Jay POV
Philippines — East Wing — Clinical Containment
I floated. Not asleep—not awake.
The drug wrapped around me like wet cotton, heavy and suffocating. I could hear things but not place them. Smell antiseptic so sharp it burned. Feel pressure—straps biting into my wrists, my ankles, across my thighs.
My belly.
My baby.
A dull ache pulsed there, steady but wrong. I tried to move my hand—nothing. Panic surged, sluggish but feral.
Move. Please. Just move.
My eyelids fluttered open.
White ceiling. Seamless panels. A recessed camera lens blinking red above me. Tubes snaked from my arm to a drip hanging overhead. Cold gel smeared across my stomach, wires taped down in neat, clinical loops. A fetal monitor hummed softly, rhythmic.
Thump. Thump. Thump.
Relief punched the air from my lungs.
"Okay," I whispered hoarsely. "Okay… you're okay…"
My voice sounded foreign. Distant. Like it belonged to someone else.
A shadow moved beyond the glass wall.
I stiffened.
Footsteps approached—measured, unhurried. A door slid open with a pneumatic hiss.
He walked in like he owned the air. Kaizer.
Crisp black suit. No lab coat. No gloves. He didn't need to pretend this was medicine. His presence alone rewrote the room into a cage.
He stopped beside the bed, eyes flicking briefly to the monitor before settling on me.
"You almost made it," he said calmly. "The ladder was an inspired choice. Too bad you failed"
I tried to spit at him. My mouth barely worked.
"Fuck… you," I rasped.
A corner of his mouth twitched—not a smile. Amusement without warmth.
"You're stronger than the projections suggested," he continued. "That escape attempt forced us to accelerate your timeline."
My heart hammered. "What… timeline?"
He leaned closer, resting his hand on the rail beside my hip. Not touching me. Worse.
"The East Wing isn't punishment, Jay. It's protection. You're too valuable for unpredictability."
"Your guards hurt me," I said, voice cracking. "You twisted my wrist—"
"Yes," he interrupted smoothly. "And you endangered the fetus by resisting sedation. We'll both have to accept consequences."
Ice flooded my veins.
"Don't talk about my baby like it belongs to you."
He finally looked directly at me then—truly looked. Dark eyes, sharp and assessing.
"It does," he said. "Genetically. Strategically. Symbolically." Arrogance. That was pure arrogance.
A growl tore out of me despite myself. "You're insane. It is mine. And keifer's"
"No," Kaizer replied. "I'm prepared."
He tapped a control panel built into the bed. A soft whir followed, and restraints tightened—just a fraction. Enough to remind me I had no leverage.
"You're carrying the convergence point of several bloodlines that have resisted consolidation for decades," he said. "Watson. Mariano. My own… contributions."
I thrashed weakly. "You don't get to rewrite people like this!"
"I already have," he said. "Your mother. Keifer's mother. The women you saw beyond the glass."
My breath hitched. "What did you do to them?"
Kaizer straightened. "I gave them purpose."
The monitor beeped faster. He glanced at it with faint irritation.
"You're agitating the fetus."
"Good," I snapped. "Maybe he knows you're a monster."
Something dark flickered across Kaizer's face—gone as quickly as it came.
"You will rest," he said. "You will comply. And when the time comes, you will give birth under optimal conditions."
"And then what?" I whispered. "You take my baby and lock me away like them?"
He paused. Then, softly, "That depends entirely on Keifer."
My chest seized. "You leave him out of this."
Kaizer smiled then. A thin, precise thing.
"I brought him into this."
He turned toward the door. "Sedation levels will remain light. I want you aware enough to understand what's happening."
The door slid shut behind him. The locks engaged. I stared at the ceiling as tears streamed sideways into my hair.
"Keifer," I whispered again. "Please…"
The baby kicked.
Hard.
Like an answer.
Keifer POV
En Route — Black Charter Jet — Indian Ocean Airspace
The engines hummed low and steady, a predator's purr.
I sat strapped in, gear laid out with surgical precision on the table before me. Sidearm. Knife. Suppressor. Fiber-wire. Comm bead pressed into my palm like a promise.
Across from me, Niles reviewed satellite overlays, tapping coordinates, mapping guard rotations, power nodes, med bays.
"This isn't a smash-and-grab," he said. "It's an extraction under medical surveillance. Which means redundancy. Cameras. Biometric locks. Fail-safes."
"Then we cut power," I said flatly.
"And trigger lockdowns? No." He shook his head. "Kaizer designed this place assuming you'd try that."
I leaned back, jaw tight. "So what's the play?"
Niles looked up. "We don't go in loud."
Silence stretched.
"You're joking," I said
"We go in invisible," he corrected. "Internal access."
He brought up another image—blueprints layered with personnel IDs.
"There's a transfer protocol scheduled in forty-eight hours. East Wing to Primary Research Facility. Maritime transport. Limited escort. Kaizer will be present."
My blood went cold. "He's moving her."
"Yes," Niles said. "Which means he thinks he has time."
I smiled for the first time since London. It wasn't kind.
"Then we take that from him."
Niles nodded. "We intercept the transfer. Confined space. Reduced manpower. No medical redundancy."
I leaned forward. "And Jay?"
"She'll be sedated. Restrained. But alive." He met my eyes. "You get one shot at this, Keifer. One."
I didn't hesitate. "That's all I need."
The jet dipped slightly as it adjusted course.
I closed my eyes.
And felt her.
Not words—just pressure. Fear. Heat. A pulse that synced with my own.
"I'm coming," I whispered into the dark. "Hold on."
The comm bead crackled softly.
"Landing in twenty-two hours," the pilot announced.
I stood, snapping the final buckle into place on my vest.
"Kaizer thinks this is a chessboard," I said quietly. "He thinks he's ten moves ahead."
Niles checked his weapon. "And you?"
"I'm not playing chess," I replied.
I looked toward the sealed cabin door, toward a continent away, toward the woman carrying my child.
"I'm ending the game."