Chapter 81: Alex’s POV

I never thought love could feel this much like grief.

Days and nights blur together. I don’t sleep. Not really. Even when my eyes are closed, my mind runs wild. Every time I drift off, it’s Eleanor’s face I see, but never the way I want. Sometimes she’s crying. Sometimes she’s calling out my name. Sometimes she’s just… gone, like she never existed at all.

I live on autopilot. My private jet moves from one empty airfield to another, following the weakest of signals, the smallest hint that she’s still alive. My team is always around—Langston with his laptop, Rick on the phone, my security detail standing silent in the corners of every room. They treat me with a kind of wary respect now, as if I might shatter any second.

Maybe I already have.

This morning is no different. The sun hasn’t risen yet. The sky outside my jet’s window is black, streaked with tired orange on the horizon. I sit in the main cabin, lights dimmed, a mug of coffee untouched in my hands. It’s cold. Everything is cold.

Langston sits across from me, eyes red and wild from lack of sleep. His fingers move over the keyboard, hunting for new leads. His voice is low. “No movement on the feeds, Alex. Whoever took her, they’re ghosts.”

I don’t answer. My mind is replaying the last time I saw her—her face pale behind glass, her mouth forming my name, her eyes wide with terror. I press my knuckles to my lips, fighting down a scream.

Rick comes in, phone pressed to his ear. He’s barking orders at someone. “No, double the patrols on the north exit. I want eyes on every vehicle, every staff member, every inch of that road. Yes, I’ll authorize the expense. Just do it.”

He looks at me, eyes worried. “You need to eat.”

I shake my head. “I’m fine.”

“You’re not fine.” His voice is gentle but firm. “None of us are. But you’re going to burn out if you don’t take care of yourself.”

I almost laugh. “What does it matter? I have all the money in the world, all the power, and I still can’t save her. What’s the point?”

Rick is silent for a long time. Then he says quietly, “She would want you to fight, not give up.”

The words sting. Maybe that’s why he says them.

Langston glances up. “There’s something else.”

I sit up straighter. “What?”

He hesitates, then turns his laptop toward me. “There was a glitch in one of the encrypted feeds last night. It lasted less than five seconds, but I managed to pull a still frame.”

He clicks, and the screen fills with static. Then—there. A blurry image.

Eleanor, curled up on the floor of a white room. She’s alive. Her hair is messy, her eyes closed, her arms hugging her knees to her chest. For a moment, I can’t breathe.

I reach out, fingertips trembling. “Where is this?”

Langston shakes his head. “I don’t know. No metadata. No signal trace. Whoever did this is better than me.”

I close my eyes. “She’s alive. That’s all that matters.”

Rick leans over, studying the image. “She’s strong, Alex. She’ll hold on.”

I want to believe him. I really do.

\---

Later, when the plane lands at another anonymous strip in the mountains, I go to my office alone. I sit in the leather chair, staring at the bank of monitors on the wall. There are old recordings there—memories from the “dream life” they forced on us. I watch Eleanor laughing at some inside joke, sunlight in her hair, her eyes shining just for me.

I reach for her, but my hand closes on empty air.

I speak aloud, not caring if the cameras pick up my words.

“I’m sorry, Nell. I should have kept you safe. I should have been better.”

My voice breaks. For the first time in years, I cry. Not silent tears, but ugly, wracking sobs that leave me breathless. It hurts in a way I didn’t know was possible.

I press my forehead to the screen. “Don’t give up. Please, just hold on.”

\---

An hour passes. Two. I don’t move.

Then Langston rushes in, breathless. “Alex, you need to see this.”

He brings his laptop, hands it to me. A live feed—grainy and dark, but real. Eleanor’s room again. She’s awake now, sitting against the wall, staring at the camera. For a moment, I swear she can see me.

She lifts her head, her lips moving. I can’t hear her, but I know what she’s saying. My name.

“Eleanor,” I whisper.

Then, just as quickly as it began, the feed goes black. A message flashes on the screen:

Observer access revoked. Test Phase III commencing.

Langston curses. “They shut us out. It’s not Blackthorn—they have a different signature, something I’ve never seen.”

I stand, anger and fear mixing in my veins.

“They’re not testing us anymore,” I say, voice shaking.

Rick joins us, his face pale. “What do you mean?”

I point at the black screen. “They’re trying to destroy us. They want to prove love can’t survive, that we’re nothing but broken experiments.”

Langston is silent for a moment. “They picked the wrong people.”

I nod, heart pounding.

“We’ll get her back,” I say, forcing myself to believe it.

“We have to.”

But as the words hang in the air, the screen flashes once more. A single, chilling phrase appears:

“One must be erased for the other to survive.”

I stare, cold all over.

And for the first time, I realize I might have to make an impossible choice.

The words on the screen didn’t change.

“One must be erased for the other to survive.”

Langston stared at it like it was a joke, a glitch. “What the hell does that even mean?”

Rick stepped back from the monitor, face tight. “They’re bluffing. Just another scare tactic. They know how much she means to you.”

But I couldn’t breathe.

Not because of fear.

Because something inside me knew—deep down—that this wasn’t just psychological warfare.

It was a warning.

A rule.

Some kind of twisted protocol already set in motion.

Langston’s fingers flew over his keyboard, trying to force access, override the blackout, anything. Nothing worked. Every server he pinged came back scrambled or empty. Like they were erasing themselves in real time.

“They’re not bluffing,” I muttered, my voice low and hoarse. “They’re preparing for something final.”

Rick’s jaw tightened. “Then we break the cycle. We find her. We pull her out. No matter what it takes.”

I nodded slowly. My heart was thundering now, but my mind was strangely still. Focused.

“I need to go to her,” I said.

Langston looked at me like I was crazy. “You don’t even know where she is. And if you try to force entry again, they’ll cut her off completely. Maybe worse.”

“I’ll find a way.”

I grabbed my coat, turned to leave the office, but just as I reached the door—

An alarm went off.

Langston’s laptop screen flashed.

A live feed.

Not from the white cell.

Not from their main surveillance hub.

It was from inside one of their labs.

The image was shaky. Smuggled. Blurry.

But it was Eleanor.

Strapped down again.

Wires on her temples.