The helicopter shook.
Margaret's hands were white on the controls.
Claire sat beside her.
Silent.
Smiling.
Mother and daughter reunited by gunpoint and vengeance.
Scarlett watched them.
Gun ready.
Finger on trigger.
Trust was a liability.
Vincent taught her that.
Vincent taught her everything.
Even how to kill him.
"Where?" Margaret shouted.
Over the rotors.
Over the wind.
"Real Red Ace," Scarlett answered.
"Burn it. All of it."
"And the servers? The files? Your revolution?"
"New location. New start. New rules."
Claire laughed.
Musical.
Cruel.
"Vincent's dead and you're still following his script. Rise from ashes. Build from ruin. Create the next generation of monsters."
"I'm not Vincent."
"No." Claire turned.
Green eyes burning.
"You're worse. You're the one who succeeded. The perfect daughter. The final ace. The crown he wanted all along."
Scarlett didn't answer.
Looked out at Neon Archipelago.
Dawn painting the towers gold and blood.
The city she burned.
The city she saved.
The city she would remake.
Or destroy.
---
The real Red Ace was waiting.
Dom stood at the entrance.
Mechanical arm raised.
Gun in hand.
Not aimed.
Present.
Jules emerged behind him.
Laptop open.
Screens showing the chaos.
The arrests.
The collapse.
The birth.
"You found them," Dom said.
Not a question.
"Found more."
Scarlett stepped out.
Helped Rosa.
Helped Elena.
Then Claire.
Then Margaret.
The family she didn't choose.
The family she would use.
"Claire Marchetti. Vincent's first. The ghost who wasn't dead."
Dom's gun moved.
Aimed.
"Stand down," Scarlett said.
"She's with us."
"She's with herself."
"Same thing. For now."
Claire smiled.
Walked past Dom.
Close enough to touch.
Close enough to kill.
Neither moved.
The tension held.
Then broke.
"Servers are moving," Jules said.
Breaking the silence.
Breaking the moment.
"Kai's people. Underground network. Twelve locations. Decentralized. Untraceable."
"And the broadcast?" Scarlett asked.
"Global. Continuous. Irreversible." Jules looked up.
Green eyes proud.
Terrified.
Loyal.
"The Seven Houses are finished. But the system—"
"The system adapts," Claire finished.
"Always. Forever. You burned the players. Not the game."
"Then we burn the game."
Scarlett walked to the red table.
The skeletons.
The ghosts.
Her predecessors.
Her sisters.
All of them.
Failed.
Broken.
Dead.
She placed her hand on the felt.
Dust rose.
Settled.
"I'm not Vincent," she said.
Quiet.
Final.
Absolute.
"I'm not Claire. Not Margaret. Not any of you."
"Then what?" Rosa asked.
First words since the submarine.
Gravel and pain.
"What are you?"
Scarlett smiled.
The cold one.
The new one.
The only one.
"I'm the end. And the beginning."
She pulled out the crystal key.
The broken crown.
Held it high.
"Vincent built a kingdom of shadows. Of secrets. Of manufactured daughters and broken crowns. I build something else."
"What?"
"Choice." She crushed the key.
Shattered it.
Let the pieces fall.
"No more aces. No more wild cards. No more games."
The screens flickered.
Changed.
Showing her face.
Not a broadcast.
A message.
Direct.
Final.
"My name is Scarlett Vance. I was manufactured. I was trained. I was sold. Now I'm free. And I free you. All of you. The files are open. The accounts are public. The secrets are yours. Do with them what you will."
She turned off the camera.
Looked at them.
Her family.
Her enemies.
Her creation.
"Now we run. Or we fight. Or we build. Choose."
Silence.
Heavy.
True.
Then Margaret moved.
Fast.
Too fast.
Knife in hand.
Not at Scarlett.
At Claire.
"For my maid," she whispered.
"For my real daughter. For the one I actually burned."
Claire moved.
Faster.
Trained.
Deadly.
She caught Margaret's wrist.
Broke it.
Clean.
Precise.
Took the knife.
Held it to her mother's throat.
"For making me," Claire said.
Soft.
Intimate.
Murderous.
