Lahat ng Kabanata ng ALHPA ABRAM: And the four daughter: Kabanata 41 - Kabanata 50

"Sign the check for the orphanage, Vance. Do it while the cameras are still flashing."Elara smoothed the front of her ivory silk dress. The "Saint" mask was heavy today. Beside her, Elder Vance’s fountain pen scratched against the paper with a tremor that ruined his elegant script. He didn't look at the gala crowd. He didn't look at the starving children on the charity banners. He looked at the empty space just behind Elara’s left shoulder, where the air felt five degrees colder."There," Vance wheezed, sliding the donation toward her. "The Council has met your... request.""Generous," Elara whispered. She handed the check to a waiting assistant. "Now, go home, Vance. Get some sleep. You look like you’ve seen a ghost."Vance scrambled for the exit. He knew what happened in the shadows while Elara played the angel.The bedroom door didn't creak. It just ceased to be closed.Elder Thorne sat up in bed, his heart hammering a frantic rhythm against his ribs. The penthouse security was su

"Who the hell did this?"Elara stood in the penthouse corridor, the morning light hitting the carpet in jagged, ugly streaks. At the base of the double doors lay a mess of grey fur and matted red. Three wolves. Their throats had been opened with surgical precision, the blood already congealing into dark, sticky puddles that ruined the white marble."Security! Get this filth out of here!"Vane didn't answer. He wasn't there. Abram was.He stepped out from the shadows of the foyer, his movements slow and deliberate. He didn't look at the carcasses. He looked at Elara’s shaking hands. "It’s a calling card," he rasped, his voice a low vibration that seemed to grate against the silence. "Sloane. She always did have a flair for the dramatic.""Your sister is in exile," Elara snapped, her knuckles turning bone-white as she gripped the doorframe. "The Council saw to that.""The Council sees what they're paid to see, Elara." Abram walked closer, the red LED on his collar pulsing like a dying s

"What the hell do you mean, access denied?"The tablet’s glow washed Elara’s face in a sickly, digital blue. Her thumb hammered the glass, swiping, tapping, forcing the biometric scanner. The red error bar flashed again. A rhythmic, mocking pulse."Denied. Denied. Denied.""Language, Elara. You’ll wake the dead." Abram sat against the reinforced steel wall, his breath a wet, shallow rattle. Blood had traveled down his arm, dripping off his middle finger to form a dark, jagged star on the floor."She froze them," Elara whispered, the device slipping from her numb fingers. "The dark fund. The offshore accounts in the Caymans. Everything. Sloane used the Council’s old blood codes. I’m locked out of my own money."She scrambled to her feet, her heels skidding on the blood-slicked marble floor of the panic room. The steel tomb felt smaller now. The air was getting thin, smelling of copper and burnt electrical wires. She threw her weight against the secondary console, her knuckles white as

"What the fuck is this, Sloane? Let us go!"Elara’s voice cracked against the cold stone of the estate’s cellar. Her wrists burned. The hemp rope bit into her skin, anchoring her to a heavy wooden chair. Directly across from her—close enough for their knees to brush—Abram sat bound in iron chains. His face was a map of split skin and drying hematomas. The amber in his eyes had gone muddy.Between them sat a small, wrought-iron table. A single glass vial filled with a translucent, oily green liquid stood on the left. On the right, a syringe filled with clear fluid. The toxin. The antidote."Quiet, little bird," Sloane whispered. She stepped out of the dark, her heels clicking on the damp concrete. She leaned over Elara, the scent of expensive perfume mixing with the stench of mildew. "You both look so... bonded. It’s disgusting. I want to see what’s underneath the trauma."Sloane dragged a finger down the side of the green vial. "This is quick. Five minutes of fire in your veins, then

"Move, Elara! He’s dead weight! Leave him and run!"Vane’s voice cracked over the roar of the fire. The estate’s grand staircase groaned, a massive timber beam snapping and sending a cascade of sparks into the soot-heavy air. The smell of cedar and expensive wallpaper was being eaten by the stench of burning plastic and raw copper."I’m not leaving him!" Elara’s fingers dug into the wet, blood-slicked fabric of Abram’s shirt.She hauled. Her muscles screamed, her spine popping under the literal weight of his unconscious frame. He was a mountain of dead meat, his heels dragging over the debris, leaving twin furrows in the ash. Vane grabbed her shoulder, his grip like a vice."The Petrovs’ secondary team is five minutes out, and the cops are already hitting the front gates! He’s gone, Elara! Look at him!""Get your hands off me!" She shoved Vane back, her eyes wide and wild, reflecting the orange hell behind them. She didn't care about the sirens. She didn't care about the smoke stingin