Chapter 303

Chapter 303

Ethan placed a joint invitation letter on the table in front of Sophia.

"Seven of the country's top charitable organizations." He pointed at the signatures at the bottom. "They watched the documentary. It moved them. They want you to lead a long-term art therapy program for kids and teens dealing with trauma."

Sophia picked up the document, studying it carefully.

"Art therapy?"

"Yeah. A branch of psychology. Using painting, music—nonverbal ways to help kids who can't or won't talk through things. Helps them process emotions, rebuild their sense of order." Ethan looked at her. "You understand better than anyone that sometimes a paintbrush speaks louder than words. You're living proof."

Sophia said nothing.

Her fingers traced the edge of the stiff paper.

A stable identity. Something in the light. Something that could keep giving, keep meaning something.

An identity that helped others and protected her at the same time.

More solid than the buzz from a documentary. More lasting.

"I'll do it," she said.

The therapy studio was located in a creative park near downtown—busy area, quiet spot.

No grand opening. No press cameras.

The people who showed up were staff from the charitable organizations and about a dozen kids with their parents—the first group selected for the program.

The room wasn't big, but the light was good. Bright children's paintings already hung on the walls. New easels and paint supplies sat in the corner. The air smelled faintly of pine.

Sophia wore a simple white shirt and jeans, crouched down talking to a shy little girl.

Everything felt quiet. Warm.

She was about to say a few words to start things off when it happened.

A man in a delivery rider uniform and a baseball cap burst through the door carrying a brown paper bag.

He moved so fast the security guard at the entrance didn't have time to react.

"Gift for Ms. Grey!"

The man shouted and slammed the bag hard against the floor near the doorway.

A dull thud.

The bag split open. A thick cloud of grayish-white powder exploded outward like fog, spreading fast.

The parents and kids nearest the door immediately started choking.

"Cough—cough—cough!"

"Ah! My eyes! It burns!"

One child started crying.

The warm, peaceful scene dissolved into chaos.

But the chaos lasted less than ten seconds.

"Stay calm!"

A sharp, steady voice cut through the noise.

It was Hummingbird.

He appeared from somewhere in the corner.

Almost simultaneously, several men in plain clothes—men who'd looked like regular staff—moved with startling speed.

One of them lunged forward. The moment the attacker turned to run, the man kicked him hard behind the knee. The attacker screamed and collapsed. His arms were wrenched behind his back, something shoved in his mouth. He couldn't make a sound.

The others yanked down the emergency fire shutter at the entrance, sealing off the contaminated area from the rest of the room.

The whole operation took less than five seconds. Smooth. Coordinated. Professional.

The panicked parents and kids stared, stunned, like they'd just watched a scene from an action movie.

"Everyone move to the back of the room. Stay away from the doors and windows." Hummingbird directed the scene. "Anyone feeling sick, over here."

Sophia had already made her way to the crying little girl. She crouched down and gently wiped the girl's tear-streaked face with a wet wipe, clearing away the dust.

"It's over. See?" She pointed at the subdued attacker. "The bad guy's caught."

Her voice was soft. Calm. The little girl sniffled, her sobs slowing, and looked up at her with curious eyes.

The head of the charity stood with his mouth hanging open.

He'd just wanted to hold a small opening ceremony. How did he end up in the middle of what felt like a counterterrorism operation?

He looked at Sophia, then at the stone-faced, highly trained "staff members," and one thought dominated his mind: Is Ms. Grey's security team a little too... professional?

Less than ten minutes later, sirens wailed outside.

But these weren't ordinary police sirens. They were deeper. More urgent.

Several unmarked white vans pulled up below the building. Seven or eight people in full white hazmat suits and respirators climbed out, carrying equipment he didn't recognize. They sealed off the entire floor and began testing and decontaminating the entrance area.

The property manager's legs went weak. He could barely get the words out.

"What... what's happening? Is this... is this a bioterror attack?"

Hummingbird glanced at him. Said nothing.

The charity director watched it all unfold, then turned back to Sophia, who was comforting the last frightened child. His expression had shifted from shock to something deeper. Wariness. Respect.

This was beyond what money could explain.

This level of emergency response wasn't something a private security firm could pull off.

Sophia's phone buzzed.

She walked to the window and answered.

"Soph." Stanley's voice, cool and clipped as always.

"Yeah."

"Powder test came back. High-concentration capsaicin mixed with industrial alkaline dust." Stanley spoke quickly, no filler. "Main effect is irritation to mucous membranes and skin. Creates panic. No long-term toxicity."

"The guy?"

"Professional lowlife. Paid to do it. Won't talk. Doesn't matter. I traced the offshore account that paid him."

Sophia listened quietly.

"Found a name you probably don't want to hear." Stanley paused.

"Say it."

"Delta."

Sophia hung up. Stood by the window. Didn't move.

The commotion outside had settled. Property staff were coordinating with the hazmat team, quietly reassuring tenants on other floors.

Delta. The name sank into her chest like a cold stone.

She wasn't surprised.

From Raina to Flora to David—every sudden act of cruelty in her life had threads connecting them. Delta, Raina's ally, James's former "almost-fiancée"—it was only a matter of time before she made a move.

Sophia just hadn't expected it to be like this.

Something that looked petty on the surface but was vicious underneath.

Preston, the charity director, stood a few feet away looking like he wanted to approach but didn't dare. He kept glancing between Sophia, the terrifyingly efficient "security," and the suspiciously professional vehicles and personnel outside. His mind was spinning.

He'd just wanted to run a charity program. Help some kids.

How did he end up in the middle of what felt like an international spy thriller? Who was Ms. Grey really—an artist, or some kind of covert powerhouse he knew nothing about?

He watched Sophia turn and walk toward him.

Preston straightened instinctively.

Sophia's voice was calm, unreadable. "What happened today scared everyone. I'm sorry."

"No, no, no, Ms. Grey, please don't say that." Preston waved his hands frantically. "Our security should've been better."

"My team will handle the rest. The studio will be back to normal tomorrow. Won't disrupt the program."

"What? Tomorrow?" Preston blinked.

The entrance area had been doused with unknown powder. It was still sealed off. People in hazmat suits were still testing it. And she was saying... tomorrow?

Sophia nodded. Didn't elaborate.

She walked over to the little girl who'd been crying earlier. The girl's mother held her close, still visibly shaken.

Sophia crouched down, pulled a fruit candy from her pocket, unwrapped it, and held it out to the girl.

"For you. You were very brave today."

The little girl looked at her, then at the candy, and whispered, "Thank you."

Sophia smiled at her, then stood and turned to Hummingbird. "Send the kids and their families home. Assign someone to each household. Make sure they're safe."

"Yes, ma'am." Hummingbird nodded and immediately began coordinating.