Chapter 32: Chapter Thirty Two

"BREAKING POINTS"

Astrid's POV

It smells of dust and abandonment in the safe house. Faint light seeps through boarded windows, and long shadows stretch across the concrete floor. I watch Eagan pace along the length of the room, phone pressed to his ear, voice low and controlled, though fury radiates off him.

“It doesn’t matter to me how you do it,” he says. Get me everything on The Nest. Every mention. Every whisper. Every goddamn rumor."

Katya is sitting in a corner, shivering in a blanket, though the room is warm. She watches Eagan move, wary like a beaten dog. The needle marks on her arms are starting to fade, but the vacant look in her eyes persists.

“He’s not going to hurt you,” I say, handing her a cup of tea. "Not if you cooperate."

With shaking hands she takes the cup. “I tell everything I know,” she says haltingly in broken English. “But The Nest—they never show ordinary people. Only special ones go there."

"And Elara was special?"

Katya nods. “Director call her ‘the prototype.’ First success, he say."

"Success at what?"

Her eyes flick to Eagan, then back to me. "Conditioning. They chime in mind, reshape it at will.

My stomach churns, and not from morning sickness this time. "They brainwashed her?"

"Worse," Katya whispers. "They make perfect weapons. Loyal. Deadly. No questions."

Eagan has hung up, and he turns to us. "What was that?"

With each word, I see his expression harden like Katya told me it would.

“She’s lying,” he says bluntly.

"I not lie!" Katya holds the blanket tightly. "I hear doctors talk. Elara first success. Others fail. Die or go crazy."

If she’s been conditioned all these years,” I say cautiously, “she may not even know you’re there. She may not wish to be rescued.”

"Don't." Eagan’s voice goes dangerously low. "Don't even suggest that."

“There is a possibility we have to consider —”

"No, we don't." He cuts me off. All we have to do is locate The Nest. Everything else comes after."

The door opens, and in walks Liam, breathless with exhaustion. Rings of dark shadow his eyes and his limp appears much more pronounced than usual.

“We found something,” he says, without preamble. “One of our contacts in Eastern Europe knew the symbol from the medical charts. It has ties to a private research facility in Kazakhstan. Remote. Heavily guarded."

"That's The Nest?" I ask.

"Possibly. There are all rumors of human experiments, behavior modification.’ Liam hesitates. "Military applications."

"How soon can we move?"

“It’s not that simple,” Liam caution. "This isn't Facility Zero. This is a foreign country; potentially a government operation. It would require massive planning, resources.”

"Give me a timeframe."

Liam sighs. "Two weeks, minimum. And that's rushing it."

“All we have is one week,” Eagan says. "Make it happen."

When Liam leaves, mumbling to himself, I go over to Eagan cautiously. Two weeks is a more realistic estimate.

“Every day that we wait is another day that she’s there.” His voice is still calm, but I can see a storm brewing behind his eyes. “Another day they hold her in their hands.”

“Unless she’s not even here,” I tell him. "If she's even alive."

His gaze snaps to mine. "She's alive."

"You can't know that."

"I'd know if she wasn't." He acts like the conversation is not happening. "Get some rest. We’ll carry on in the morning.”

When I finally fall asleep, my dreams involve faceless children being taken into antiseptic chambers. Sister Grace, powerless, watches them vanish one by one. I attempt to get to them, but my feet are stuck to the ground. I look down and realize that I’m standing in a pool of blood.

I wake breathless, hand instinctively flying to my belly.

"Bad dream?" Eagan’s voice emerges from the gloom.

I start, blinking till I realise it’s him sitting in a chair next to the bed. “How long have you been there?”

"A while." He leans forward, elbows resting on his knees. "You talk in your sleep."

"What did I say?"

"Names. Sister Grace. The orphanage." His eyes shine in the darkness. "Our child."

I sit up and wrap myself in the thin blanket. “I dreamed about the massacre.”

"I know." His tone is softer than usual. “Nightmares are the mind’s way of digesting trauma.

“Is that why you don’t sleep?” I ask. “Too many traumas to face?”

His face ghosts a smile. "Something like that."

Slivers of morning light start to pour through the boarded windows, creating stripes on the floor. Neither of us budges, caught in this rare moment of silence.

“When I was a child,” Eagan says, unexpectedly, “after they took Elara, I used to wake up screaming. My father would come into my room, but not to comfort me — he said that King men do not show weakness.”

I do not speak, afraid that if I speak, this will shatter whatever has driven him to speak.

“He’d have me stand in the middle of the room, memorizing our family motto and repeating it over and over until the shaking ceased.” His gaze floats toward the horizon. "'Kings bow to no one. Kings feel no fear.' "

"That's cruel," I say softly. "You were just a child."

"I was a King." His focus returns to me. "Just as our child will be."

The way he says it — our child — gives me a surprise shiver. Not fear, exactly. Something more complex.

"What if I don't want that?" I ask. “What if I do not want our child raised with the King name, the King legacy?”

His expression hardens. “That’s a decision you shouldn’t have to make.”

