The new door was being installed when it happened.
Viktor had escorted Elara back to her wing—or what was left of it after the explosion. The sitting area was a disaster of smoke damage and debris, but the bedroom remained relatively intact. He'd checked her over with gentle efficiency, confirming she was physically unharmed despite the psychological trauma.
"I'll be right outside," he said, positioning himself in the hallway. "The construction crew is working on the new door. Should be finished within the hour."
An hour. One hour between me and a door that can withstand explosives.
She nodded, too exhausted to speak. The adrenaline crash was hitting hard, leaving her shaky and hollow. She retreated to the bathroom—the only space still private, still hers—and stared at her reflection in the mirror.
I look like a ghost. Pale, shaken, eyes too wide. Like someone who just survived a warzone.
Because she had. Her home—if the penthouse could be called that—had become a battlefield. Four people were dead. Because of her. Because she'd met with Lucien and given him exactly what he needed to plan an assault.
Kael was right. I walked straight into a trap. And people died for it.
She splashed water on her face, trying to wash away the smell of smoke and gunpowder. But the scent clung to her skin, her hair, her clothes—a reminder that violence had a way of leaving marks that went deeper than blood.
I chose to stay. When they offered escape, I chose him. What does that say about me?
The sound of voices in the hallway made her pause—not Viktor's steady baritone, but multiple voices, sharp with urgency.
"Sir, you can't be in here. The area is still being secured—"
"I'm here to repair the ventilation system. Building management sent me."
"Nobody was scheduled for—"
The sound that followed was wrong—not a gunshot, but something softer, more personal. A grunt of pain, then the heavy thud of a body hitting the floor.
Viktor. Oh God, that was Viktor.
Elara froze in the bathroom, heart hammering. Should she hide? Call for help? With what—there was no phone, no way to communicate beyond screaming.
The door. The new door isn't installed yet. They can get in.
Footsteps in her bedroom—multiple sets, moving with purpose. Not the heavy boots of Kael's security, but something lighter, more tactical.
They came back. Price's team came back for a second attempt.
"Clear. Target should be in the bathroom."
Target. I'm a target again.
She looked around frantically for anything that could be used as a weapon. A towel rod? Pathetic. The mirror? Bolted to the wall. Nothing. Kael had stripped the space so thoroughly that she had nothing to defend herself with.
This is why he controls everything. Because given the chance, his enemies will take it all away.
The bathroom door burst open—not locked, why would it be when she was supposed to be safely contained in her wing?—and two men in tactical gear flooded the small space.
"Target acquired. Moving to extract."
Extract. They're really doing this. They're actually taking me.
"No—" The word barely left her mouth before hands grabbed her, professional and efficient, spinning her around and restraining her with practiced ease.
"Don't fight, Miss Chen. We're here to help you."
Help. Everyone thinks they're helping me by kidnapping me.
She fought anyway—clawing, kicking, screaming—but they were trained and she wasn't. Within seconds, she was restrained, arms pinned behind her back with zip ties that cut into her wrists.
"Subject is resisting. Administer sedative."
No. No, not drugs. Not unconscious.
"Wait—please—" But one of them was already pulling out a syringe, the liquid inside catching the light with ominous clarity.
"This will make it easier. For everyone."
She tried to twist away, but the grip on her arms was iron. The needle found her neck with practiced precision, and she felt the sharp sting of injection followed by immediate warmth spreading through her bloodstream.
No. No, I have to stay awake. Have to—
Her legs went weak first, muscles turning to water. The hands holding her were the only thing keeping her upright as her body stopped responding to her brain's increasingly desperate commands.
Kael. I need Kael. Where is—
"Move! We've got maybe ninety seconds before his people realize what's happening."
They were dragging her—she could feel the movement but couldn't make her limbs cooperate to resist. The world was starting to blur at the edges, sounds becoming muffled like she was underwater.
Fight. You have to fight. You can't let them—
But her body had other ideas, the sedative working with ruthless efficiency. Her head lolled forward, consciousness slipping away like water through her fingers.
They were in the hallway now—she could tell by the change in air, the different quality of sound. Past Viktor's motionless form—was he dead? unconscious?—toward what she assumed was their exit route.
This is happening. I'm actually being taken. And I can't do anything to stop it.
Then she heard it—a sound that cut through the drug-induced haze like a knife.
"ELARA!"
Kael's voice, raw with an emotion she'd never heard from him before. Not controlled fury or calculated menace, but pure, undiluted terror.
