Chapter 143: The Final Preparations

Dawn broke over Manhattan with an eerie calm, mocking the storm raging inside me.

The counteragent Helena had injected temporarily stabilized my marks, but I could feel the crimson corruption continuing its relentless advance.

My entire forearm throbbed with each heartbeat, pain radiating to my shoulder like hot needles beneath my skin.

I stood by Thomas Hayes's office window, watching the city wake up, oblivious to the nightmare unfolding in their midst. In twelve hours, Victoria's ceremony would begin.

In fourteen, if we failed, I'd be dead and Caspian would be forever bound to her through these corrupted marks—the memory of our connection wiped from his mind.

"You should sit down," Marcus said, approaching with a cup of coffee. "Save your strength."

"I'm fine," I lied, accepting the cup with my good hand. My cast felt unbearably heavy this morning, a constant reminder of how Victoria had tried to eliminate me from the equation.

Isolde entered the conference room, phone pressed to her ear.

"Danny just confirmed. He can get us access through the service entrance at exactly 7:45. We'll have a three-minute window while they change security shifts."

"And the signal blocker?" Helena asked, not looking up from her medical equipment.

"Ready," Marcus replied, patting his equipment case. "It'll disrupt their frequency generator for approximately sixty seconds. Not long, but hopefully enough."

I traced the fading gold patterns on my wrist. In the harsh morning light, they looked almost extinguished—tiny islands drowning in a crimson sea. "It'll have to be enough."

Thomas Hayes appeared in the doorway, his perpetual scowl somehow more pronounced.

"There's someone here to see you, Winters." He paused, clearly uncomfortable. "Says he's your father."

My breath caught. I hadn't spoken to my father in months, not since our tentative reconnection after my "accident."

James Winters stood awkwardly in the reception area, looking every bit the weathered construction manager.

When he saw me, his eyes—so like mine—widened with alarm.

"Jesus, Sage," he whispered, taking in my pallor and trembling hands. "You look..." He trailed off, unable to find appropriate words.

"Half-dead?" I supplied, attempting a smile that felt more like a grimace. "That's about right."

The concern in his eyes hit me harder than I expected.

For years, I'd convinced myself I didn't need him.

Now, with death literally crawling through my veins, his presence felt like an unexpected gift.

He reached into his worn leather jacket, extracting a folded blueprint.

"I've been reviewing Palmer's venue plans. The ceremonial stage they're building has a structural weakness."

"How did you get these?" I asked, genuinely surprised.

"I supervised three Palmer construction projects before I realized what kind of man Jeffrey was," he replied, unfolding the blueprint on Thomas's desk. "Still have connections with some of the crew. That stage looks like a normal platform, but it's housing sophisticated electronic equipment underneath."

My father pointed to a specific section.

"This junction box controls power to the entire system. Hit this, and whatever they're planning goes dark."

Isolde studied the blueprint, her FBI training evident in her analytical gaze. "It's directly beneath where Victoria will be standing. No way to access it without being seen."

"Not from the front," my father agreed. "But there's a maintenance panel in the back. Designed for emergencies, but it could work for your purposes."

For a moment, I was speechless.

Despite our complicated history, despite years of estrangement, he was here when I needed him most.

"Why are you helping us?" I finally asked, my voice suddenly thick with emotion.

His weathered face softened. "Because I failed you once before with Robert. I won't make that mistake again."

Something tightened in my chest—not pain from the marks, but an emotional ache I hadn't expected.

For a fleeting second, I wanted to throw my arms around him, to feel the security of a father's embrace that I'd been denied for so long.

Instead, I simply nodded, afraid my voice would betray me.

My phone buzzed with a text from an unknown number:

[Palmer security increased. V suspects something. Be careful. -C]

"Caspian's warning us," I said, showing the others. "Victoria's expecting trouble."

"Of course she is," Helena replied, packing medical supplies into a discreet bag. "But she's expecting a frontal assault, not a technical interruption."

As the others finalized details, I stepped away, needing a moment alone.

The crimson marks burned beneath my sleeve, a constant reminder of how little time remained.

I thought of Caspian at the gala, the hollow look in his eyes, the weight of Victoria's manipulation crushing him.

Whatever complications existed between us, I couldn't let him become her puppet.

"It's not just about saving him, is it?" Isolde asked quietly, joining me by the window.

I met her gaze, no longer having the energy to pretend.

"No. It's about both of us. Whatever Palmer did to us with these marks, whatever this connection is—it's ours, not Victoria's to manipulate."

Helena handed me the remaining counteragent, a glowing blue vial that represented our last hope.

"Remember, you'll need to inject this directly into Caspian's marks. It has to enter the epicenter of the corruption to have any chance of working."

I tucked the injector into my pocket, determination replacing fear.

Whatever happened tonight, I wouldn't go quietly.

Victoria Palmer had taken enough from me—my career, my reputation, almost my life. She wouldn't take this too.

As we headed toward the elevator, my phone buzzed with another message.

This time from Alexander Palmer:

[Change of plans. Ceremony moved to 6PM.

Victoria knows you have the counteragent.

She's accelerating the timeline.

Sebastian has been dispatched to remove any interference.]

My blood froze.

I showed the others, watching their expressions shift from determination to alarm.

"She's moved everything up," I whispered, the reality sinking in. "We have less than three hours."

Before anyone could respond, the power went out, plunging Thomas's office into darkness.

Emergency lights flickered on, casting eerie shadows across the walls.

Outside, I caught a glimpse of movement—figures in black tactical gear spreading across the street.

Helena's medical scanner suddenly beeped, an urgent alarm that made everyone freeze.

She grabbed my wrist, her face paling as she studied the readings.

"What?" I demanded, fear clawing up my throat.

"The corruption's accelerated dramatically," she whispered. "Whatever they're doing to Caspian is affecting you too. These readings... Sage, if we don't reach him within the next two hours, the neural damage will be permanent."

The elevator doors slid open with a soft ping.

Sebastian's duplicate stood inside, his perfect smile never reaching his empty eyes.

"Ms. Winters," he said pleasantly, "Victoria asked me to personally escort you to the ceremony."