Lahat ng Kabanata ng Lost & found: A Sister Reclaimed : Kabanata 61 - Kabanata 70

Vienna had a way of making power look elegant.The city wrapped influence in marble halls, chandeliers, and orchestras. Deals that could destabilize markets were whispered over wine in opera houses where the acoustics had been perfected for espionage before they were perfected for music. Alliances that controlled billions were sealed beneath fresco ceilings painted three hundred years ago, the pigments mixed with techniques that had died with their makers, the scenes of mythology witnessing new myths being born in shadowed corners.But underneath the beauty, Vienna had always been a city of spies. It had hosted the Congress of Nations while assassins moved through its streets. It had survived empire and revolution by becoming invisible, by learning to see without being seen. And the Syndicate Summit was about to prove it again, was about to add another chapter to a history that the tourists never read.Three days after the intelligence report on Victor Hale, the Kings' Vienna residenc

By the time night settled over Vienna, the city looked like a painting, one of those classical pieces tourists bought in shops along the Ringstrasse, all golden light and romantic architecture that made you forget the city had survived empires rising and falling, wars that reshaped continents, centuries of blood hidden beneath all that beautiful stone.Golden lights reflected across the Danube like scattered coins. Classical buildings glowed beneath streetlamps, their facades carefully illuminated to emphasize the ornate details that made them UNESCO heritage sites. Music drifted from cafés where tourists sat with wine and pastries, believing the world was still calm and civilized, that power was something that lived in government buildings and followed rules written down in constitutions.Inside the Kings' residence, calm was a carefully engineered illusion.Rowan stood near the balcony doors adjusting his cufflinks, his expression carved from cold discipline. He wore black tonight,

The three men stepped into the hall like shadows that had finally decided to reveal themselves, not bursting through with theatrical violence, not hesitating at the threshold, just walking forward with the quiet precision of people who'd done this before and knew exactly how much force was required.No hesitation.No fear.Just controlled, professional certainty.The first man held the small black case in both hands like it contained something precious or dangerous or both. The second scanned the room with cold, calculating eyes that cataloged threats and exits in the time it took most people to blink. The third closed the doors behind them slowly, the movement deliberate enough to draw attention, to make everyone in the room aware that the option to leave had just been removed.The heavy wooden doors shut with a deep echo that seemed to reverberate in the marble and stone, the sound final as a vault sealing.Every person in the room felt the shift, that particular change in atmospher

For the first time since the hologram appeared above the marble table, Victor Hale stopped smiling. It wasn't dramatic, no sudden transformation, no visible collapse of his carefully maintained composure. Just a small pause in the rhythm of his performance, a microscopic hesitation that most people probably missed entirely. But in a room full of people who had built empires on reading tiny signals, who had survived decades in shadow economies by noticing when someone's breathing changed or when a smile didn't quite reach the eyes, that pause felt enormous. Hale looked from Rowan… to me… and finally to the rogue sitting among the observers, his holographic gaze moving with the deliberate attention of someone recalculating probabilities, reassessing assumptions, wondering what he'd missed. Something in the atmosphere had shifted, not the temperature, not the air pressure, but something more fundamental. The invisible geometry of power in the room had rearranged itself in ways none

Outside the palace, the mountain road had become a narrow corridor of tension, the kind of space where violence waits just beneath the surface, where one wrong move transforms standoff into bloodbath.The three armored vehicles sent by Victor Hale slowed to a halt as their headlights illuminated the blockade ahead, catching metal and glass in harsh white light.Three black SUVs waited across the road, positioned with military precision.Parked sideways to maximize blocking coverage.Engines humming quietly low, patient, ready.No lights showing position.No markings identifying allegiance.Just shadows waiting in the dark.Inside the lead extraction vehicle, the driver spoke through a headset, his voice professionally calm despite what he was seeing. "We have obstruction. Repeat, road is blocked."A voice answered immediately through the encrypted line, distorted by layers of digital security. "Visual confirmation?""Three vehicles. Black SUVs. No visible occupants. No movement."A sh