Chapter 91

Chapter 91
A cold wind sliced through the trees as Emilia stood at the edge of the old Greaves estate, her pulse pounding in her ears. The night was unnaturally still. No chirping crickets. No rustling leaves. Just silence. A suffocating, ominous silence.

She clutched the flash drive tighter in her hand, the one Lucien had retrieved after his confrontation with his uncle. Inside was the damning evidence that could topple the Greaves empire—financial documents, confidential boardroom recordings, and a file ominously named Project Nyx.

Emilia had barely slept since they’d returned. Something about the file unsettled her more than anything else. Not just because of what it might contain, but because it wasn’t protected like the others. It was left there—unhidden, unsecured, as though someone wanted her to find it.

And she had.

Now, standing in the estate’s underground archives, Emilia felt like she was being watched.

She descended the spiral staircase with Lucien right behind her. His usual confidence was shadowed with unease.

“I still think we should wait until morning,” he said, voice low.

“We’ve waited long enough. Whatever’s in that file, it was meant to be found. And if your uncle had anything to do with it, I need to know before someone else gets hurt.”

Lucien didn’t argue. He knew her too well. Emilia Clarke was relentless, and the stakes were higher than ever.

They reached the vault door. Lucien entered the passcode—a combination only two people should have known: his father and himself. But somehow, someone else had accessed it two days ago. The system logs didn’t lie.

The door hissed as it opened.

What greeted them was not the quiet, sterile archive room they remembered. Documents had been scattered. Filing cabinets were overturned. And on the far wall, in thick red marker, were the words: THE DEAD DON’T STAY DEAD.

Emilia froze.

“What the hell—?” Lucien’s voice trailed off as he stepped in.

She followed slowly, her eyes scanning the chaos. This wasn’t a robbery. It was a message.

Lucien picked up a burnt piece of paper near the back. A corner of the Greaves Foundation seal remained. “They wanted to destroy something,” he murmured. “Something about Project Nyx.”

Emilia moved toward the back of the room, where the fire hadn’t reached. She spotted a locked drawer still intact, kicked in partially. Her fingers trembled as she pried it open.

Inside was a slim black folder labeled in red ink: Subject 13-A: Clarke Protocol.

Her breath caught. Clarke?

She opened it, heart racing. There were documents—classified files, photos, test results. One page stood out:

Name: Emilia Clarke
Origin: Confidential
Status: Active
Protocol Trigger: Unknown
Genetic Marker: Matches 13-A, Subject lineage confirmed.
Directive: Observe, Protect, Activate if compromised.

Her knees nearly gave out.

Lucien grabbed the file, eyes wide. “What is this? Emilia… are they talking about you?”

“I—I don’t know. I didn’t know this existed. This makes no sense.”

He read on, his face turning ashen. “You were being watched. Even before we met. Someone set this up. You were part of something—maybe from birth.”

The sound of shuffling behind them snapped their attention to the hallway outside.

Lucien drew his weapon as Emilia pocketed the folder. The lights overhead flickered.

“Who’s there?” he called out.

No answer.

They backed toward the vault door. A shadow flitted across the hallway, too fast to be natural.

Emilia’s breath caught in her throat. “Lucien… we’re not alone.”

A voice whispered, barely audible, carried by the wind through the broken vents. A voice that sounded eerily familiar.

“Emilia… do you remember me?”

Lucien turned sharply. “Stay behind me.”

But Emilia stepped forward. “That voice… it sounds like—”

Suddenly, the emergency lights blared red.

A countdown echoed through the room. Automated. Robotic.

“Security breach. Lockdown in 60 seconds.”

Lucien cursed and pulled her toward the door. “We have to move, now! This whole place is going into lockdown.”

As they sprinted through the corridor, the walls seemed to close in. The countdown continued.

“45 seconds.”

They passed the central archive room—only to stop short.

There, standing in the doorway, was a man.

No, not a man—an echo. A ghost.

Lucien went pale. “Uncle Harold…?”

But it wasn’t him. The man’s face was similar—too similar—but off. Like a reflection twisted through time.

The figure smiled.

“Too late,” he said. “You’ve woken something you can’t control.”

“30 seconds,” the system announced.

Lucien raised his gun. “Move!”

But Emilia couldn’t move. She stared at the man—her hands trembling—as memories she didn’t know she had surged forward. A hospital room. A scream. A whispered promise: “She’ll be protected. No matter the cost.”

“20 seconds.”

Lucien pulled the trigger. The figure vanished into smoke. The bullet slammed into the wall behind him.

They ran.

Up the stairs. Through the corridor. Just as the vault door slammed shut behind them.

Breathless, they emerged into the open air. The night had changed. The wind now howled through the trees, and thunder rumbled overhead.

Lucien turned to Emilia. “What did you see?”

She clutched the folder to her chest, her voice shaking. “A face from my nightmares… from my childhood. And if what’s in here is true…”

“What?”

She looked up, eyes wide. “Then I’m not just a Clarke. I’m something else entirely.”

Lightning cracked across the sky.

And somewhere, deep below the estate, something ancient stirred.