"For the lab. For the training. For the fire that wasn't mine."
"Do it," Margaret whispered.
"End it. I've lost everything. Empire. Daughter. Purpose. Give me this. Give me—"
Scarlett shot.
Once.
The knife fell.
Claire's hand bled.
Grazed.
Warning.
"Enough," Scarlett said.
Gun steady.
Voice steady.
"We're done killing. We're done burning. We're done."
"Then what?" Claire clutched her hand.
Angry.
Terrified.
Alive.
"Then we walk away. All of us. Separate. Free. Gone."
"And if I refuse?"
Scarlett's gun moved.
Aimed.
Not at Claire.
At the servers.
At the files.
At everything.
"Then I burn it all. The files. The proof. Your identity. Your existence. You become what you pretended to be. Dead."
Claire calculated.
Odds.
Angles.
Survival.
She smiled.
The same smile.
The manufactured smile.
"Vincent would be proud."
"Vincent's dead."
"Exactly."
---
They left separately.
Margaret first.
Broken wrist.
Broken empire.
Broken heart.
She walked into the dawn.
Disappeared.
No one followed.
No one cared.
Rosa and Elena next.
Together.
Sisters of a different kind.
Warriors.
Survivors.
They would build something.
Somewhere.
Scarlett didn't ask what.
Didn't need to.
Jules stayed longest.
Laptop closed.
Eyes open.
"Come with me," he said.
Not asking.
Offering.
"I have a place. Safe. Hidden. Yours."
"I have places too."
"Not like this." He stepped closer.
Close enough to touch.
He didn't.
Respect.
Fear.
Love.
"Not with me."
Scarlett looked at him.
Really looked.
The bruises.
The loyalty.
The hope.
"I don't love you, Jules."
"I know."
"I don't need you."
"I know."
"I don't—"
"Choose," he said.
Interrupting.
Gentle.
Firm.
"Not now. Not yet. But when you're ready. When you're free. When you're done being the weapon." He stepped back.
Smiled.
Sad.
Real.
"I'll be waiting. I always wait."
He left.
Into the tunnels.
Into the dark.
Into the future she couldn't promise.
Dom remained.
Always remaining.
Always watching.
"You too," she said.
"Where should I go?"
"Anywhere. Everywhere. Away."
"From you?"
"From this. From what I am. What I made."
Dom's mechanical arm whirred.
Soft.
Thoughtful.
"I was late," he said.
"For Claire. For my mother. For everyone."
"Not for me."
"No." He stepped closer.
Close enough now.
Close enough to touch.
He did.
Human hand on her shoulder.
Warm.
Rough.
Real.
"Not for you."
"Then go. Be on time. For someone else."
"Who?"
Scarlett smiled.
The cold one melting.
The new one emerging.
"Yourself."
He left.
Finally.
Actually.
The mechanical arm whirring into the distance.
Into the dawn.
Into the life she couldn't give him.
---
Claire was last.
Standing at the red table.
Among the skeletons.
Among the family.
"You're not what he wanted," she said.
"I know."
"You're something else. Something new. Something—"
"Free," Scarlett finished.
"Same thing?"
"Different forever."
Claire nodded.
Understood.
Accepted.
Or seemed to.
She walked to the door.
Stopped.
Didn't turn.
"He made twelve of us. Three survived. You. Me. One other."
"Who?"
"The original. The template. The woman we were all copied from." Claire looked back.
Green eyes burning.
"She's still out there. Still alive. Still playing."
"Where?"
"Everywhere." Claire smiled.
The old smile.
The final smile.
"She's the house, Scarlett. The real house. The one that always wins. Until she chooses to lose."
She walked out.
Into the light.
Into the mystery.
Into the sequel.
Scarlett stood alone.
In the basement.
In the kingdom of ghosts.
She pulled out her phone.
One message.
Unknown number.
The observer.
The warning.
The game.
She read it.
Once.
Twice.
Deleted it.
Walked out.
Into Neon Archipelago.
Into the new world.
Into the choice she made.
Not Vincent's daughter.
Not Margaret's weapon.
Not Claire's copy.
Scarlett Vance.
The last ace.
The broken crown.
The woman who ended the game.
And started the next one.