Chapter Thirty Three

Chapter Thirty Three
“DESPERATE MEASURES”

Astrid's POV

The silence, when Eagan departs, is thunderous. I’m at the window, watching the last of his men load into unmarked vehicles. Fifteen minutes since he slammed the door behind him. Fifteen minutes of choking on words unspoken.

Liam stays out, talking to the driver of the last SUV. The expression is one of grimness, shoulders laden with the gravity of the impending. As the vehicle drives away, he remain in brooding isolation in the deepening dark, gazing after them as if they were an unmoored funeral train.

He turns toward the safe house, and we meet eyes through the window. He knows I'm watching. Knows I'm planning something.

The door swings open with a creaking protest. Liam doesn’t glance at me as he crosses to the makeshift command center — laptops, communication equipment and satellite phones leaning on a folding table.

“Don’t,” he says before I can open my mouth.

"I didn't say anything."

"You don't have to." One of those monitors, his expression is tight. "I know that look."

"What look?"

“The same one he gets before he does something monumentally stupid.” Liam finally meets my gaze. “He commanded me to hold you here. Safe."

I come closer, arms crossed over my chest. “And you never follow orders?”

"When they make sense." He pushes out a chair for me to sit down. "This one does."

"Does it?" I remain standing. “You really think he’s coming back from this?”

The question lingers between us. Liam does not answer — and that is answer enough.
"How many men went with him?" I press.

"Twelve. His best."

"Against how many?"

Liam's jaw tightens. “Our last intel had thirty on the island.” Possibly more now."

“He’s outnumbered almost three to one; he’s walking into a trap; he’s on their turf,” I hold my voice steady, though I can feel panic clawing up my throat. “And you think waiting here is the right call?”

“What I think doesn’t really matter.” He turns back to the monitor. "We have our orders."

"Fuck orders!" I slam my hand on the table. “He’s gonna die out there.”

"Maybe." Liam's voice drops. "Probably. But that was for him to decide.”

"A stupid choice."

"Yes." He looks up, his face inexplicably vulnerable. “But he’s made it for the right reason at least.”

“There’s nothing correct about this,” I say. “There is nothing right about orphaning his child before he’s even born.
Liam’s gaze wanders to my midsection. “He thinks he’s doing what’s got to be done.”

"For Elara."

"For his blood." Liam reaches for his tablet. “Family means everything to him, albeit in contorted ways.”
We’re his family too, I say softly. "Me and this baby."

“Which is why he ordered me to hold you here.” Liam pulls up a satellite image — a small island, thick with foliage with groupings of buildings near a private dock. "This is where he's headed. Kairos final stronghold."

I tilt forward, examining the image. “Any other ways that you can get to the island?”

Liam gives me a sharp look. "Why?"
"Just tell me."

He pauses, then swipes to another image. “There’s a secondary dock on the far side. Less secured, intended for supply deliveries.”

“Could anyone land there without being detected?”

"Possibly." A note of suspicion enters his voice. “But it doesn’t matter because no one’s going to attempt.”

Katya speaks from the corner of the room. "She right."

We both swivel, as if we’ve nearly forgotten her. She tugs her blanket closer to her shoulders, but her gaze is clearer, now.

"What did you say?" I ask.

“He not understand what waits.” She rises shakily. “If prototype is there — if Elara waits — he in great danger.”

Liam frowns. "Explain."

“They teach her,” Katya says. "Use her against her own family. Against all who pose threat."

"What are you saying?" My voice falters. "That she would hurt him? Her own brother?"

"Not just hurt." Katya taps her temple. "Kill. Without question. Without recognition."

Ice slides down my spine. "Eagan doesn't know this."

“He won’t look,” Liam confirms. “Foolish with the chance of finding her.”

I turn to him. "We have to warn him."

"I tried." He holds up his phone. "He's gone dark. “Standard protocol for an operation of this magnitude.”

“So then we have to get him.” I grab his arm. "Use the supply dock. Bring a second team."

“Not no, but hell no.” "Absolutely not."

"Liam, listen to me—"

"I said no!" He pulls away. "Don't you understand? He left you here for a reason, and that reason is that you are pregnant with his child. His blood. If something happens to him you’re all there is left.”

“And if I do nothing, that’s precisely what’s gonna happen!” I shout. “Something will happen, and our child won’t know his father.”

Liam looks away, but not before I see the battle in his eyes. He cares about Eagan — more than as his boss. They have been through a lot together, they have loyalty forged through years.

“When there’s a second team,” I suppose watching his reaction. "Isn't there? A backup that he is not aware of.”

His silence confirms it.

"Take me with them," I plead. “I know about the conditioning, about Elara. I may be the only person who can reach him when he knows what’s what.”

“It’s too dangerous,” Liam says, less assured.

