Kianna and Bryle watched Oliver's shadow disappear into the rusted vent. The silence he left behind was deafening, filled only by the distant hum of the warehouse generators.
"When Oliver gets that door open, we don't hesitate," Kianna whispered, her voice tight. "We get in, we grab her, and we get out. We aren't heroes, Bryle; we're just her friends. We have to be enough."
Bryle gripped the cold metal pipe, his knuckles white. "I don't care what it takes. If anyone tries to touch her again, I'm not stopping."
They crept closer to the side cargo door, pressed against the cold concrete wall, waiting for the tell-tale click of the electronic lock. They knew the truth now—this wasn't a world of law and order. This was a world of shadows where the police wouldn't come and a phone call wouldn't save them. It was just them against the dark.
Alice's POV: The Cold Reality
The world was nothing but the smell of damp concrete and the echoing sound of my own ragged breathing.
They had thrown me into this concrete box with a single, flickering bulb hanging from the ceiling. My side ached, a dull, pulsing throb that made it hard to draw a full breath. But as I sat there, the pain didn't matter as much as the image of Ruoxi's face.
I remembered the way she had looked at the cabin—not with the eyes of a killer, but with the eyes of someone who was ready to be torn apart to keep me safe. I remembered her scream when they dragged me away. She had warned me. She had tried to save me twice—
Stay strong, I told myself. She's fighting for you. Don't let her sacrifice be for nothing.
Suddenly, the heavy iron bolt on the door groaned.
I scrambled backward, pressing my spine against the freezing wall as the door swung open. Two men stood in the shadows, but it was the man walking between them that made my blood turn to ice. He was dressed in a tailored suit, looking perfectly composed in this den of filth.
"Alice," he said. His voice was smooth, like silk over a blade. "You've grown up to look so much like your mother. It's a shame, really. You have her eyes. It almost makes me feel bad about what has to happen next."
"Who are you! What did you do to Rouxi!?" I gasped, my heart hammering so hard I thought it would burst.
"Aren't you interested about your real parents?,"
He stepped into the light, a small, cruel smile on his face. "You shouldn't have run away, Alice. You should have stayed in that orphanage. If you had stayed a ghost, I wouldn't have had to turn you into a corpse."
He reached into his jacket and pulled out a sleek, silver handgun. The light reflected off the barrel, blinding me.
"Where is Ruoxi?" I demanded, my voice trembling but defiant. "What did you do to her?"
"Rou?" He laughed, a dry, hollow sound. "She's in the other room, waiting to see the price of her betrayal. Don't worry, she'll be joining you shortly. A weapon that develops a heart is a weapon that needs to be melted down."
He raised the gun, aiming it right between my eyes. In this dank, forgotten corner of the world, I realized the terrifying truth: the world outside knew nothing, and could do nothing. It was just me, my executioner, and the fading hope of a miracle.
______
The morning in Toronto was cold, but inside the glass-walled office of the Villanueva estate, the atmosphere was incandescent with fury.
Don Primo stood by the floor-to-ceiling window, the confession of the man from the warehouse still echoing in his mind. He had known for twenty-four hours. He had known since the moment he pressed that glowing cigar into the kidnapper's flesh and heard the name Don Franklin.
His own brother. The man who had sat at his dinner table for fifteen years while knowing exactly where Alice was buried—not in a grave, but in a life of poverty and shadows.
"Primo," Lady Zavhana whispered, entering the room. She was already dressed in black, her eyes sharp and red-rimmed. "The satellite feed from Manila is live. Franklin's men have moved. They didn't just find her... they've taken her."
Primo turned, his face a mask of stone. "I know. My teams followed them from the cabin to a shipping warehouse on the coast. Franklin thinks he's being discreet. He thinks he's finally cleaning up his mess."
He walked to his desk, where a map of the Manila coastline was displayed. Several blue dots—his private tactical units—were converging on a single red flickering point.
"He underestimated me, Zavhana," Primo growled, grabbing his phone. "He thought I was a broken man. He forgot that every cent I earned, every mountain I moved, was for the hope of finding her. And now that I have her location, I will show him what happens when you steal from a lion."
"The tactical team is five minutes out," Zavhana said, her voice trembling with a mix of maternal fear and righteous rage. "But Primo... Franklin is already there. He's inside the warehouse with her."
"Then tell them to breach," Primo roared. "Tell them if Franklin raises a hand against my daughter, they are to level that building with him inside it. I don't want a trial. I want my daughter back, and I want my brother erased."
_____
While the titans moved their pieces across the globe, a smaller, more desperate team was moving through the shadows of the warehouse.
Kianna, Bryle, and Oliver had managed to slip through a rusted side vent, guided by the chaotic noise of the generator. The air inside smelled of salt, oil, and something metallic—blood.
"Over here!" Bryle hissed, pointing toward a row of heavy concrete cells near the loading dock.
They reached a reinforced iron door. Through the small barred window, Kianna gasped, covering her mouth to stifle a scream.
"Ruoxi!"
Ruoxi was slumped against the damp wall, her head lolling to the side. She was a nightmare of crimson. Her tactical gear was shredded, and her white shirt was now a deep, sickening purple-red. Her face was swollen, and blood trickled from a jagged gash on her forehead, pooling on the freezing floor.
"Move! We need to get this open!" Oliver commanded, his quiet intensity returning. He grabbed a heavy iron pipe from a nearby rack.
With a collective effort, Bryle and Oliver wedged the pipe into the door's locking mechanism. They pulled with everything they had—the sound of grinding metal echoing through the hall. Finally, the bolt snapped.
Kianna rushed in first, dropping to her knees in the blood-slicked dust. "Ruoxi! Ruoxi, can you hear me? Stay with us!"
Ruoxi's eyes flickered open—just thin slits of gray amidst the bruising. She coughed, and a spray of blood hit Kianna's arm. "Alice..." she wheezed, her voice a dry rattle. "They took... Alice... to the main floor. Franklin... he's there."
Ruoxi let out a guttural cry of pain as she forced her back against the cold concrete wall. Her vision was swimming in red, but the thought of Alice facing her uncle alone acted like a shot of adrenaline to her failing heart.
"I have to... go," Ruoxi wheezed, her trembling hands clawing at the floor as she tried to shove herself upward. "He'll kill her. I can't... stay here."
"Ruoxi, stop!" Kianna shouted, throwing her weight against Ruoxi's shoulders to keep her down. "Look at you! You're losing too much blood. You'll collapse before you even reach the hallway!"
"I don't care!" Ruoxi roared, a flash of her old lethal strength returning to her eyes. She managed to stand, leaning heavily against the rusted doorframe, her breath coming in ragged gasps. "She's everything. If she dies... I died a long time ago anyway."
Bryle stepped in front of her, his face grim. "Listen to Kianna. If you rush in there like a dying soldier, you're just another target. We have a plan."
He gestured to the heavy iron pipe and a discarded tactical vest they had found. "Oliver and I will flank the north side. Kianna, you stay behind Ruoxi and provide support. We create a distraction. We don't just run in—we strike when they aren't looking."
Ruoxi leaned her head against the cool metal, closing her eyes for a split second to steady her heart. "Fine. But if I see him touch her... I'm ending him