It started with a knock that wasn't a knock.
A soft reverberation on steel—like the echo of a hand brushing too close, like the whisper of fate brushing against the vault's edge.
Damien stood up instantly. He pressed one hand to the door, the other reaching for the concealed weapon strapped beneath the emergency panel. His eyes flicked to Emilia, who sat cross-legged on the blanket-lined corner they'd turned into a makeshift camp. She was clutching the emergency radio, her expression unreadable, though her fingers had stopped trembling.
Neither of them breathed.
A second knock. This one firmer.
Emilia's lips parted. "Calla?" she whispered into the radio.
Static.
Then—
"—wrong frequency. He switched them again. You have three minutes before someone tries to breach. You're not alone down there."
Emilia's spine straightened. She turned the dial on the panel, switching codes, then switched back.
Damien moved. Silent, deliberate. Like a weapon trained for moments like this.
But something had changed.
He wasn't just the strategist anymore. He wasn't just the protector. There was a glint in his eyes now—a low, simmering fire that burned like vengeance.
"I want a full perimeter report," he growled into his watch mic. "Anything on thermal. And get Jackson—tell him to wake the ghosts."
Emilia stared at him. "Ghosts?"
Damien looked over his shoulder, eyes sharp.
"My off-grid security team. People who don't exist in databases. People Vale should've thought twice about provoking."
She stood slowly. "You… have a black-ops team?"
"I have a lot of things, Emilia. I just didn't want to drag you into that world."
"Well," she said dryly, "I think it might be a little late for that."
The steel door clicked. Not a breach. A scan. A fingerprint. A hiss of gas.
Emilia stumbled back.
Damien lunged forward, ripping a scarf from the kit and pressing it to her mouth. "Don't breathe. It's not poison—it's a tracer. They're trying to mark you."
She nodded, dazed, then leaned into him. His hand found the back of her neck, firm, grounding.
"Why now?" she managed.
"Because they're scared," Damien whispered. "He knows we're getting close."
A new voice buzzed in over the static.
Calla again, breathless.
"He left the drive, Damien. The one with the kill codes. But it's booby-trapped. You touch it wrong, it fries everything—including the access to his off-shore funds."
Damien's lips curled.
"Then we don't touch it wrong."
---
Outside the vault, beyond six inches of reinforced titanium, footsteps echoed like distant thunder.
Vale's men.
But Damien didn't flinch.
He pulled a small black chip from his belt, pressed it into the panel, and tapped a six-digit code.
"Opening tunnel four. We're not going to fight our way out."
Emilia blinked. "There's a tunnel?"
"There's always a tunnel."
It hissed open. Cool air swept in, laced with dust and salt. Underground. Coastal.
As they stepped into the narrow passage, lights flickering to life along the edges, Emilia looked back once. At the vault. At the silence they were leaving behind.
"Do we run now?" she asked softly.
"No," Damien said. "We hunt."
---
Above ground, Vale stood in the ruins of the west wing.
His eyes were on the flames still curling from the rafters. His gloved hand held the discarded photo of Emilia—one from her college years. Smiling. Unaware.
"They're moving," said the man behind him.
"I know," Vale said.
"Should we pursue?"
"No," he said again, his voice cold. "Let them think they've gained ground. Let the devil believe he's winning."
Then he crushed the photo in his hand, and turned toward the cameras.
"Release the tapes."
"Tapes?"
"Of Emilia. From before the marriage. Let's see what happens when secrets start to bleed."
And with that, the game changed again.
---
Back in the tunnel, Damien's phone vibrated.
Emilia glanced at him.
He read the message, then looked up.
And for the first time in days—he swore.
"What?" she said.
His voice was quiet.
"Your past. It's leaking."
And then she saw it.
Her face.
On a screen. In a dress she hadn't worn since the month before the marriage.
Beside a man who wasn't Damien.
And a whisper of a lie from years ago—
Threatening everything they had left.