“Everything in this life is dangerous,” I reply. “I made my choice when I did not leave.”

"And the baby?"

“Will have a good chance with both parents alive.” I go closer, make him meet my eyes. "What would you do, Liam? If it was someone you loved entering into a trap?”

There is a change in his expression. "He'd kill me for this."

“Only if he lives,” I point out. "And that's the whole idea."

For a long moment, he remains silent. Then he picks up his phone. "One hour. Be ready."

Relief floods through me. "Thank you."

"Don't thank me yet." His voice is grim. “You could be sailing straight into hell.”

The boat slices through dark water, its silent engines barely stirring the surface. Four of Liam’s men next to me check their weapons with expert precision. None look at me. None question my presence. Liam's word is enough.

The island looms ahead, a black silhouette in the starless sky. No lights visible — either a security measure, or worse.
“Com check,” the man next to me says into his headset.

"Team Two in position."

Static crackles, and a voice answers. "Breach of the perimeter is ongoing. They spoke of heavy resistance at the main entrance.”

Gunfire reverberates across the water, far away but unmistakable. Part of the island is lit by flashes of light — Eagan’s apocalypse coming to pass, just as he promised.

“Our team leads stand down and we go dark here,”

“Silence until we get to the second objective.

I grip the edge of my seat as the boat halts, creeping toward the dusky dock with tortuous slowness. Every second stretches, full of the beat of my heart and the distant echoes of war.

“Don’t forget,” I hear Liam in my earpiece. “Your job is to find him, and tell him this about Elara. Do not engage otherwise. Don’t take unnecessary risks.”

“Understood,” I say, even though we both know it may take something pretty extreme.

The boat nudges gently against the dock. Two men lower themselves over the side, fastening it with familiar motions. No alarms sound. No gunfire redirects our way.

“Clear,” one whispers, reaching to haul me onto the wooden planks.

The air on the island has the smell of salt and smoke. The real fight is on the far side, and yet, even here, the acrid smell of burning buildings wafts in the wind.

We travel in a close formation, along a narrow course past thick plant life. The tactical gear I borrowed sits heavy, the bulletproof vest snug on my chest. Now I’m struck by the absurdity — shielding my heart while my child ages unprotected beneath.

The ground shakes with a series of explosions, then heavy gunfire. The team leader raises a fist, and we stop.
“Main house breached,” someone says over comms. "King is inside."

My breath catches. He's alive. At least for now.
We push ahead, faster this time. The path emerges into a clearing where several outbuildings loom in shadows. A figure scurries between them—not one of Eagan’s men from the clothing.

Our point man had raised his weapon, but he never got to fire. A single gunshot rings out, and he falls silently.
"Contact!" another hisses, and they pull me down as bullets rip through the foliage overhead.

Everything becomes chaos. The men beside me return fire, using their bodies as shields to protect me as gun fire rains down from above. They fall, one by one, the sacrifices gain them mere seconds.

I scramble behind the closest building, my heart racing. One of our team stands alone, backing toward me while firing short controlled bursts into the darkness.
“Get to the main house,” he yells over his shoulder. "Northwest corner. Underground entrance. Go!”

I hesitate, frozen in fear and uncertainty.

"Go!" he roars a second time and then jolts as the bullets hit home.

I run. Through the trees, away from the ambush, toward the glow of a burning building in the distance. The weight of my failure sits heavy—five men dead due to my determination to come here.

But I can't stop now. Can’t let their deaths be in vain.

The main house appears — a concrete-and-glass modernist structure, partially consumed by flames. On the approach lay bodies, some in Kairos uniform, others Eagan’s men.

I teeter at the outskirts of the fighting, looking for the northwest corner. An open door leads down a concrete stairwell. Blood spattered on the wall next to it.

And then, from deep inside the building, a gunshot rings out — distinct from the continuing fusillade. Single. Deliberate.

My blood turns to ice.

As I descend, the stairwell swallows me, my weapon drawn although my hands shake too much to aim. Below, a long corridor disappears into blackness, emergency lights splashing red shadows on the plastic walls.

A second shot, too, crackles in the distance, closer.

The sound booms, past vacant rooms with observation windows, past medical devices left in a rush. At the end of the corridor is a heavy door slightly ajar.

Inside, I find them.

Eagan stands turned away from me, gun pointed at a woman with blonde hair. She’s kneeling on the floor, blood from a shot in her shoulder pooling beneath her, eyes dead and hollow.

“It’s me,” Eagan is saying, voice gravelly with emotion I’ve never heard before. "It's Eagan. Your brother."

The woman—Elara—does not seem to recognize me. No emotion at all. Her hand creeps toward a fallen weapon beside her.

"Stop!" I call, as I cross the threshold into the room.

Eagan rotates, briefly diverted. And that’s all the opening Elara needs.

She lunges for the gun.

And I make my choice.