"I don't speak of vengeance, nor of forgiving; forgetting is the only revenge and the only forgiveness." ― Jorge Luis Borges

* * * *

The streets of Blackpool lay still beneath a shroud of midnight gloom.

Shadows pressed in thickly from narrow alleyways, blanketing worn pavement in silence. Only the distant flickers of weak lights kept the darkness from swallowing the derelict buildings whole. Not even the city's infamous rats dared to scurry now.

Blackpool slept uneasily, haunted by the screams and scars of history, its back crooked with the weight of secrets too heavy for light.

A lone ESA patrolman moved quietly down the eastern block, his boots crunching softly over loose gravel and cigarette stubs. His breath misted in the night air, carrying the scent of rusted metal and urban decay.

The black van caught by the side of the street caught his attention immediately. Parked snug between two collapsed dumpsters, its body was matte-black with blacked out windows. It had no visible plates, no markings, and no visible wear.

It didn't belong here. No vehicle did, not this close to them.

The patrolman squinted in suspicion. "Uh… Dispatch, do you copy?" The patrolman brought a gloved hand to his comm, his voice wary.

There was a moment of crackling static before a tired voice answered. "This is Command. Go ahead."

"There's a weird van here," The patrolman muttered, approaching slowly. His other hand drifted to the baton at his hip. "Black. No license plate. Parked on Strix Lane, one street down from the hunter training base. Not running, no lights. No movement either."

"Details?"

"Looks like it's been here a while. Could be abandoned. Or bait." The patrolman crouched down beside it, his flashlight grazing along the tires and undercarriage. All he found was a hissing black cat startled from its slumber, its emerald eyes flashing like cursed jade before it stalked off with indignation, tail in the air. "Could be someone from the underground trying to start trouble," he added, frowning. "You want me to call it in for backup?"

There was silence for several long moments.

"Don't worry about it. Probably some drunk left it there. We're stretched thin tonight. Head toward District Thirteen. We picked up static noise and some civilian disturbance. Handle that first."

The patrolman hesitated. "…You sure? What if it's—"

"You'd have heard a boom by now if it was a bomb, Officer." The voice turned sharper. "Don't waste our time. Check the disturbance and continue the patrol."

"Copy that." But the patrolman's voice was reluctant, his brows still knit in suspicion as he cast one last look back at the still van.

Then he turned, his boots crunching gravel again, until his figure disappeared around the corner, swallowed by shadows.

For several long heartbeats, silence dominated the alley again.

Then, a click. A faint sliver of movement.

The rear doors of the van creaked open an inch, barely a breath of motion, and a single eye peered out from within—Allen's.

"All clear," he muttered, pulling the door shut again.

The breath he released was shaky, his shoulders tensing beneath his black long-sleeved shirt. The low, amber-tinted lamp flicked on, flooding the van's compact interior with a soft, warm glow, illuminating tired faces—every single member of Team Alpha, along with Misha Alescio, and Louis Krusen.

Misha leaned forward, his arms braced on his knees, the soft lamplight dancing across the shadows under his eyes. His grey jacket was zipped up to his neck, concealing the fireproof vest beneath, but even that couldn't shield him from the heat burning low in his chest. Not his Gift. The fire that licked his veins tonight was made of rage, of fear, and even of guilt.

They were going in. Lucas was in that facility. Two floors underground. In the belly of a beast they all knew too well.

Jonan was fiddling with one of his detonator buttons with twitchy fingers, the flickering glow of the lamp catching the gold flame pattern at the bottom of his shirt. "Guard's gone. That was close."

"Okay," Louis murmured, breaking the tension like slicing through taut wire.

He was hunched over his portable rig, his fingers flying over the holographic keyboard with practiced grace. His headphones hung around his neck, uncharacteristically unused. Louis never needed full audio immersion for missions like this.

Tonight, however, he needed to listen.

