The lights died in an instant, plunging the penthouse into a sudden, eerie silence.
I froze, barely breathing. My fingers gripped the armrest of the sofa, heart pounding in my ears.
"James?" I whispered.
He was already moving — silent, efficient, every step rehearsed like a soldier trained for war. He reached the emergency cabinet near the bookshelf, pulled out a flashlight and a sleek handgun, and returned to me.
"Stay close," he ordered. "Don't speak unless I tell you to."
"Do you think it's them?" I asked, my voice barely a tremor.
"It's not a power cut," he replied. "It's a warning."
A warning.
Or a message.
James tapped into his watch, bringing up the real-time feed from the building's security system.
Everything was offline.
The cameras.
The backup generators.
Even the silent alarms.
"They've hacked everything," he said under his breath. "Whoever's coming… knows what they're doing."
I shivered.
James handed me a small earpiece. "If we get separated, say my name. I'll hear you."
"Where are we going?"
"My safe room. Below the penthouse."
We moved through the shadows, guided only by the narrow beam of the flashlight and James's instinct. Every creak of the floorboards sounded like a scream. My legs trembled, but I kept walking. Kept trusting him.
We reached the far end of the hallway where a wall panel slid open with his thumbprint.
Behind it, a steel door.
We stepped in. He locked it behind us with four separate mechanisms.
The safe room wasn't large, but it was impenetrable — reinforced concrete, backup generators, water, food, weapons, and a secondary computer system.
"Sit," James said. "We're not leaving until I know who's trying to silence us."
I sank into the seat as he powered on the backup server. The screen lit up with files — blueprints, encrypted folders, and audio recordings.
"Someone inside my father's company helped orchestrate this," he said, eyes sharp. "And I'm going to find out who."
He clicked open a new document. It was a transcript. One I hadn't seen before.
> Confidential Memo: Project R.H.
– Location: Redwood Heights
– Subject: Sophia Moore
– Status: High Risk.
– Target: Female child, under 1. Objective: Terminate.
My blood ran cold.
"Redwood Heights…" I breathed. "That's what the initials meant. Not a name. A place."
James looked at me, his face pale. "They tried to have you killed."
Silence swallowed the room.
All my life I thought my mother died in an accident. Now I realized she died saving me from something far more deliberate.
> They wanted me gone.
> And they almost succeeded.
James reached for my hand, his warmth grounding me.
"Amelia," he said softly. "Whoever was behind this didn't just want to hurt your mother. They wanted to erase you from existence."
"I need to know why," I whispered.
James nodded. "And we will."
He traced his fingers down the screen and found a secondary document:
> Sponsor: J.W.
Approval Date: April 18th.
Executor: Confidential.
"J.W.," I murmured. "Johnathan Windsor?"
"It has to be," James said, his voice cold.
I pressed a palm to my stomach.
I didn't know what hurt more — the truth… or that it had taken this long to find it.
Suddenly, the monitors blinked.
A message appeared:
> RUN.
James stared at the screen. "They've found us. Even here."
"But how—?"
His eyes darkened. "The server's been mirrored. Someone very close to me is feeding them everything."
The building shook.
A blast.
The lights flickered again.
James grabbed my hand. "We have to leave. Now."
I didn't ask where.
Didn't hesitate.
Because I knew now — the war had truly begun.
And no one was safe.
---