The flight was a ninety-minute escape from reality. We were like a ghost crew, flying above a world that no longer belonged to us. Our only destination felt like a myth. Nyx was connected to the plane's communication system, her fingers moving quickly as she coordinated with Elias. Her voice was a low, encrypted murmur. Aria sat across from me, her eyes red, her hands wrapped around a hot mug of tea that the quiet pilot had provided. She stared at the leather-bound ledger on the table between us, not in fear but with a cold, new fury. The Moretti fire had truly been ignited.
I stayed silent. I just watched the clouds, my hand resting on my backpack, replaying the sound of his voice. "Isabella." It was a hook, a leash, a promise. I was going to follow it, no matter how deep into the darkness it led.
"We're descending," Nyx announced, her voice tense. "We're entering the dead zone. All communications will be down until we land."
The small plane banked sharply, diving from the bright sunlight into a thick, gray sea of clouds. We were blind, buffeted by winds that slammed against the fuselage. The engines whined in protest. Then, just as suddenly, we broke through the clouds.
The view was a vertical, breathtaking, and terrifying expanse of rock and ice. We were not merely in the Alps; we were in their jaws. The plane navigated a narrow, winding valley, and the granite peaks felt so close that I could almost reach out and touch them. There was no civilization, no roads, no sign of human life.
"Where is it?" Aria whispered, her hands gripping the armrests. "Where's the airfield?"
Nyx pointed ahead. On a high, flat plateau, a small, unassuming cluster of low-profile, eco-friendly buildings sat against the mountainside. It looked like a climate research station, designed to blend in and remain unseen. A single, short runway, covered in fresh snow, was the only indication that this was an airfield.
The landing was rough; the crosswinds tossed the plane, but the pilot set us down with jarring, expert precision. As we taxied toward the main building, a section of the mountainside—a massive slab of what I had thought was solid rock—groaned, split, and began to open. It revealed a dark, cavernous hangar built directly into the mountain.
"Welcome to the Serpent's Heart," Nyx murmured, her voice filled with quiet awe. This wasn't just a safe house; it was a fortress.
As soon as the plane's ramp lowered, we were hit by the thin, frigid air of the Alps. Elias Vance was there, waiting for us. He was no longer the tired, grizzled analyst; he was the guardian of this fortress, his expression sharp and his posture rigid.
"Thank God," he breathed, his eyes scanning us, then landing on the ledger in my backpack. His relief was evident, but controlled. "We were blind until you landed. The communication blackout is total. This way. Quickly."
He led us from the high-tech hangar into a concrete bunker. It was the complete opposite of the penthouse. There was no art, no marble, no glass—only brushed steel, reinforced concrete, and the quiet hum of a self-contained geothermal power source.
"Where are the others?" I asked, my main concern.
"Medical bay," Elias said as he guided us down a brightly lit, sterile corridor. "Leo is stable, although he's already tried to discharge himself twice. Rook is ready for surgery on his leg. And Monsieur Marchand is with them, refusing to be seen until he gives a full report. He's a tough guy."
We entered the medical bay. It was a state-of-the-art operating theater. Leo was sitting on a gurney, his heavily bandaged arm making him look pale, his face a mask of anger at his own condition. Marchand was beside him, sipping hot tea. They both looked up as we walked in.
"Bella," Leo said, his voice a rough rasp. That single word carried all the relief he would allow himself.
"You're alive," I replied, a wave of relief washing over me. "The team..."
"Nyx's guy, Rook, is a soldier," Leo stated. "He'll be fine." He was already back to business. He had survived.
"We have work to do," I said, matching his cold tone.
Elias led us to the heart of the base, a massive, subterranean command center. It was two stories high and featured a holographic tactical map of the world alongside a wall of servers that hummed with immense power. This was Dante's true throne room—not the glass penthouse in the sky, but this concrete bunker designed for one purpose: war.
"The team is gathered, as much as it can be," Elias said. "A few of Dante's loyal security, off the record. All ghosts."
I walked to the long, black conference table and unzipped my backpack. I pulled out the ledger and placed it in the center. This book, which had cost so much blood, lay under the harsh lights.
"Good," Elias said, focusing on the book. "Now we can start. We can analyze—"
"No," I interrupted. Every eye in the room—Elias's, Nyx's, Aria's—turned to me.
I pulled the burner phone from my pocket. "We're not analyzing anything. We're not planning a war. We're on a rescue mission. And they've given us a way in."
I placed the phone on the table. "Nyx, that audio file. The 'ghost' message. I want to know where it came from."
"Queen, I already told you, it's untraceable," Nyx replied, moving to a terminal. "It's a dead end. Just psychological warfare."
"It's a mistake," I countered, my voice firm with a certainty I couldn't explain. "He's arrogant, this new boss. He's a sadist. He wanted us to hear it. He gave us a glimmer of hope to taunt us with. In that arrogance, he must have left a flaw. A clue. Find it."
Nyx looked at me, then at the console. The challenge was accepted. "Okay," she said, her fingers poised. "You want a miracle? I'll find you a miracle. I'm dissecting the file, piece by piece. Looking for metadata, a routing echo, anything."
We waited. The only sound was the clattering of her keyboard. Aria, Leo, and Marchand had been wheeled into the room, a silent, wounded audience.
Nyx muttered to herself, "No... no... a clean bounce from Kiev... a dead server in Hong Kong... wait..."
She froze, her eyes widening.
"What is it?" I asked, anxious.
"This is impossible," she whispered. "It's... it's not a trap. It's a signature. He's not just listening. He's broadcasting."
"Nyx, talk to me!" I shouted.
She turned away from the screen, her face pale with a fresh, terrifying understanding. "The audio file wasn't just a ghost; it's piggybacking. It's riding a constant, encrypted, low-level data stream. It's a heartbeat."
"A heartbeat?" Elias inquired.
"It's a biometric feed!" Nyx exclaimed, the realization hitting hard. "They've got him connected to a monitor! The audio was just bait to draw us to the signal. They're showing us he's alive, in real-time. They're letting us see his vital signs."
My heart raced. "Can you trace it?"
"It's the most secure, heavily encrypted signal I've ever seen," Nyx said, a new fear creeping into her voice. "But it's constant. It's not a ghost; it's a lighthouse. And I can follow a lighthouse."
She pressed a final key. A map of the world appeared on the main holographic display. A red, pulsing line traced across the globe, from Brussels to an untraceable node, and then... it began to focus.
"I've got him," Nyx whispered, her voice breaking. "I have a lock. The signal is coming from a private, fortified island in the Mediterranean. A place that doesn't officially exist. God... they're not just holding him. They're showing him off."
The map zoomed in on a single, rocky island—a fortress.
"They made a mistake," I said, my voice cold and determined. "They gave us a target."