Azriel didn't wait for the crowd to swallow them. As the red spotlight narrowed on Elira like a sniper scope, his fingers closed around her wrist and pulled her away from the center of the ballroom. They cut through silk and smoke, threading through bodies and whispers, every step more deliberate than the last.
"You're dragging me like prey," she hissed.
"Correction," Azriel muttered, not glancing back. "I'm dragging you like bait that just got bitten."
The hidden corridor labeled Room Theta loomed ahead, guarded by nothing but velvet curtains and the eerie calm of people who thought they were safe. The invitation was clear. And too obvious.
Azriel stopped just short of the threshold. Elira stepped beside him, pulse ticking like a metronome.
"If this is a trap," she said under her breath, "we're walking into it on purpose."
He smirked, lips twisted in something between mockery and war-readiness. "Exactly."
Room Theta was nothing like the ballroom. The atmosphere changed the moment they stepped in—thick air, dim lights, the walls lined with eerie red-glow panels that pulsed like a heartbeat. The ceiling was low, oppressive, like it wanted to crush the secrets buried inside.
The room wasn't empty—but it looked like it wanted to be. No center table. No staged theatrics. Just stacks of crates and locked briefcases, metal cabinets labeled with serial numbers and barcodes. On one of the desks near the back wall, a slim tablet blinked softly with an unread message.
Azriel's eyes narrowed. "Too clean."
"Too silent," Elira agreed. "But that tablet is meant for us."
He motioned for her to stay back, but she ignored him and moved forward. The tablet lit up as she approached, the screen displaying a single message:
"Congratulations. You're early. Let's make this interesting."
Then, the screen changed. A real-time map. A timer counting down from five minutes. A red blinking dot began to move from one end of the digital building layout toward their current location.
"Shit," Azriel growled. "They're coming."
"Or testing us," Elira added. "They want to see what we'll do."
Quickly scanning the room, Azriel spotted a nearby filing cabinet. Locked, reinforced.
He yanked a blade from beneath his sleeve and jammed it into the lock, snapping it open with practiced violence. Inside—folders. Dozens. Marked with a single insignia.
The list.
Girls. Names. Codes. Shipments. Transfers.
"Start grabbing everything," he ordered.
But it wasn't that easy. As Elira reached for the folders, a faint hiss sounded near the vents.
"Gas," she muttered, eyes narrowing. "Of course."
Without waiting, Azriel grabbed two black masks from his coat. He tossed one to her.
"On. Now."
Elira slid the mask on and shoved as many documents into her coat as possible. Azriel was already prying open another locker—this one containing USB drives, each tagged and numbered.
"Take three. No more. We don't know which are traps," he said.
The timer on the tablet ticked down to thirty seconds.
"Go time," Elira hissed.
They burst from Room Theta just as the corridor lights flickered and the door slammed shut behind them with a hiss of security locks. Inside, the gas spread in plumes.
By the time a guard turned the corner, Elira and Azriel were shadows down the corridor, vanishing into the velvet maze of the masquerade.
In the ballroom, the music drowned the tension. No one noticed them reenter. No one dared.
They made it to the far end where Caelum leaned against a marble pillar, sipping something crimson.
Talon appeared beside him like a blade in human form.
Azriel handed over one of the USBs.
"Decrypt it. Now."
Talon nodded. "Already got an interface upstairs. Thalia's holding position."
"And the rest?" Elira asked.
Caelum raised a brow. "We start playing offense."
Before she could speak, Azriel's hand brushed her arm—an unspoken warning.
Because across the room, two new guests had entered. Not in costume. Not in masks.
They didn't need them.
Their presence was war.
And one of them wore a ring Elira remembered all too well—from the fire.
Azriel's voice was low, cold. "We've got company."
Elira didn't flinch.
She smiled.
"Then let's give them a show."
But just as they turned back toward the crowd, a voice—quiet, unmistakable—froze her in place.
"Elira Vale."
It wasn't a question. It was a calling.
Elira's blood turned to ice.
She turned slowly, afraid to breathe.
There, standing beneath a chandelier that burned like false daylight, was a woman she never thought she'd see again. Her mother.
Alive.
Not chained. Not bleeding. Not broken.
Alive—and standing beside a man Elira didn't recognize, dressed like a guest, like royalty.
Her mother's eyes met hers, calm. Not afraid. Not even confused.
Like she belonged there.
Elira's hands curled into fists. Confusion swirled with dread, rising like bile in her throat.
She'd seen the footage. Her mother had been tortured. Bound. Bruised. On the edge of death.