A wall of translucent blue light bloomed between them, displaying schematics. Louis's eyes, sharp and focused despite the dark rings beneath them, flickered to Misha, then to the others.

"Let's confirm Lucas's location one last time."

All heads turned toward the map.

"The info Aegis provided matches our intel. Lucas is in the hidden wing. Underground." He dragged a finger to the northern edge of the map. "Access is only possible through the experimental sector in the eastern wing. Here." A red dot blinked. "Basement door, steel-enforced. Constantly guarded by two hunter squads."

Misha clenched his jaw, staring at the dot like he could burn through the map with his glare alone.

Louis looked up. "Misha and I will infiltrate through here. We'll get to Lucas directly."

"I'll be with them," Elijah added, seated beside Taylor, his hood drawn halfway up, casting his crimson hair in shadow. "Once the breach is detected, and it will be detected, we'll need an extra hand. No one else can move as fast as I can."

His fingers twitched slightly, already pulling and pushing the air around him in barely perceptible waves, his Gift humming like a second heartbeat.

Taylor nodded in agreement, her dark blue eyes steeled, one hand resting on the folded paper sigils strapped across her thigh holster. "And I'm going too. You'll need distractions. My paper beasts can keep guards off your backs."

Louis glanced at her, then at Misha.

Leonid shifted from where he sat cross-legged on the floor, adjusting the white scarf wrapped loosely around his neck. "That means Allen, Jonan, and I will handle the southern wing. Blow up as much as we can. Get attention. Drive forces away from the experimental sector." He gave Jonan a nod. "Do your worst. You're our demolitions expert. Let's see you live up to your reputation as 'Firebrand'."

Jonan smirked, rubbing his palms together. "Gladly. Just this once, Lucas won't bite my head off for it."

But even that attempt at levity couldn't fully mask the tremor in his voice.

There was a heavy silence that followed. They could all feel it now—pressing in on them from every side. The stakes. The price. The weight of what they were about to do.

Elijah exhaled, the sound sharp in the silence. "Let's go over this one more time." He looked around at each face, his gaze hard but sincere. "This is it. There's no turning back. Once this starts, we're not agents anymore. We're deserters. Criminals. Marked for death. If the ESA doesn't get us, the hunters will." He paused. "And most of us here are Gifted."

The truth lingered like poison.

Misha looked around at the people who had followed him this far. Taylor. Elijah. Leonid. Allen. Jonan. Louis.

War-scarred. Loyal. And ready to burn the world to save one of their own.

"We've been over this countless times, Elijah," Leonid said quietly. "We're sure."

"I didn't tell the rest of Team Delta," Misha added, his voice tight. "Didn't want to risk them. This is our mess." He met Louis's eyes.

"At this point, I do believe that we're both done with the ESA," Louis confirmed. "And honestly? We've been done for a while. Just took us this long to admit it."

Jonan gave a faint, wry smile. "Count me in, too. Besides, we've always known what side we'd be standing on when shit hit the fan."

Elijah closed his eyes for a moment. Then nodded.

Misha leaned back slightly, the heat in his chest simmering again. It wasn't just rage. Not anymore. It was fear.

He was terrified.

Of what they might find. Of how broken Lucas might be. Of not making it out.

You better be alive, big brother. You better be fighting.

Misha checked his weapons again, his muscle memory taking over. Knives. Two flame-charged rounds. Flare tags. His gun. His hands were steady, but his stomach churned.

Louis glanced at the clock ticking silently on his screen. "We have four hours. That's the window before patrol cycles rotate and elite squads return from Kald's western outposts. Once we're in, we move fast."

Taylor nodded grimly, folding a small paper sigil into her sleeve. Elijah adjusted his jacket, tensing his shoulders. Leonid cracked his knuckles.

"Comms are synced. Encryptions triple-layered," Allen added, tapping onto the comms in his ear. "But once shit starts, they'll jam us. Assume this is the last time we'll be able to talk freely."

