The vial pulsed faintly beneath my shirt, its blue glow muted but insistent, a constant reminder of what we were risking.Behind me, the team moved with quiet efficiency. Leo checked the charges on the hidden reef markers—small, shaped explosives that would turn any approaching boat into kindling if things went wrong. Zara sighted through her scope, scanning the horizon for any sign of movement. Kai hunched over a waterproof tablet, feeding false signals into the atoll’s security feeds: looping footage of us unloading crates, lights on in the main house, the illusion of vulnerability. Elena’s voice crackled occasionally through comms from Abuja, confirming the digital breadcrumbs we’d scattered across the dark web

Amara’s POVThe lagoon had gone quiet by the time the sun dipped low enough to paint everything amber. I sat on the edge of the main dock, legs dangling over the water, the lead-lined pouch gone for the first time in days. My skin still carried the salt from the swim, and my muscles ached with the good kind of tired that comes after winning instead of just surviving.Behind me, the team had turned the evening into something almost normal. Smoke rose from the grill where Tunde flipped fresh-caught snapper seasoned with whatever spices Zara had scavenged from the stores. Leo nursed a cold beer, feet propped on an overturned crate, while Kai’s laptop played low music—something old and mellow with a steady bass line that matched the rhythm of the waves. Elena’s voice floated from the speaker they’d set on the table, patched in from Abuja, laughing at one of Leo’s terrible jokes.For once, no one was scanning the horizon every thirty seconds. No rifles within arm’s reach. Just us.I let my