But this?
This wasn't survival. This was something else.
Something worse.
And as her mother smiled—softly, like nothi
ng was wrong—Elira realized the real trap wasn't Room Theta.
It was this moment.
This revelation.
This betrayal yet to unfold.
**Chapter 20 — Blood Ties and Blind Spots**
The ballroom blurred around Elira.
The chandeliers, the velvet masks, the haunting melody echoing off marbled walls—it all faded. Because standing across from her, perfectly poised in a crimson gown, was the woman Elira thought she had buried in her memories.
Her mother.
Alive.
Standing beside a man with a hawkish expression and calculating eyes. A man she didn't recognize, but instantly distrusted.
She didn't move. She couldn't. The image of her mother strapped to a metal chair, bruised and bloody, flickered in her mind like static. This woman—elegant, unmarked, smiling faintly—wasn't the broken figure she'd seen.
"What the hell is going on?" she whispered.
Azriel had stiffened beside her, his posture dangerous, his eyes never leaving the unfamiliar man next to Elira's mother. Caelum and Talon exchanged glances, equally tensed.
Elira took a step forward, but Azriel's hand caught her arm.
"Not yet," he murmured. "That's not just your mother. That's a message."
She turned to him, voice raw. "A message from who?"
Azriel's gaze shifted subtly to the man beside her mother. "From someone who knows how to stage ghosts."
Before Elira could reply, the music in the ballroom shifted. The melody twisted, darker, more deliberate. A hush fell as all eyes turned to the staircase.
A new figure descended—a woman in a black mask laced with gold. The host. Or someone worse.
"Welcome," she said, her voice silk and steel. "To the exchange."
Elira's jaw clenched.
Caelum stepped closer. "They're calling it a game."
"It is a game," Azriel said flatly. "And we just got played."
Talon was already moving, silent and purposeful. Thalia's voice crackled in Elira's earpiece: "Multiple signals. The floor's wired. They planned for extraction. They're watching us."
Elira's hands curled into fists. Her mother's gaze flicked to hers, unreadable. Was she in on this? Was she being used?
Azriel leaned close, his breath a threat at her ear. "We get the list. Then we get her. You want answers, Vale? They're buried in blood and lies. Don't let your heart make you soft."
"Who says I have one?" she whispered back.
His eyes gleamed. "Good. You'll need to keep it that way."
The exchange began.
USB drives changed hands under tables. Folders passed in sealed briefcases. Everything was orchestrated chaos. Azriel signaled to Caelum, and the younger Moreaux moved into the crowd, shadowed by Talon.
Elira watched her mother disappear into a side door with the hawk-eyed man. Her chest burned.
She followed.
Azriel cursed, then followed her. Fast.
They slipped past dancers and servers, down a corridor where the lights flickered with low voltage menace. The side door creaked open. Inside was a study—glass cases, wine shelves, a hidden world of power.
Her mother stood there, alone now, facing a mirror. As if waiting.
"Mother," Elira said, her voice cutting through the stillness.
The woman turned. Not surprised. Not tearful.
"Elira," she said with perfect calm. "I wondered how long it would take."
Azriel stepped in behind her. Quiet, watchful. Dangerous.
Elira didn't move closer. "You're alive. You were tied to a chair. Tortured. They showed me."
Her mother tilted her head. "And you believed that?"
A pause.
Azriel exhaled through his nose, low. "It was real. Maybe not now. But it was."
Her mother smiled faintly. "There are things you don't understand, child."
"Then explain them," Elira snapped.
"Not yet." Her gaze flicked to Azriel. "Not in front of him."
"I'm not leaving," Elira said.
"Neither am I," Azriel echoed.
The woman's smile widened. Cold. Pleased.
"Then let the game continue. You're both already losing."
Elira stepped forward. "Who is he? The man you came in with."
"An ally. A ghost. A man who knows your name better than you think."
Azriel's hand twitched toward the gun beneath his coat.
Her mother saw it. "Still as twitchy as your father."
Elira froze. "You knew his father?"
Her mother only smiled.
"So much you don't know, Elira Vale. So much that will ruin you when it comes."
Then she reached into her gown and handed Elira a slip of paper. A new location. A new name.
"Start there. If you really want the truth."
Before Elira could react, her mother was gone. A panel in the wall clicked shut behind her.
Silence.
Elira stared at the paper.
Azriel watched her. Quiet. Unreadable.
"What now?" she asked.
He took the note from her hands. Read it.
Then: "Now we hunt a man named Gazom H."
And the war began again.