There were nods all around.

Elijah took a breath, then looked at all of them. "Let's bring Lucas home."

Misha closed his eyes just briefly, feeling the flame within him swell. Not with destruction, but resolve.

Yes. We're bringing him home. Even if we burn everything else to the ground.

* * * *

Lucas had long stopped counting the days.

Or was it weeks? Months?

Time blurred when there was nothing but blankness to mark its passing. In this room, beneath the known world, beneath the layers of concrete and steel that made up the hunters' secondary base in Kald, there were no clocks. No sunrises. No voices.

Just white. Endless, unrelenting white.

Lucas Alescio sat shackled against the far wall, the cold bite of the restraints wrapped like silent fire around his wrists and neck. The cuffs themselves weren't metal. At least not completely.

They hummed faintly with some sort of advanced lock-tech, likely modified by Neuron. They pulsed whenever he moved, sending an agonising buzz up his limbs like a warning: don't fight. Don't resist. Or else.

He had tested that theory once. And once had been enough.

Now he knew better.

The room around him was meticulously white. Not sterile, not blank, but oppressive in its purity. White walls that reflected no shadows. White ceiling with lights that buzzed faintly like flies. White floor that gleamed even when no one had been in to clean it.

Even the prisoner clothes that Lucas was put in is white. The only contrast was the dull grey of his restraints and the thin mattress beside him, which he'd stopped lying on weeks ago.

It is enough to drive Lucas crazy, considering that he is faced with all four walls of nothing but white. It was a psychological game, all of it. Lucas had studied enough hunter black-ops material to recognise it.

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But it is also the silence that gets to him. Nothing to hear. But just the sounds of his own breathing. And the occasional sound made by whoever is sent to give him water and food every three days.

Always by the same hunter, whoever had drawn the short straw to bring him food, though he never said a word to Lucas, always just putting down the tray of meagre food just close enough that he had to crawl for it, dragging the weight of his restraints behind him.

The silence, most of all, was the weapon.

A normal person would probably have died of either dehydration or hunger, but Lucas is ESA-trained. He is trained to withstand torture, and even hunger and dehydration.

As for the white walls and the silence, Lucas knew enough of psychological torture to know that this will be worse than any physical torture that the hunters can put him through. It is designed to break the mental state of a person. But if Nicolosi thinks that this can break Lucas, he had to try harder.

For however long that Lucas was in here, his mind kept going to his teammates. And even his younger brother. Would they have wondered where he is? Or maybe the hunters have come up with some cover story for his disappearance?

Nicolosi and the hunters weren't even treating him like a prisoner at this point. They were treating him like an experiment.

And perhaps, to Nicolosi, that's all he was.

Nicolosi. The name alone made bile rise to Lucas's throat. A man whose loyalty to the hunter dogma went deeper than blood or reason. He'd always preached that the Gifted were a threat to Eldario, that their very existence unbalanced the world.

But Lucas had seen the man's eyes when he'd been arrested. There'd been satisfaction in them. Glee.

The moment they dragged him from the control room in the hunters' base at Kald, Nicolosi hadn't spoken a word. He had simply smiled. And Lucas had known then. This wasn't about interrogation. This wasn't about justice.

This was punishment.

Lucas's mistake hadn't been infiltrating Kald.

It had been thinking he'd come out alive.

He didn't know how long he had been in this current state—half-conscious, eyes burning from the lights, lips cracked, and his fire dimmed to embers he couldn't summon.

Every Gifted had a point where their abilities faded from malnourishment and mental wear. Lucas had passed that point weeks ago. And still, he endured. Not because he wanted to. But because giving up would mean Nicolosi won.

And Lucas Alescio refused to give Nicolosi anything.

But tonight, something was different.

It started as a rumble. Barely noticeable. Just a tremor through the floor, like the faint thud of distant thunder. Lucas didn't even lift his head at first.

