THE ASHES BENEATH HER VEIL

The drop was violent.

Using low-altitude tactical parachutes, they plummeted through the freezing drizzle, slicing through the pine canopy before crashing onto the muddy bank fifty yards from the facility's perimeter fence. Victoria hit the wet earth hard, rolling onto her shoulder and detaching her harness as the nylon canopy collapsed into the bracken.

Above them, the drone of the turboprop faded into the storm clouds, successfully drawing the watchtowers' spotlights toward the eastern horizon.

“Move!” Evelyn hissed, already on her feet.

She moved like a shadow across the sodden grass, cutting through the high-tensile security fence with a pair of specialized hydraulic shears. Victoria followed closely, her heart pounding in her ears, her boots sinking into the wet peat.

They reached the rear service entrance of the Victorian lodge—a heavy steel reinforced fire door. Evelyn pulled an electronic bypass unit from her tactical pouch, slapped the magnetic interface against the keypad, and waited four agonizing seconds until the indicator light blinked green.

The door clicked open.

Inside, the warm scent of pine and rain vanished, replaced instantly by the sterile, recycled chill of an industrial research laboratory. Long white corridors stretched ahead, illuminated by harsh fluorescent tubes.

Down the hallway, the sound of heavy boots echoed against the linoleum.

“Two patrol guards,” Evelyn whispered, pulling Victoria flat against the recessed doorway of an electrical closet.

Two men in black tactical uniforms, armed with automatic carbines, rounded the corner. They were speaking in hushed, hurried tones.

“…commander wants the subject sedated and secured in the lower hold within ten minutes. High command said the Swiss operation was blown.”

“What about the files?”

“Incinerate everything in Lab 3. Leave nothing for the authorities.”

As the two guards passed the closet, Evelyn stepped out with lethal grace.

Two muted pops from her suppressed pistol hissed through the hallway. The first guard dropped instantly. The second managed to raise his rifle halfway before Evelyn’s second round took him through the neck. He collapsed onto his partner with a muffled thud.

Victoria pressed her hand against her mouth, choking back a gasp of horror. The reality of blood, death, and war was far more brutal than she had ever imagined.

Evelyn didn't look at the bodies. She grabbed the keycard from the lead guard's vest, tossed it to Victoria, and pointed down the stairwell. “Sub-level three. Lab 3. Go!”

They sprinted down the concrete stairs, descending deep beneath the bedrock of the lake. The air grew colder, damp with moisture seeping through the old stone foundations of the original abbey.

At the end of the corridor, heavy double blast doors marked RESTRICTED – BIOLOGICAL RESEARCH stood locked.

Victoria swiped the keycard. The heavy electromagnets released with a pneumatic hiss.

The doors slid open.

Inside the large, brightly lit cleanroom, surrounded by monitors, life-support machinery, and shattered glass vials, stood an operating gurney.

Lying on the gurney, hooked to intravenous drips and an oxygen mask, was a woman with long, silver-streaked dark hair. Her face was pale, thin, but undeniably Eleanor Cross.

Beside her, holding a loaded syringe filled with an ominous amber fluid, stood a tall man in an immaculate dark suit.