Chapter 193

Charles sat beside her. His arm rested on the sofa armrest, motionless. He didn't hand her tissues, didn't say "it's okay," didn't pat her head.

He just sat there waiting. Waiting for her to process those emotions herself.

Charlotte didn't know how much time had passed. Maybe five minutes, maybe ten. Her breathing gradually became steady.

"Barrott's structure."

She spoke. Her voice was hoarse but clear. "Emerald City has four hidden bases, Everglade City has two, Silverpeak City has one supply transfer station. Logan's leftover network has fourteen usable intelligence nodes; six have gone dead."

Charles turned to look at her.

"Felix has the complete roster and communication codes. I told him to encrypt and send them to Marcus." Charlotte wiped the tear stains from her cheeks with the back of her hand, the motion rough. "You want to investigate Chessboard, investigate his base in the Bowers family, and investigate his moles in the Edward family. Take my intelligence network and use it."

Charles didn't respond right away. He looked at Charlotte. Her eyes were still red, lashes clumped together, wet. But her gaze had returned—that coldness, that hardness, that decisiveness that came after calculating all variables.

"Rebecca," Charles spoke.

Charlotte's fingers paused.

"Her undercover mission in the Bowers family. After the cruise incident, Eddy launched an internal investigation of everyone around him. Rebecca's situation—" He didn't finish.

Charlotte stood up from the sofa. She walked to the floor-to-ceiling window, her face reflected in the glass, features blurred like an undeveloped photograph.

"Chessboard has insiders in the Edward family, a base in the Bowers family, and he used my brother for experiments for ten years." Her voice returned to its cold hardness, crisp and clean, without warmth. "I want him dead."

Behind her came the soft sound of sofa springs. Charles stood up and walked to her side. He extended his right hand.

Charlotte lowered her gaze, looking at that hand—the fingertips of his index and middle fingers still wrapped in frostbite bandages, calluses on his palm.

She placed her hand on it. Charles's fingers closed around hers.

"Together."

Two shadows reflected in the window glass.

The phone in Charlotte's pocket vibrated. She pulled it out. The screen lit up. An encrypted message. She recognized the sender's ID code—Rebecca's dedicated Barrott military-grade beacon device.

The message was brief: Identity exposed.

Charlotte's thumb hovered above the screen, the cursor blinking twice in the reply box. She typed "where are you" and hit send.

Send failed. A red exclamation mark appeared beside the message. The signal was gone. Rebecca's military-grade beacon was Barrott's highest-level encrypted communication device, capable of penetrating most civilian jamming systems. There were only two possibilities for the signal interruption—the device had been physically destroyed, or the other side had activated military-grade electromagnetic suppression.

Charlotte dialed Felix's number.

"Rebecca's beacon, track the last signal position."

"Already on it." Felix's keyboard sounds came through the receiver. "The last location before the signal disappeared—"

He paused. "In the underground level of the Bowers Villa."

Charlotte's grip on the phone tightened. The underground level of the Bowers Villa. The last time she infiltrated the place at night, the attic that had triggered the alarm had already been destroyed. The hollow floor beneath the attic was the secret passage through which Rebecca rescued her from the trap. All clues pointed in the same direction.

"Gather the team." Charlotte's voice was very low. "I'm going right—"

"No."

Charles's voice came from behind.

Charlotte turned around. He stood by the sofa, his right hand supporting himself on the armrest. No color in his face, but his eyes were clear.

"The Bowers Villa's security system was completely upgraded after the cruise incident." Charles walked over, took the phone from her hand, and glanced at the coordinates Felix had tracked. "Infrared sensor network, pressure-sensitive floor tiles, armed patrol teams. Eddy has set up at least four hidden posts within three kilometers around the estate. How many people are you taking?"

"Enough to get the job done."

"Enough?" Charles handed the phone back to her. "After the Grey Wolves people on the cruise were purged, Eddy brought in a batch of new mercenaries from Southeast Asia. Regular military training background. The equipment level is two grades higher than when you infiltrated last time. If you attack head-on, you're asking to die."

"I didn't say I'd attack head-on."

"You also don't have blueprints." Charles's voice wasn't loud, but every word pressed against her rhythm. "The underground level's structure, entrances and exits, security nodes... You know nothing. Last time you went in, you needed Rebecca to guide you even to find the attic. Now Rebecca herself is trapped inside. What are you going in with?"

Charlotte clenched her fists. She knew he was right. But from the moment Rebecca sent those four words, "identity exposed," every minute wasted meant one less chance Rebecca had of surviving.

"Then what's your plan? Wait? Wait until she—"

"Wait until I get a way in."

Charlotte stared at him.

Charles's phone rang. It was Marcus calling.

He put it on speaker.

"Mr. Edward." Marcus's voice was urgent. "Everett, he's talking."

The living room went quiet for a second.

"He says he's willing to hand over the complete architectural blueprints of the Bowers Villa underground level." Marcus's breathing carried the heaviness of running. "Condition is a reduced sentence."

Charlotte's fingers tightened around the butterfly knife handle in her pocket. Everett. The family doctor who had been poisoning Charles for years, the person who had access cards to the Bowers family laboratory, the person who called Michael "little chess piece."

He had the blueprints.

Charlotte's brain completed the calculation in three seconds.

When Everett was arrested, he bit through a micro-communicator, the signal going straight to the Edward Manor server. He was "Chessboard's" direct subordinate. The blueprints in his hands might be real—as someone who had worked in the Bowers Group laboratory for years, he must know the underground level's layout.

But he chose this moment to speak up. Rebecca's signal just went dead, and he immediately proposed a deal. The timing was too convenient.

"A trap," Charlotte said.

"Possibly." Charles turned off the speaker and brought the phone to his ear. "Marcus, don't touch him yet. I'll go myself."

He hung up and looked at Charlotte. "I'll interrogate Everett. You—"

Charlotte's phone rang again. Not Felix. The hospital caregiver's number. She answered.

"Ms. Seymour," the caregiver's voice was trembling, "Michael... he won't eat. He keeps crying. Nothing we say helps. He says he wants to see you."

Charlotte's fingers froze.

Through the receiver came Michael's crying. Not the wailing kind, but the kind pressed in the throat, intermittent sobbing. That sound was harder to bear than screaming—it was a child used to being beaten, silently falling apart.

"I'll be right there."

After hanging up, Charlotte stood in the middle of the living room. Phone in her left hand, butterfly knife in her right. Rebecca was in the underground level of the Bowers Villa, signal gone, every minute ticking away. Michael was in a hospital room, refusing to eat, refusing everyone's approach, wanting only her.

Two people, two directions. She couldn't be in two places at once.

"Charlotte."

Charles's voice held no hesitation.

"I'll take Wayne to interrogate Everett. Once we get the blueprints, I'll have Marcus send you an encrypted file immediately. You go to the hospital first."

Charlotte's mouth opened slightly.

"Rebecca can't be rescued tonight." Charles picked up the car keys from the table. "Even if we get the blueprints now, planning the infiltration, coordinating personnel, figuring out patrol intervals—twenty-four hours minimum."

He walked to the door, looked back at her. "The operation is set for tomorrow night. You have one day to comfort your brother."