Another drill? Testing aboveground?

It wasn't uncommon for the hunters to stage training sessions with live ammo. He had heard some of them. Muffled and far away.

But then the lights flickered.

That never happened.

Then everything shook.

A resounding explosion cracked through the silence like the world had been torn in half, and the room itself shuddered. Dust rained from the ceiling corners. The far wall buckled slightly. And for the first time in what felt like forever, the electronic hum of Lucas's shackles wavered.

Then came the sirens. Blaring and piercing, the first real sounds that Lucas heard in what seemed like forever. Red lights flashed across the ceiling. Alarm klaxons that had never once sounded before.

Something was happening.

And then came the sounds of gunfire. Even combat. Screams and shouts.

Lucas's breath caught in his throat. He tried to sit straighter, his limbs stiff and aching from weeks of disuse. Every sound was real. He wasn't hallucinating this. This was combat, and it was right above him.

Then came the sounds of running footsteps.

Someone, or rather, several someones were rushing towards his cell. Then a voice was calling out names Lucas was familiar with.

"Misha! Louis! Hurry!"

Lucas blinked, startled. That voice…

"Elijah?"

The door, that for weeks had remained locked tight and untouched, suddenly slammed open.

And there they were.

"Misha?" Lucas croaked, his voice broken with disuse, so raw he barely recognised it as his own.

"Lucas!" Misha's voice cracked on the name as he rushed forward, dropping to his knees beside him.

He looked real. He looked alive. Not a hallucination conjured by a desperate mind, but Misha, with his windblown black hair and ash-streaked cheeks, panting hard like he'd run through hell to get here.

"We finally found you!" Misha gasped.

Louis skidded in beside him, his holographic display already flicking to life above his wristwatch, glowing blue across his pale face. "He really is here," he breathed.

Lucas just stared, unable to believe that his brother is right in front of him, and wondering if it's perhaps a figment of his imagination. "You're not…dead?"

Misha gave a breathless, furious laugh. "No, you moron, but you will be if you keep pulling stunts like this!"

Another voice cut in from behind. It was Elijah again, a gun in his hand, panting. "Misha! Louis! Ten minutes! Hurry!" He disappeared again, back into the chaos.

Louis knelt beside the restraint console built into the wall and cursed under his breath. "What the hell did they use on you?"

"It's Neuron design," Lucas rasped. "If you input the wrong code, it explodes."

That made Misha's face go bloodless. "What?!"

Lucas nodded slowly. "They said it's keyed to my vitals. If I flatline, the entire cell goes into incineration mode."

Misha's eyes widened, turning towards Louis who looked grim, but he immediately pulled up a holographic screen via his watch, tapping away on it. "Can you do it, Louis?" Misha wanted to know.

"Buy me some time," Louis's face was grim. "We're getting out of here. Hang tight, Lucas. I'll have you out of those restraints in a minute." His fingers moved faster.

Elijah appeared at the door again. "Misha! Louis! Five minutes! Hurry!" He then disappeared again, with there the sounds of combat once more.

"More than enough time," Louis muttered, never removing his eyes from the holographic screens.

"Misha," Lucas rasped again, barely holding his head up, "How…did you find me?"

"That's my question!" Misha barked. "What the hell were you thinking, breaking into Kald alone?! Did you really think I wouldn't help you?!"

Lucas winced. "I didn't want to drag you into this…"

Misha's voice broke, furious and hurt all at once. "I got a lot to say to you, Big Brother, including how stupid you are to break into Kald of all places. If you'd just asked me, I could have given you all the information you wanted. I got my hands on it years ago." Lucas looked guilty. "Instead, you ghost us, go underground, and now you're about to get blown up in a white box for being a stubborn bastard!"

Lucas was quiet. His head dipped. "I'm sorry."

Misha's eyes glittered. He turned away. "You're lucky you've got a whole team of idiots who care about you. The lecture can wait for later. Your entire team's here. We didn't come here alone."

