Chapter 5 - Fire in the Dark
The shockwave threw Julian off his feet, crashing violently into a stack of steel barrels. Plaster, dust, and smoke filled the subterranean room as the warehouse door lay twisted and smoking on the floor. Clara shut her eyes against the blast, coughing furiously, her ears ringing from the concussive force.
Through the veil of smoke, heavy tactical boots stepped over the debris. A single figure emerged, silhouetted against the roaring emergency flare in the corridor outside. It was not a swat team, nor was it Lucas.
It was a woman.
She wore a matte black tactical vest over a dark bodysuit, her hair pulled back into a severe braid, her eyes fierce and predatory. In her right hand was a suppressed submachine gun, and in her left, a combat knife slick with fresh crimson.
"Get up, Clara," the woman said, her voice raspy, unfamiliar, yet oddly resonant.
Julian scrambled to his feet, pulling a concealed pistol from beneath his jacket, but the woman didn't even turn her head completely. With terrifying speed, she flicked the combat knife. The blade buried itself deep into Julian’s right shoulder with a sickening thud. He screamed, dropping the pistol as he collapsed against the wall, clutching his gushing wound.
The woman knelt in front of Clara. With a swift flick of a secondary blade, she sliced through the ropes binding Clara’s wrists and ankles.
"Who are you?" Clara breathed, rubbing her raw, bleeding wrists as she stood up on trembling legs. "Did my father send you?"
The woman paused, her dark eyes softening for an imperceptible fraction of a second as she gazed into Clara’s face. "Your father is in federal holding. He couldn't send a dog even if he wanted to."
"Then who are you?"
"My name is Evelyn," the woman said coldly, kicking Julian's dropped pistol toward Clara. "Pick it up. And you better learn how to use it in the next ten minutes, because the entire Sterling private militia is descending on this shipping yard."
Clara stared at the gun, then back at Evelyn’s face. In the dim emergency light, Clara suddenly noticed the small silver crescent scar beneath Evelyn’s left eye—the exact mirror of the scar her mother had carried in childhood photographs.
May you like
"Mom...?" Clara whispered, her voice breaking.
Evelyn’s jaw tightened. "She’s been dead for fifteen years. I am what’s left. Now move, before Julian’s father finishes burying Arthur alive."
