Chapter Thirty-Three

Chapter Thirty-Three


I didn’t know it was possible to wake up and feel like you hadn’t actually slept. Like your body was playing a trick on you,saying, "Good morning," when everything inside you still screamed, "Danger."

That was the kind of morning I had.

The kind where the silence in the room was too loud, too still. The kind where you wake up before the sun and check the corners, check the locks, check the gun on the nightstand.

The kind where you remember you’re not safe.

Rina’s safehouse had the personality of a damp shoe. Concrete walls, one flickering bulb, and a mattress that had definitely seen better decades. But it was safe—at least it had been for the last two days.

Until today.

I sat up slowly, arms aching from the bruises along my back and shoulders. My dreams had been violent. Too close to memory. I hadn’t screamed, but my throat felt raw anyway.

I looked over at Rina, who was slouched at the desk, tapping at her laptop with the intensity of a hacker on a deadline,which she was.

"You look like hell," she muttered without looking at me.

"Feel worse," I replied, rubbing my face.

"Sleep isn’t supposed to feel like cardio," she added, sipping lukewarm coffee from a chipped mug.

I stood, stretched, and padded barefoot over to the sink. The cold water woke me up more than the nightmares had. I stared into the metal basin, blinking at my reflection in the dented faucet. Different face. Same haunted eyes.

Nia Morgan was still in there.

"We’ve got a problem," Rina said suddenly.

Of course we did.

"Define problem."

"CrossPoint just activated a sleeper tag in the Westwood server. A ping went out. GPS encrypted, but it triangulated our last known location. They’re hunting again."

"Here?"

"Close. Not here-here. But close enough that we should move."

I nodded slowly, trying to swallow the growing knot in my stomach. "They’re not playing anymore."

"They never were. You were just... off the board. Now you’re front and center."

I turned away from the sink, suddenly cold.

"Rina, do you think Damien knows? About Project SCYTHE? About what his father’s really doing?"

She paused.

"I think Damien’s smart. And I think smart people in rich families survive by only asking the right kinds of questions."

"But he’s been asking the wrong ones."

"Exactly."

I walked over to the bed, sat down on the edge, and stared at the wall. The same thoughts had been replaying for hours—like an itch I couldn’t reach.

He knew.

He saw me.

And I saw something in him too conflict, fear, maybe even regret. But none of that mattered unless he acted.

My phone buzzed once.

Unknown Number.

Check your inbox. Now.

I glanced at Rina. "Trace this?"

"Already on it."

I opened my inbox. One new message. No subject. Just a video attachment.

I clicked it.

The screen was dark at first. Then it flickered to life.

Vanessa Monroe. Damien’s fiancée.

Tied to a chair. Face bruised. Blood crusted on her temple. Her makeup was smeared, but she was conscious. Barely.

Then the camera zoomed out.

Roxanne Ford.

She stood behind Vanessa like a statue. Calm. Cold. Armed.

And then the audio kicked in.

"One hour," Roxanne said. "Bring the drive. Come alone. Or the princess here stops breathing."

The screen went black.

Rina cursed under her breath. "It’s a trap."

"Of course it is."

"You’re not actually going, right?"

I was already up, grabbing my jacket. "I have to."

"Nia, she’s not your problem."

I stopped and turned. "She’s Damien’s problem. Which makes her mine."

Rina groaned. "You’re either noble or suicidal."

"Aren’t they the same thing, these days?"

She stood and blocked the door. "I’m coming with you."

"You can’t. She said alone."

"Yeah, well, screw her."

"No. I need someone on the outside. Someone to hit send if I don’t make it back. You’re my failsafe."

She didn’t like it. I didn’t like it. But we both knew I was right.

"At least take this," she said, handing me a small earpiece. "If you stop talking for more than two minutes, I trigger the upload."

I nodded.

And then I left.

The warehouse was just outside the city an old shipyard depot with broken windows and rusted doors. The kind of place people disappeared in without leaving echoes.

I stepped inside slowly, boots echoing off the concrete.

The light was dim. Dust floated through the beams like ghosts.

And there she was.

Vanessa.

Tied to a chair. Breathing. Barely.

And behind her Roxanne.

Still dressed like corporate security, but her smile was pure predator.

"I was wondering if you’d show," she said casually.

"Let her go."

"After you give me what I want."

I held up the drive. "This is everything. Every file. Every document."

She took a step forward, hand out.

"Toss it."

I tossed it halfway across the room. She didn’t pick it up. Just nodded toward one of the men behind her. CrossPoint muscle.

He retrieved it. Plugged it into a terminal. Started scanning.

"Why Vanessa?" I asked. "She’s not part of this."

"She’s part of Damien. That’s enough."

"You could’ve just killed me."

"No. Julius wants leverage. Wants you to see what happens to the people you care about. Wants to make sure you know what losing feels like."

"I already do."

She smiled. "Then this won’t hurt as much."

The moment her man gave her the thumbs-up, she raised her gun.

At me.

"Wait—"

A shot rang out.

But it wasn’t hers.

It came from behind.

Rina.

She had disobeyed me. Of course she had.

One of the CrossPoint men went down.

I moved.

Vanessa screamed.

I ducked behind a pillar, returned fire.

More shouting. More shots.

Roxanne disappeared into the chaos.

I sprinted to Vanessa, untied her hands, dragged her behind cover.

"You okay?"

She nodded weakly.

"Stay down."

Another explosion of gunfire. Then silence.

Rina emerged from the smoke, gun smoking.

"Surprise," she said.

I laughed once. Sharp. Bitter.

"Let’s get out of here."

We carried Vanessa to the car. She didn’t say much. Just clung to consciousness.

When we were safe, miles away, she turned to me.

"Why did you come for me?"

I looked at her.

"Because one day, someone might come for me."

Later that night, my phone buzzed.

Damien.

Just one word.

Why?

I didn’t reply.

Because I didn’t have the answer.

Not yet.

But I was going to find it.

Even if it killed me.