Chapter 56 CHAPTER FIFTY-SIX
Chapter 56 CHAPTER FIFTY-SIX
Amelia’s POV
Rain devoured the night.
It wasn’t falling anymore, it was crashing, violent and endless, like the sky was trying to drown the earth. The windshield blurred into streaks of silver, and the wipers could barely keep up. Adrian’s hands were locked on the wheel, the veins in his arms taut as steel. We hadn’t spoken in miles. The silence between us was heavier than thunder.
I stared through the glass, but I wasn’t seeing the road; I was seeing the video, the whispers of Project Helix, my father’s voice saying, “If she remembers, everything ends.”
The words looped like a curse.
The flash drive felt warm in my coat pocket, almost alive, ike it could feel my pulse.
“The night’s eating everything,” I murmured, barely hearing myself. “I can’t tell if we’re running from something… or toward it.”
Adrian didn’t answer. His jaw flexed once, hat quiet signal of worry, he thought I never noticed. The car’s headlights caught the falling rain, turning it into silver needles.
Half an hour later, the city’s glow died behind us. Fog swallowed the road, and the dashboard glared red.
“Damn it,” Adrian muttered, braking hard.
Before us stretched a gate, rusted and crooked, half-submerged in muddy water. Above it, a weak floodlight flickered against the plaque:
BLACKWOOD NORTHERN OUTPOST.
He exhaled sharply. “Shortcut’s gone. Stay here. I’ll check how bad it is.”
He pushed the door open, and the rain swallowed him whole.
The storm pressed close around the car. I sat frozen, clutching the flash drive, my heartbeat syncing with the ticking dashboard clock. The scent of wet leather filled my lungs. Every drop that hit the roof felt louder than the last, like footsteps closing in.
My phone buzzed once.
Unknown Number.
You shouldn’t have left.
My breath hitched.
I looked up. Through the fogged glass, I caught movement near the gate, a silhouette, tall and still. Not Adrian. The shape stood there, unmoving, half-erased by rain. Watching.
“Adrian?”
No response.
Lightning cracked open the sky. For a fraction of a second, the world went white, nd I saw it. The figure is dragging something across the mud. Something heavy.
I shoved the door open and ran.
The rain hit like needles, soaking through my coat in seconds. “Adrian!” I shouted, but my voice was swallowed by thunder.
The mud pulled at my heels as I stumbled toward the gate. The shape was gone now, replaced by deep footprints, one large set, one smaller, overlapping. I followed them, each step sinking deeper into the cold earth, until I reached the small guardhouse just beyond the fence.
Its door hung open. Light spilled out thin, flickering.
The inside smelled of iron, dust, and electricity. A low hum filled the space, the old generator clinging to life.
That’s when I saw the photographs.
They covered the wall.
I at five, hair tied in ribbons. Me twelve years old, in my school uniform, looking at the camera like I knew someone was behind it. It was last month’s gala, Damian’s hand resting on my shoulder while I smiled for the press.
Every image had been taken from a distance. Through glass. Through cameras. Through time.
Pinned above them was a map of the Blackwood estate. My name was written across the northern wing, Elia circled twice in red.
My stomach turned cold. I stepped closer. Beneath the photos was an envelope, water-stained, edges torn.
With shaking hands, I opened it.
Inside: one yellowed page.
If she remembers, everything ends.
Father
The ink had bled from water, but the signature was unmistakable. My throat went dry.
I staggered backward, the paper slipping from my fingers. The photographs were scattered around my feet like broken memories.
A sound behind me, oft deliberate.
The door creaked wider.
I spun around.
Adrian stood there, soaked, his shirt plastered to his skin, eyes hollowed by something darker than fear. He didn’t move.
“Amelia,” he said quietly.
“Where were you?” My voice cracked, too sharp, too scared.
He stepped forward slowly, hands half-raised. “You shouldn’t be here.”
“What is this place?” I demanded. “Why are there pictures of me? Why...”
The light above us flickered once… twice… and went out.
Darkness slammed into the room.
I froze. The hum of the generator stuttered, then died.
“Adrian?” My whisper barely carried.
Somewhere in the dark, I heard a metallic click.
A soft sound, but unmistakable. Like a trigger being drawn.
“Adrian?” I repeated, louder now.
His silhouette barely moved. But his voice hasn’t been steady anymore.
“Because now,” he said, lower, hoarse, “he knows you remember.”
The generator sparked once, casting a brief flash of light just long enough for me to see that Adrian wasn’t looking at me. He was looking past me.
Over my shoulder.
At someone else.
The flash died.
The world went black.
And in that silence, the rain outside began to roar louder if the storm itself was warning me that nothing would ever be the same again.