“It’s just my decision,” I say. "I'm carrying this child. I'm the one who—"

There’s a ruckus from the main room — raised voices, something falling to the floor. Eagan is up immediately, weapon drawn. I hadn’t even watched him draw it.

Stay here,” he says, walking to the door.

I disregard him and trail closely behind as he steps into the main room. Liam freezes, his face pale, a tablet in his hand. Katya squirms in her corner, her eyes alight with fear.

"What happened?" Eagan demands.

Liam silently extends the tablet. A video plays on the screen — grainy security footage. A woman walks down a clinical corridor, blonde hair cascading over her shoulders. She glides with woke-hunting engineer precision, face as blank as the features in the model’s lifeless skin. Men in lab coats follow behind at a respectful distance.

"Is that..." I start.

“Eee-elara,” Eagan confirms, voice thin. "Where did you get this?"

“It was transmitted to your secure server,” Liam says. "Along with this."

He swipes to another screen — a text message of coordinates and a time. Tomorrow night.

“This is an invitation,” Liam explains. "Or a trap."

Eagan’s expression doesn't change, but the air in the room appears to freeze. "Who sent it?"

"Untraceable. But the location..." Liam hesitates. “It’s the Kairos family’s private island. Their last stronghold."

“She’s having a revival,” I say, suddenly aware.

“No.” The voice is deadly calm. "They're offering bait.”

“You can’t be seriously considering —”

“I’m not considering anything,” he interrupts. "I'm going."

Eagan, they’ll be waiting for you,” Liam counters. "This is obviously a trap."

"Of course it is." A terrible cold settles over Eagan’s features.

“That’s why they won’t expect what I’m bringing with me.”

"And what's that?" I ask, though a part of me doesn’t want to know.

His smile doesn't touch his eyes. "The apocalypse."

“This is suicide,” I say without introduction.

"Your concern is noted." He doesn't look up.

"It's not concern, it's fact. They will have all the advantages — an area they know, prepared positions, overwhelming numbers.”

“They also have something that I want.” He slots a magazine in with an audible click. “That’s the difference between everything.”

"And if it's not really her? If that video was faked?"

His movements halt for a second, and then they don’t. “Then I’ll still burn their island to the ground.”

"And what about us?" The words tumble out before I can stop them. "What about your child?"

Now he does look at me, his eyes perusing my face, as though memorizing it. If I am not back, I have written instructions for Liam.' You’re going to a safe place. Provided for."

Something breaks inside me. "That's it? That's all we mean to you?"

“And what do you expect me to say, Astrid?” His control finally slips for the first time. "That I'll abandon my sister? Which I’ll pretend I never saw that video?”

“I need you to admit this obsession is going to get you killed! That you’re wasting your life — our future — on a ghost!”

“She’s not a ghost,” he snaps. "She's my blood. My responsibility."

"And what am I?" I demand, voice rising. "What is this child? Aren't we your blood too?"

The room falls silent. His men stand around us pretending not to listen, quite suddenly very interested in checking their equipment.

Eagan lowers his rifle and takes my arm, moving me into a side room. As the door swings shut behind us, he lets me go.

“You knew who I was from the get,” he says, voice low and controlled once more. "What I was capable of. What drove me."

“I was familiar with Frederick Salvatore,” I retort. “A man who funded orphanages. All I want is Eagan King.”

"Yet here you are." His eyes bore into mine. “By choice, as you so recently reminded me.”

“A decision that I’m beginning to regret.”

Something looks across his face — pain, maybe, though I’ve never truly seen Eagan hurt before. “Maybe you should leave then.” Take the key I gave you. Walk away."

"To where?" I laugh bitterly. "The orphanage is gone. Everyone I knew is dead. You made sure of that."

“I didn’t kill Sister Grace,” he says, softly. “I did not order the massacre.”

“But you set the stage for it,” I counter. You started a war, and innocent people were in the crossfire.” Just like they always do."

He doesn't deny it. Can't deny it.

“And now you are going to do it again,” I say. “Walk into a trap, guns a-blazing, not caring who gets caught in the middle. And it not mattering what happens after.”

“I care,” he says, as though the words are high-priced. "More than you know."

"Prove it," I challenge. "Wait. Plan properly. “Don’t waste your life on the first lead you receive.”

For a moment, I think I have got through to him. His face softens slightly, hardly at all.

Then his phone buzzes. He verifies that, and whatever was in his eyes hardens again.

"Another video," he says. "They're hurting her."

"Eagan—"

"Enough." He pockets the phone. "I've made my decision. We move tonight."

"Then I'm coming with you."

He shakes his head. "Not this time."

“You told me I was your equal,” I say. ”That we make decisions together.”

“The decision is stronger than other decision.” His hand travels to my stomach, lightly resting there. “Having the child changes everything.”

“Don’t use our baby as a scapegoat,” I hiss. "This isn't about protection. It's about control."

"Call it what you want." His expression shuts down, closing into the cold mask that I know all too well. “You’re staying here with Liam. That's final."

Before I can say more, he turns, walks out and briskly shuts the door behind him.

I’m alone in the bare room, rage and fear clashing in my gut. I can hear outside the trees the continued preparations — weapons being passed out, plans being confirmed, men prepared to die for Eagan King’s obsession.