Valebrook Subway System – 4:58 a.m.
The chess piece in her hand felt heavier than it should have. Carved from bone, not plastic. Smoothed edges. The kind of personal touch no Syndicate thug would bother with.
Juliana stared at the base again:
You're next.
~ "It's Raven," she murmured.
Damian knelt beside her, sweeping his hand over the ground where the masked figure had vanished. No blood. No footprints. Just a fading trail of cold air that felt like death whispering.
~ "You sure?"
~ "Yeah. It's her style. Taunting, theatrical, always one step ahead."
~ "She was a ghost before I was." She pocketed the piece.
Damian stood. "So we're hunting someone just like you, only worse?"
Juliana cracked her neck. "No. I'm not like her." Beat. "She's free."
_____
5:12 a.m. – Safehouse Garage, Midtown
Back in the car. No words.
Juliana rested her head against the passenger window, her eyes half-closed but wide awake inside. Every bone in her body ached. Her ribs were bruised from the subway chase. A cut above her hip from something sharp in Tunnel Nine still bled, soaking into the waistband of her jeans.
Damian drove like someone trained to kill without leaving tire marks. Controlled. Cool. Eyes locked forward, but aware of her every breath.
~ "Why didn't you tell me you knew about Raven?" she finally asked.
~ "Because I didn't. Until tonight."
~ "You hesitated back there."
~ "I was surprised. That's not the same as lying." Juliana turned toward him.
~ "You hesitate again, I shoot first. Deal?" He smirked. "Noted."
They parked in an underground lot. Dusty, low ceiling, neon lights flickering like a heartbeat under stress. Juliana stepped out of the car slowly, pain making itself known now that the adrenaline was gone. She stretched, cracked her knuckles, and made her way up the concrete stairwell. They reached the door to the loft. Juliana keyed in the code. Inside, quiet. Safe. For now.
She peeled off her jacket, exposing the wound. Damian tossed her a first aid kit without being asked. She caught it mid-air, dropped onto the couch, and winced as she disinfected the slice with a sharp hiss.
~ "You gonna keep bleeding out just to prove how tough you are?" Damian asked.
~ "I'm not bleeding to prove anything. I'm bleeding because I don't trust anyone else to patch me up."
~ "Fair."
Silence. Then —
~ "That's a clean cut," he added, voice lower. "Knife. Curved blade. Syndicate military. She's working with someone."
Juliana nodded, taping the gauze. "Maybe. Or maybe she's watching the same board we are. Clearing pieces."
~ "Then why warn you?"
~ "Because I'm not the queen yet."
_____
6:20 a.m. – One Hour Later
The safehouse lights were dim. A single lamp glowed on the desk beside her father's black ledger. Juliana sat cross-legged, a hoodie wrapped around her shoulders, hair tied back in a messy braid that hadn't been redone in three days.
She flipped through the journal. More names. Some crossed out. Some circled. Notes in code. Latin phrases. Phrases like "Aequit'as ultra senguinem" — Justice beyond blood.
~ "What did he know," she muttered, "that was worth killing over?"
Damian was behind her, pacing, watching the security feeds on a tablet.
~ "You should sleep."
~ "Can't."
~ "Because of me?"
She looked at him, something unreadable in her eyes.
~ "Because I don't know who's worse — the ones hunting me... or the one protecting me."
______
6:31 a.m. – Ten Minutes Later
A thud. Both turned toward the door. Another thud. Heavier. Deliberate. Damian moved first, gun drawn. Juliana reached for hers, chambered the round with one hand, fast and silent.
~ "How the hell did they find us again?" she whispered.
~ "They didn't. This wasn't a trace. This is a message."
Another thud. She moved toward the door slowly, gun raised. Damian unlocked the bolts. The door swung open.
Nothing. Just a single cardboard box on the hallway floor. Light ticking from inside. Damian cursed under his breath. "Back!"
Juliana grabbed the box before he could stop her and hurled it across the room toward the concrete sink. It hit the steel with a hollow thunk.
No explosion. They waited. Nothing.
Juliana approached it, this time slower, and peeled back the flaps with the tip of her blade. Inside was no bomb. Just a velvet pouch. She opened it. Eyes narrowed. Inside: A photograph.
Damian. Years younger. Sitting beside her father. Smiling. Juliana's heart dropped into her stomach.
~ "What the hell is this?" Damian stared. Silent.
Juliana stepped closer, shaking the photo. "You told me you didn't know my father."
~ "I didn't lie — "
~"This is you. With him. On the same page. The same table."
~ "It was before you were born. I was undercover. It was a long time ago."
~ "Bullshit!"
She pulled her gun on him. Again. This time the hammer clicked into place.
~ "Start talking. Or start praying."
Damian raised his hands slowly. Calm. Too calm.
~ "You want the truth?"
~ "Try me."
~ "Your father recruited me. I was seventeen. Same age you were when they killed him. He pulled me out of a prison camp in Serbia. Trained me. Trusted me. But I failed him. I went dark. And when he died... I was the one who leaked the address."
Everything inside her went still.
~ "You were the leak."
~ "I didn't know they'd kill him. I thought they'd arrest him. Turn him. That was the plan."
Juliana's finger tightened on the trigger.
~ "Then you're the reason I was orphaned."
Damian's jaw tensed. He didn't deny it.
~ "So go ahead," he said. "If it'll make the weight lighter, do it. But it won't bring him back."
Juliana's hand trembled. Gun raised. She stared into his eyes. Looking for guilt. Or redemption. Or the hollow emptiness of a killer hiding behind noble words. She didn't find any of them.
What she found instead was something worse: Recognition.
Because what she saw in him… was the same thing she saw in herself. A person who hadn't just killed for revenge — but someone who'd done it for survival. Someone who regretted it only because they were still alive. The kind of person who couldn't go back.
~ "I should kill you."
~ "Probably."
~ "But I want you to live with it." She lowered the gun.
~ "Thirty-six hours. You said I could kill you after that. We're down to twenty-four."
"Noted."
_____
Juliana turned away, shoulders heavy. But her mind… her mind was already moving. Because if Damian had been inside her father's circle — if he had once been trusted — then maybe… just maybe… he still had answers.
She didn't need a soldier. She needed a key. And even if that key was soaked in blood…
She was going to turn it.