Lucas's breath hitched. "Team Alpha?"

"All of them. Elijah. Taylor. Leonid. Jonan. Allen. Everyone."

"You're going to be declared traitors." Lucas muttered.

"I don't care. I never wanted to join the ESA to begin with, anyway. I was only with them because of you, and because of survival's sake." Misha shook his head. "Louis, how much longer?!"

"Thirty seconds." Louis didn't look away from the holographic screens on his watch. "It'll be easier if I had my computer here, but I'll make do." He tapped furiously before he grinned. "Got it."

Both brothers turned.

Louis's holograms blinked in rhythm with the shackles. A series of rapid beeps filled the air. Red lights turned to green.

Then…

Click. The shackles fell away with a soft thud.

Lucas gasped as the weight left his body. He slumped forward, then felt Misha's arm catch him. "Come on," Misha urged, helping him up. "Can you walk?"

Lucas nodded weakly, his legs trembling. "I'll manage."

Misha's arm tightened around his waist. "Good. Because we're not leaving without you."

Another explosion rocked the walls. Elijah's voice echoed down the corridor. "One minute! Let's go!"

Misha looked Lucas in the eye, then jerked his chin toward the door. "Let's finish this. Together."

And for the first time in weeks, Lucas smiled. Not a big one. But it was real.

"Yeah," he rasped. "Let's get out of here."

The chill of the base's lower levels still lingered in Lucas's bones even as they moved out of the white cell, though Misha's arm around his shoulder grounded him.

Lucas flexed his fingers slowly, his arms trembling from the lingering numbness. The restraints had been suppressing his Gift longer than they should have, and the haze that clouded his mind hadn't yet cleared. His heart was hammering, with adrenaline chasing sluggish clarity, but he was still alive.

Alive. That fact alone tasted unreal on his tongue.

"We got him!" Misha's voice rang sharp through the stifling darkness of the hall. He drew his spare handgun and pressed it into Lucas's palm with an urgency that told Lucas this wasn't the time for weakness.

Lucas tried to rise, nearly stumbling again. Misha caught him with a grunt. "Lean on me," he said. "You're not walking out of here alone."

"Damn right I'm not," Lucas rasped, his voice hoarse from days, no, weeks of forced silence. "Let's go."

"Taylor!" Elijah's voice cut in, one finger pressed against the comms in his ear. "We've got Lucas! Repeat, we have him. Allen, Jonan, Leonid, respond!"

Static crackled in response. Elijah's eyes flickered toward them, tension etched deep in the lines of his jaw. "We're not waiting for confirmation. We move now."

Then the bullets started.

The deafening crack of gunfire ripped through the underground corridor. Sparks and concrete dust flew as the walls chipped under the hail of lead. Taylor returned fire from down the hall with precise, controlled shots, her form steady despite the chaos.

Elijah ducked behind the corner, reloading with practiced speed before sliding back out and loosing two more rounds. The first dropped a hunter immediately. The second grazed one, buying enough time for the others to push forward.

"These aren't just scouts," Elijah hissed as he ducked again. "Squad deployment. They're trying to funnel us."

"I counted eight so far," Taylor called, her tone clipped. "But more coming in from the south—"

A boom shattered the floor beneath them. Dust and chunks of ceiling rained down. The ground trembled like a beast trying to shrug them off.

"That's Jonan's work," Lucas muttered, a flicker of something dark and fond ghosting through his voice. "I'd know those explosives anywhere."

"Damn good timing." Misha pulled Lucas's arm tighter around his shoulder. "Let's move! Experimental sector's this way."

Louis was at the rear, his movements unhurried but fluid, covering their escape with his pistol. Every shot he took landed in the soft space between a hunter's helmet and collarbone.

Clean and lethal, like how Louis always was, as the second-in-command of Team Delta.

