The hope in that file was so intense and unexpected that it felt more painful than the grief.
My world, which had just been rebuilt on anger, cracked and splintered into countless pieces.
"Play it again," Aria whispered, her voice pleading. She jumped into the front seat, her face pale and desperate, her eyes locked on Nyx's phone. "Nyx, play it again!"
Nyx, her hands shaking so much she could barely tap the screen, replayed the file.
"...Isabella..."
It was a gasp. A breath. The sound of a man in deep, unimaginable pain, forcing a single word from a failing body. But it was his voice. It wasn't a memory. It was a present, terrible, beautiful sound.
"He's alive," I whispered, those words feeling like a prayer, a statement of belief. A fresh wave of tears, not from grief but from a fierce, painful hope, filled my eyes. "They didn't kill him. They took him."
Aria sobbed, her laughter a broken, hysterical sound as she clutched the dashboard. "He's alive... oh, God... he's alive..."
"Hold on," Nyx said, her professional instincts kicking in, pushing against the emotional tidal wave. She was already typing, her other hand a blur on her phone's keypad. "This is a ghost. It's routed through many dead-drop servers. It's meant to be untraceable. It could be a trap."
"It's not a trap," I insisted, my voice shaking but my certainty strong. "I know him. I know his voice."
"No, you don't understand," Nyx said, her face serious. "It's not a lie. It could be a recording. The new boss, the one from the comms, is playing with us. He could have recorded that in the room before they... before."
Her words were a harsh wake-up call. She was right. This could be a new kind of psychological torture. A way to keep us off-balance.
"And why?" I retorted, my mind racing, grabbing onto this new logic, this new hope. "Why would they take him? They had him. He was wounded, defenseless. They could have ended it. Why keep him alive?"
The question hung in the cramped, humid car.
"Leverage," Nyx whispered, the awful truth dawning on all of us. "The ledger. They know we have it. They know it's not the only copy. Nyx and I had access to the server, and the Curator is still out there. They know we have their secrets."
I looked down at the leather-bound book in my lap. It was no longer a tombstone. It was a bargaining chip.
"They didn't kill him because he is the only thing they have that we will trade for," I said, the words tasting like ash. "They have my king. And I have their kingdom."
The entire war had shifted. It was no longer about revenge. It was a hostage negotiation. A rescue mission.
My grief, which had been a heavy weight, was now an inferno. My rage was no longer about avenging his death; it was about preventing it.
"Nyx," I ordered, my voice sharp, clear, and firm. "Get Elias on the line. Now. Secure channel. We are done running. We are going on the offensive."
Nyx nodded, her fingers already moving. A moment later, she handed me the phone. It rang once.
"Nyx?" Elias Vance's voice greeted me, strained and exhausted.
"It's Isabella," I said.
The silence on the other end was thick. "Child... my God," he finally whispered. "We... we heard the gunfire. We saw the comms go dark. We thought..."
"He's alive, Elias," I interrupted, my voice allowing no argument. "Dante is alive. The Syndicate has him. They're holding him for the ledger."
"He... what?" The calm, collected agent was stunned. "How do you know?"
"We have proof. I don't have time to explain. The mission has changed. We are no longer dismantling the Syndicate. We are getting him back. I need a base of operations, all the cash you can gather, and a secure line to Kenan Osman. We are calling in every favor, every marker, every ghost in the underworld. We will tear this city apart until we find him."
There was another pause. I could hear him breathing, his mind adjusting to the new reality. The queen had given her first order.
"Zurich is compromised," Elias said, his voice slipping back into its professional tone. The general was back. "Dante had a final backup plan. A place he called 'The Serpent's Heart,' after the Fafnir myth. It's a private, off-grid airfield in the Swiss Alps, disguised as an environmental research station. It's completely self-sufficient. I'm already here with Marchand."
He sent the coordinates to Nyx's phone.
"Get here," Elias commanded, his voice now filled with a new determination. "Bring the book. We'll build the army. And we will get the boy home."
I hung up. Nyx had the coordinates. She started the old, beaten-up Volvo. The rain had stopped, and the first weak light of a new day was breaking over the city.
I looked at the Moretti Tower, a dark, silent grave in the distance. "Hold on, Dante," I whispered, my hand tightening around the gun in my pocket. "We're coming."