Chapter 5 - Fire in the Hallway
The explosion ripped the reinforced door inward with a deafening roar, sending splintered oak and scorched plaster flying across the suite. The shockwave blew the curtains apart, swirling dust through the dim red emergency lights.
Dr. Evans ducked beneath the bed frame, shielding Clara with his own trembling body. Alec didn't hesitate. Dropping to one knee behind the overturned solid marble dresser, he brought his submachine gun up and opened fire into the smoke-choked doorway.
Two figures clad in dark tactical gear stepped through the breach, their carbines flashing. Alec’s rounds tore through the lead operative's armor, dropping him instantly onto the threshold. The second man dove to cover behind the shattered archway, peppering Alec’s marble barricade with high-caliber rounds. Sparks showered into the air, chipping fragments of black stone into Alec’s face.
Alec unpinned a flashbang from his belt, banked it off the far door jamb, and covered his eyes.
A blinding crack of white light illuminated the hallway, followed by a suppressed groan from the intruder. Alec surged forward from behind the dresser, clearing the debris in two strides. He kicked the disoriented mercenary’s weapon down the corridor and drove his combat knife up under the man’s chin through the soft armor lining.
The man collapsed, twitching, before going still.
Alec stood in the smoky corridor, scanning the shadows. The hallway was empty, but the sounds of heavy combat had ceased downstairs. That meant one of two things: his men had won, or they had all been wiped out.
He reached into his pocket and pulled out the thumb drive Clara had given him. Sliding it into the reader port on the tactical wrist pad he wore, the small screen illuminated in blue text, bypassing the corrupted network.
The decryption protocol bypassed the Vance security firewall with ease. A single video file loaded: surveillance footage stamped three weeks ago from an underground bunker in the docks.
Alec hit play.
On the grainy screen, a figure in an expensive bespoke suit stood over a bruised, emaciated man strapped to an iron chair. The man in the chair was unmistakable—Julian, older, battered, but undeniably alive.
Then the camera captured the face of the man standing over him. It wasn't Victor Vance.
It was Alec’s uncle, Donald Thorne—the very man who had arranged this marriage between Alec and Clara to ""unify"" the factions.
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""Alec..."" Clara’s weak voice called out from inside the room. ""Look at the time stamp...""
Alec looked down at the bottom corner of the video. The time stamp wasn't three weeks ago. The live transmission feed was ticking upward in real time. Julian was alive right now, being broadcast from a location inside this very mansion.