Lucas gritted his teeth, pushing through the pain clouding his limbs. Even now, the corridors felt claustrophobic. Like a maze designed to confuse and trap. The air smelled of blood and ozone and steel. Sterile and unnatural. This place was an abomination.

He'd known it before. But now he felt it.

They breached the stairwell, climbing fast into the eastern wing, where the low hum of fluorescent lights buzzed ominously overhead.

As they reached the upper corridor, Elijah cursed under his breath. He held up his gun, then dropped it with a grim shake of his head. "Out of bullets." He didn't hesitate. Reaching into his boot, he pulled out a sleek dagger, its edge dark and wicked. "Time to get a little more hands-on."

Taylor still had her pistol. She moved like wind, every shot placed with surgical precision. One hunter collapsed after another as she cleared a path. "They're using anti-Gifted rounds," she snapped. "Don't get hit, not even grazed. They'll nullify your powers and shred through you."

Lucas's eyes widened. Anti-Gifted rounds. The same weaponry that Maia had used at Blackpool.

Louis swore. "Of course they are. Hunters always play dirty."

"It's not about playing," Misha said bitterly, pushing forward. "They don't see us as people."

The hallway ahead lit up with muzzle flashes. Another squad. Lucas's legs buckled slightly, and he stumbled. Misha caught him again. "Stay behind me."

"I'm not dead weight," Lucas gritted.

"You're not," Misha said. "But you're still not fighting."

As they pushed forward, Taylor tossed her empty clip and retrieved another pistol from her hip holster. The floor was slick with blood and gun oil now, and the air had the sour tang of battle.

This wasn't just a rescue mission. It was a statement.

The hunters didn't expect Team Alpha to be here as their enemies. Let alone bring hell with them.

But then came the real threat.

Two figures emerged at the corridor's mouth, taller and broader than the others, with dark purple armbands and matte black gear. Their boots didn't echo like the others. Their eyes were cold and calculating.

All those present knew immediately that these were different from the rank and file hunters that they've been dealing with.

"Squad leaders," Misha muttered. "Damn it. We're in a null zone. No Gifts."

Lucas straightened, reaching for the pistol. "I can still fight—"

"Yeah, you can't," Misha snapped. "You're barely standing. You don't have the strength! I can feel your weight pulling me."

Louis shifted to stand between them and the approaching hunters. "We take them together."

The one on the left tilted his head, his voice gravel-slick. "I got a feeling that your goal is Lucas Alescio," he murmured. "And I recognise your faces. You're part of Team Alpha. And Team Delta. ESA agents."

"Not ESA anymore." Taylor said coolly, stepping forward. "I don't know and don't care what it's like with the hunters. But with the ESA, we take care of our own."

That was all it took.

"Then die," The hunter growled, and lunged.

But he never reached them.

There was a whistle through the air, followed by the sickening sound of wet slicing. Both elite hunters staggered, their eyes wide, mouths opening, but blood was already pouring from their throats. They collapsed before they even registered the attack.

Behind them stood two shadows, faces lit only by the red emergency lights flickering overhead.

One was tall and lean, firelight dancing along the edges of his dark hoodie and choker. The other was pale and ghostlike, with eyes like storm clouds.

Louis's eyes widened as he recognised them. "You… You were at Blackpool…"

Zest gave a small nod, calm as ever. His red eyes scanned them all, resting on Lucas the longest. "Sera sent us. This is repayment for Laura."

Lleucu said nothing, only took a half step forward, his eyes briefly lingering on Lucas. There was something like grief in them, sharp and knowing.

Lucas stared at the two of them. "Why now?"

"Because you needed it," Zest said simply. "Let's go."

Boom.

Another explosion shook the base. Closer now. Jonan was lighting up the southern wing.

"Entrance is up ahead," Misha said. "Let's move!"

