A week had passed.

  Hanna remained motionless, a ghost in a high-tech medical bed under the constant watch of The Hand’s top specialists. Though her physical wounds had vanished without leaving so much as a scar, she seemed trapped within the confines of a never-ending nightmare.

  Robert’s ordeal was no less dire. His catastrophic injuries had landed him in one of the organization's private hospitals, where he fought for his life in a deep, unwavering coma.

  The Hand Headquarters

  The chime of the elevator signaled its arrival at the basement level. Lady Jane stepped out with an air of absolute authority, her sharp footsteps echoing down the sterile, white corridor as two assistants trailed closely behind.

  "What is her status?" Lady Jane asked, not bothering to turn around.

  "According to the medical reports, Hanna’s physical body has fully recovered. Her regenerative system is extraordinary," her assistant reported gravely. "However... the doctors are at a loss as to why she won't wake up."

  "And the boy?"

  "Robert’s injuries were too severe, Lady. Internal bleeding and dozens of fractures. It could take a very long time for him to recover—and that’s only if he has the will to wake up at all."

  "What about his father?" Lady Jane asked, her tone dripping with newfound cynicism.

  The assistant sighed and shook her head. "It seems Senator Tammy hasn't spared a thought for his son. He hasn't set foot here once to check on the boy’s condition."

  Lady Jane’s lip curled into a sneer of pure disgust.

  "Typical. A useless man. Politics will always be more important to him than his own flesh and blood," she hissed. "Keep treating the boy. I want a full recovery. He’s done a great deal for Hanna."

  The assistant nodded in understanding.

  "Where is Misaki?" Lady Jane asked as they approached the main command center.

  "Still in her coffin. But when night falls, she emerges to watch over Hanna until dawn. She refuses to let anyone near the room during those hours."

  "Is she still angry?"

  "Yes, My Lady. She hasn't spoken a word to anyone. The atmosphere on her floor is freezing... and sometimes, we hear her screaming."

  Lady Jane let out a heavy sigh, one weighted with profound disappointment. She stood before the automatic glass doors, which slid open with a soft hiss to reveal a cutting-edge command center lined with monitors displaying satellite feeds and global data.

  "To think that one of our own would turn traitor," she said softly, her heels clicking against the polished marble floor.

  "Lady Jane," a man in a black suit holding a digital tablet approached her, his face taut.

  "Well?" Lady Jane asked curtly, her eyes drifting to a large topographic map on the screen.

  A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

  "Javier has tracked her location. It seems our suspicions were correct; she is currently under the protection of House Varkalis," the man reported.

  Lady Jane froze. Her lips twisted into a dark smirk before her expression shifted into something cold and lethal. She turned to her assistant, her gaze piercing.

  "Contact Javier," she commanded firmly. "Tell him I don't want that traitor brought back alive. Kill her."

  "Yes, My Lady. The order will be relayed immediately," the man replied with a bow, scurrying off to execute the death warrant.

  Lady Jane turned back to the monitors. To her, trespassing on The Hand’s territory was a grievance that could be settled. But a betrayal from within? That could only be paid for in blood.

  ________

  Wastwater, Cumbria. United Kingdom.

  A thick mist rose from the surface of the lake, swallowing the base of the towering mountains. At the end of a narrow, gravel path, an ancient manor stood silent and brooding, isolated from the rest of the world.

  The sun had just dipped below the horizon, but the main drive was already alive with the roar of engines. Several black SUVs tore through the darkness. Upon reaching the towering iron gates, the bars slid open automatically, allowing them through without pause.

  Floodlights snapped on in unison, illuminating the fleet of vehicles as they came to a halt before the grand entrance. The doors flew open. Burly men with grim faces stepped out, hands hovering over the weapons holstered at their hips.

  An elderly man was waiting at the top of the stairs. He bowed respectfully, though his eyes remained wary.

  "Welcome to House Varkalis, My Lord," he greeted the guests briefly.

  A tall man in a floor-length black coat stepped into the hall. Behind him followed a small entourage of men and women, each flanked by bodyguards who scanned the room incessantly.

  The old man escorted them into a vast hall, where flickering torches mounted on stone walls cast long, dancing shadows and an oppressive heat.

  One by one, the guests took their seats. Once they were settled, Victor entered. He wore a long white coat and was accompanied by two men and two women. He cast a sharp, judgmental look at the guests as he strode toward the head table.

  An assistant pulled out a chair for him, but Victor remained standing, surveying every face in the room with chilling intensity.

  "Where is Maximus? This meeting was his request," Victor’s voice rang out, cutting through the silence of the hall.

  "You think beasts like them keep to your schedule, Victor?" interrupted Lord Lucien Varkov, head of House Varkov.

  "I don't have time to wait around. The stench of a traitor in this house is making my throat itch," a woman’s voice added snidely.

  Victor shifted his sharp gaze to the leader of House Valcari. "Lady Valeriana, I didn't force you to come. You were the one dying to set foot here."

  "And here I am," Valeriana shot back with a glare. "I just wanted to see the traitor's bolt-hole for myself. Pathetic. This place is more suited for a kennel."

  Several of Victor’s guards stepped forward, bristling at the insult, but Victor raised a hand to restrain them.

  "Hahahaha..." Valeriana mocked, intentionally testing their patience.

  "Enough, Valeriana!"

  The voice came from Lord Alaric Von Draven, the high leader of House Velkan. His towering, muscular frame carried an aura powerful enough to silence Valeriana instantly.

  "I hear you’ve reclaimed Victoria?" Alaric asked, his eyes locked on Victor.

  Victor didn't answer immediately. He took his seat, adjusting his coat before giving a curt nod.

  "And what of her child?"

  "I don't know," Victor replied flatly. "The man with the answer hasn't arrived yet."

  "Why Maximus?" another asked.

  "I don't know. But the report from the hunters I hired says Victoria’s child is dead," Victor answered, his voice devoid of a single shred of sympathy.

  "What a cold-hearted old man," Lady Valeriana chimed in. "You’re talking about the murder of your own grandchild."

  Victor turned, his eyes narrowing into lethal slits. "I have no grandchild. If that brat were in front of me right now, I’d wring her neck myself."

  CLAP!

  CLAP!

  CLAP!

  A slow, rhythmic applause killed the bickering. A gargantuan silhouette appeared in the doorway. The man was massive, his height dwarfing even the formidable Lord Alaric. Each of his steps seemed to make the floorboards groan.

  "Congratulations, Victor," the gravelly voice boomed, sounding like stones grinding together.

  Maximus stepped into the center of the hall with a smile that looked more like a predator’s snarl. "That grandchild you claim is dead... she just killed three of my men."