She tried to respond, to call out, but her vocal cords wouldn't cooperate. Could only make a sound that was half moan, half whimper as the men carrying her quickened their pace.
"Contact! Thorne's people—"
Gunfire erupted, close enough that she felt the pressure of the shots even through the sedative fog. The hands gripping her arms tightened, using her body as a shield as they backed toward wherever they'd planned their escape.
"Get her to the extraction point! Now!"
More gunfire. Shouting. The chaos of combat happening around her while she dangled like a puppet with cut strings, consciousness fading despite her desperate attempts to cling to awareness.
Stay awake. You have to stay awake. If you pass out, you don't know where they're taking you.
But the sedative was stronger than willpower. Her eyelids felt like lead, her thoughts scattering like leaves in wind.
Through the haze, she saw him.
Kael, bursting into the hallway with his security team, looking like vengeance and terror combined. His white shirt was soaked in blood—fresh blood, dark and wet—and his face held an expression she'd never seen before.
Not the controlled businessman. Not the cold Ghost. Not even the vulnerable man from the study.
This was something primal. Something broken. Something that looked at her being dragged away by armed men and shattered completely.
"ELARA!" He screamed her name again, and the raw agony in his voice made her chest ache even through the drugs.
Their eyes met across the chaos—his dark and desperate, hers barely focused but seeing him clearly enough to understand.
He was too late.
The realization was written on his face: too late to stop them, too late to reach her, too late to undo whatever choice or mistake had led to this moment.
I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. This is my fault. All of it—
But the words wouldn't come. Her mouth wouldn't work. Could only watch as he charged toward them, gun raised, his security team engaging the men holding her with the kind of violence that suggested orders to shoot to kill.
"Don't let them take her! I don't care about casualties—DON'T LET THEM TAKE HER!"
His voice cracked on the last word, breaking in a way that suggested something inside him was breaking too.
I did this. By meeting Lucien, by giving them reconnaissance, by being too curious to stay in the cage that was keeping me safe.
One of the men holding her grunted—hit by gunfire? she couldn't tell anymore—and suddenly she was falling, the hands supporting her gone. The floor rushed up to meet her, but she barely felt the impact through the numbness spreading through her limbs.
Get up. You have to get up. You have to—
But her body wouldn't obey. Could only lie there, vision darkening at the edges, as the battle raged around her.
Kael was closer now—she could see his shoes, expensive leather now scuffed and bloodstained, could hear his voice giving orders with desperate urgency.
"Secure the perimeter! Medical—I need medical NOW! And get me those—"
The rest faded into static as darkness pulled at her consciousness with increasing insistence.
No. Stay awake. If you pass out, you might not wake up. Might not—
Hands on her face—different hands, familiar hands, careful despite their urgency. Kael, kneeling beside her, his fingers gentle as they tilted her face toward his.
"Elara. Elara, look at me. Stay with me. Don't you dare—"
She tried to focus on his face, but the features kept blurring. Could only see his eyes—dark and desperate and holding an emotion she'd never seen there before.
Fear.
The Ghost was afraid.
I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I didn't mean for—
"Paramedics are en route. ETA three minutes."
"She doesn't have three minutes! What did they give her? WHAT DID THEY INJECT HER WITH?"
Someone responding, medical terminology she couldn't follow. Kael's voice cutting through with absolute authority: "Then FIND OUT and get me the antidote. I don't care what it costs or how many—"
The words dissolved into white noise as her eyelids finally gave up the fight. The last thing she saw was Kael's face, beautiful and terrible and completely devastated.
The last thing she heard was his voice, rough with an emotion that sounded like it was tearing him apart: "Don't leave me. Please, Elara, don't leave me. I can't lose you. I can't—"
But the darkness was stronger than his voice, stronger than her will to stay, stronger than everything except the terrible understanding that she was disappearing and there was nothing either of them could do to stop it.
I'm sorry.
The thought was her last conscious one before everything went black.
And somewhere in the void, she could still hear him screaming her name—desperate, broken, human in a way the Ghost had never been before.
But she couldn't answer.
Couldn't tell him she was sorry.
Couldn't tell him that in the end, when they'd offered her freedom, she'd chosen to stay with him.
Couldn't tell him that she'd finally understood his cage wasn't imprisonment but protection.
Couldn't tell him any of the things that mattered because the darkness swallowed everything—his voice, her thoughts, the world itself—until there was nothing left but silence and the terrible certainty that everything had just changed in ways that couldn't be undone.
Everything went black.