Boots skidded across the slick floor behind Lucas even as they advanced, as Lleucu and Zest flanked their group, silent shadows with watchful eyes. Jonan and Allen were ahead, cutting through smoke and gunfire to get to them. Behind them, Elijah and Taylor kept their backs covered, while Louis and Misha closed the rear with weapons at the ready.

It was chaos.

But it was also the kind of chaos Lucas had grown to know well. The calculated kind, the kind that brewed in the absence of justice.

The lights above them flickered and stuttered, casting intermittent beams down the central hallway like dying spotlights. Every flicker sent Lucas's heartbeat ticking louder, every gust of smoke reminded him how close they were to death.

He could feel his Gift beneath his skin, suppressed by the null field. It was like drowning in silence.

But then…

"Over here!" Allen's voice rang out, clear and urgent. The corridor widened, and Misha sprinted through the break, supporting Lucas, with the others pouring in beside him.

The central wing.

They reached the open sector, and the ceiling rose high above them like a cavern. Bullet marks pocked the walls and floor, with cracked tiles glinting faintly beneath overhead floodlights. The smell of gunpowder and scorched circuitry hung heavy in the air.

In the center of the room, Leonid stood with his coat shredded, and his hands dripping with water, his control absolute even inside the null zone. His ability to draw from existing moisture still gave him an edge, even here. Near him, Allen and Jonan had taken cover behind a broken barricade, laying down cover fire with practiced ease.

They were fighting at least three hunter squads. Elite ones.

Lucas's breath caught in his chest again. Not from the sight of the battle, but from the look on Allen's face the moment he laid eyes on him.

"Lucas?!" Allen nearly shouted, and even through the din of combat, that emotion—shock, disbelief, and sheer relief, was unmistakable.

Jonan's jaw dropped. His fingers hovered over a fresh set of detonators. "You're alive?! You dumbass! I thought…!" he barked, but his voice cracked with something like unspoken grief.

Leonid didn't speak. He only looked at Lucas with eyes dark with emotion, then nodded once—a short, sharp nod that said everything: I knew you'd survive.

But there was no time for reunions. Another blast rocked the hall. Flames burst from the far side of the wall as hunter elites pushed forward, their rifles flashing with blue tracer fire.

"You can catch up later!" Taylor yelled as she flicked her wrist, sending a barrage of razor-sharp paper into the air. Elijah moved with her, his hands drawing back as he yanked a steel beam from the rubble and hurled it into a squad like a cannon.

And then Lucas saw her.

Near the center of the hunters' formation, surrounded by the bodies of the fallen and the living who aimed their rifles forward with mechanical precision, stood a woman in the black uniform of the elite hunters.

Her auburn hair was tied back, with her red eyes sharp and gleaming beneath the fluorescent lights. She stood with the cool authority of someone who believed herself untouchable.

Maia Travis.

Lucas's blood ran cold.

Misha stepped forward, his body stiff, and his face unreadable, but there was a heaviness in his voice as he murmured, "Maia…"

The woman's lips curled, not in guilt or apology, but with a bitter smile.

"I really wished to say that I'm surprised, but I'm not," Misha said softly, the weight of betrayal etched into every word. "I suspected for a long time that you had allegiances with the hunters, if not one of them yourself. You work in our line of business for long enough, and you start to develop instincts for people."

Maia's response was instant. Almost ice-cold. "You should have stayed ignorant, Misha. You could have survived, then." Her lips parted in a mocking smile. "You Gifted should've just done us all a favour and died."

Louis stepped beside Misha. There was no outward fury. Just a strange, calm disgust on his face as he studied her like she was already dead. "You're still saying such things, huh?" he muttered. "I'm not even going to bother wasting my breath on you. If you still don't understand it now, then you never will." He narrowed his eyes. "Get out of our way, Maia. I don't want to kill you."

Maia barked a sharp laugh, her posture cocky and smug. "Like you could," she said coolly. "This is a Gift-null zone. Your pathetic abilities won't work here."

Zest tilted his head. "Not Gifted here," he said in a bored tone, stepping forward. "Neither is Lleucu. And trust me, it wouldn't take much effort on my part to kill you. Want to try me?"

The air shifted.

The hunters hesitated. Several looked at each other uneasily. One of them whispered with horror in his voice, "Travis, that's the Black Demon. The Black Blade. Zexter Mifaelen—one of the two people we've got a flee-on-sight order for. The other being Sera Kroix."

Even among the cruelty and blind obedience of the hunters, fear cut through.

But Maia didn't blink. "We outnumber them," she snarled. "What are you worried about? Kill them all!"

The temperature of the room dropped—not from cold, but dread. The threat hung heavy.

Lucas could see it. Every one of his allies was ready to fight. Misha's eyes burned, Louis looked almost distant but deadly, and Jonan and Allen stood with renewed fury. Even Leonid, quiet and composed, had murder in his stare.

But before the first bullet could fly…

"W-What the…?!" Maia choked.

All at once, razor-thin wires shimmered through the smoke, nearly invisible. Lucas saw them only when the light caught them—hundreds of them, glistening threads that wrapped with surgical precision around the necks and arms of every remaining hunter. They convulsed, dropped their weapons, and choked in unison as their feet left the ground.

Maia struggled, her hands clawing at her neck, wide-eyed and furious. "Get…off…me…!"

And then, with the sound of slicing air, the wires cut clean, with the blood spraying into the air. Every single hunter was dead before they even dropped to the ground.

Lucas's breath froze in his chest. Only one person in the ESA can do this.

Misha turned. His voice shook. "Coleen?"

From behind the wall of corpses, Coleen Kodar emerged.

Wires were still curled around her fingertips, winding back like living tendrils to the small device on her wrist holster. Her pale-blonde hair was damp with sweat, and blood stained the edges of her dress, but her expression was emotionless, almost grim.

"You should have told me what you were planning," Coleen said calmly, her pale blue eyes flickering to Misha. "Remi's waiting outside with the van. I could've told you who my allegiance really is with, and it definitely isn't with the hunters."

She then reached up, and pulled her collar aside slightly. A dark red tattoo was visible just below her collarbone—flame-shaped and unmistakable.

Lucas's heart skipped. He'd seen that same tattoo on several people in Zalfari…

"That's a street gang tattoo," Leonid said slowly. "Every gang has one. It's how we identify members." His memory clicked. "A flame… Wait…"

Coleen nodded. "I'm with Blaze."

The words hit like thunder.

The room was silent—every remaining heartbeat loud in the emptiness. Outside, the low rumble of distant alarms continued. The hunters' base was cracking open from within.

Misha's face showed shock, yes, but not fear. "All this time…?" he asked.

Coleen gave a tired shrug. "You think Elijah and Taylor were the only ones who came from the streets? Leroy sent me into the ESA years ago, even before Blaze was formally formed."

Louis chuckled under his breath, but it wasn't humour. It was weariness. "Of course. You were too damn skilled to be just a poison specialist."

Taylor stepped closer, looking at Coleen with cautious approval. "You kept that secret very well."

Coleen gave her a dry look. "You don't grow up on the streets and survive by being obvious."

Behind them, Lucas exhaled slowly. His head was still spinning from the rush of combat, the weight of betrayal, and even the ghost of pain from his time in the hunters' hands, however long it has been.

Coleen gave them all an assessing gaze, her eyes flickering towards Maia's dead body on the ground, unseeing eyes still opened and wide in shock. A flicker of what seemed like regret went through Coleen's eyes momentarily.

"Come on, let's get out of here," Coleen said instead. "I'd wager that Nicolosi already had received word of what's going on down here. We have to leave. Now!"

There were nods all around.

Team Alpha and Team Delta have made their decision. The lines and sides were now drawn in the sand.

Whatever may come in the future, they'll face it together.

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