Chapter 113

Chapter 113

The island appeared on every screen in the operations room.

Satellite imagery.

Supply routes.

Guard rotations.

Shipping manifests.

Communication intercepts.

For the last twelve hours, nobody had slept.

Nobody cared.

Every minute mattered now.

Seventy-two hours had become sixty.

And the clock was still ticking.

The safehouse buzzed with controlled chaos.

Maps covered entire walls.

Weapons were being cleaned.

Vehicles prepared.

Encrypted messages sent to surviving Program escapees across Europe.

The war was coming.

Everyone could feel it.

Like a storm gathering just beyond the horizon.

And somehow, despite the urgency of everything else

Damon couldn't stop thinking about one thing.

Vale's smile.

Not the one she'd given the camera.

Not the one she'd shown the children.

The one she'd worn when she said:

"They're coming for each other."

The words wouldn't leave him alone.

Because Vale never said anything without a reason.

Every sentence was deliberate.

Every threat calculated.

Every truth wrapped inside a lie.

Or perhaps every lie hidden inside a truth.

Damon hated that he understood how she thought.

He hated it because it meant he understood something else too.

Vale wasn't confident.

She was certain.

And certainty was dangerous.

Especially coming from her.

Across the room, Luca sat in front of a computer terminal.

Reviewing personnel records.

Or pretending to.

Because he hadn't turned a page in twenty minutes.

His eyes were fixed on the screen.

But his mind was elsewhere.

Damon recognized the look.

He'd worn it himself.

The look of someone trapped inside old memories.

The realization annoyed him.

Because despite everything

He still noticed.

Still worried.

Still cared.

The betrayal should have killed those feelings.

It hadn't.

And that made everything harder.

Cassian entered carrying coffee.

An alarming amount of coffee.

Nobody asked questions.

Nobody wanted answers.

He dropped a cup beside Damon.

Another beside Luca.

Then sat heavily in a nearby chair.

"Everyone looks terrible."

"Thank you."

Seraphine replied.

"It's important to maintain morale."

"You're doing a terrible job."

"I know."

Mira laughed softly.

The sound surprised everyone.

Including her.

For a moment, the room felt lighter.

Not by much.

But enough.

Then Hale burst through the door.

And immediately ruined everything.

"Holy hell."

Every head turned.

Because Hale rarely swore.

Which meant something was wrong.

Very wrong.

"What happened?"

Seraphine demanded.

Hale looked pale.

Actually pale.

The sight made Damon's stomach tighten.

"We intercepted another file."

Nobody relaxed.

If anything, they became more tense.

Because Hale looked genuinely shaken.

And Hale had seen horrors most people couldn't imagine.

"Show us."

Without another word, Hale connected a drive to the main system.

The monitor flickered.

A file appeared.

Old.

Very old.

Program archives.

The timestamp was over fifteen years old.

Silence settled over the room.

Because everyone knew what that meant.

Child operatives.

Old missions.

Old crimes.

Old wounds.

The file opened.

A grainy video appeared.

Security footage.

Black and white.

Poor quality.

Yet clear enough.

A hallway.

A medical wing.

A Program facility.

Nobody spoke.

Then a small figure appeared on screen.

A child.

Thin.

Bruised.

No older than eleven.

The room immediately went still.

Because everyone recognized him.

Luca.

A younger Luca.

Much younger.

The sight punched the air from Damon's lungs.

Because photographs were one thing.

Video was another.

Photographs froze people.

Video showed them alive.

The child on screen moved cautiously.

Like someone expecting punishment.

Like someone afraid to take up too much space.

The sight hurt.

More than Damon wanted to admit.

The footage continued.

Young Luca carried a tray of food.

His head lowered.

Eyes fixed on the floor.

Silent.

Obedient.

Not dangerous.

Not murderous.

Just a child.

The room remained completely silent.

Then the video shifted.

A door opened.

Someone entered the hallway.

Another child.

A girl.

Perhaps ten years old.

Dark hair.

Wide eyes.

Terrified.

Luca stopped walking.

The tray nearly slipped from his hands.

Emotion appeared on his face.

Concern.

The girl was crying.

Visible even through the poor quality footage.

One arm injured.

Blood staining her sleeve.

The sight immediately changed something in the room.

Because everyone knew that look.

They'd all been that child.

The girl stumbled.

Nearly falling.

Then something unexpected happened.

Young Luca set down the tray.

Walked toward her.

And offered his hand.

Silence.

Absolute silence.

Nobody moved.

Nobody breathed.

The girl hesitated.

Clearly frightened.

Then accepted.

The tiny gesture lasted only seconds.

Yet it felt enormous.

Because kindness was rare in the Program.

Dangerously rare.

Young Luca helped her stand.

Then gave her half the food from his tray.

The footage continued for several more moments.

The girl smiled.

Just slightly.

The first smile anyone had seen in the entire recording.

Then the screen went black.

Nobody spoke.

Nobody knew how.

Finally Nova broke the silence.

"What was the point of that?"

Hale looked grim.

"Keep watching."

The next file opened.

Another recording.

Another hallway.

Another day.

The same girl.

Only this time

She wasn't alive.

The room froze.

The child lay motionless on a medical table.

Covered by a white sheet.

The date in the corner appeared.

Three weeks after the first recording.

No.

No.

No.

Mira covered her mouth.

Cassian looked away.

Even Seraphine's face tightened.

The footage ended.

Immediately.

Leaving only silence.

Heavy.

Crushing.

"What happened?"

Nova whispered.

Hale swallowed.

Then opened the final document.

A medical report.

Experiment failure.

Subject terminated.

Age: Ten.

The room went cold.

Because this wasn't intelligence.

This wasn't strategy.

This wasn't military information.

This was a graveyard.

A record of children who never got the chance to grow up.

Damon looked toward Luca.

Instinctively.

Without thinking.

Luca hadn't moved.

Not once.

His eyes remained fixed on the screen.

Yet Damon could see it.

The devastation.

The guilt.

The grief.

The memories.

And suddenly Damon understood something.

The mission file had shown him the child Luca was forced to become.

This showed him the child Luca might have been.

A boy sharing food.

Helping another child stand.

Trying to be kind in a place designed to destroy kindness.

The realization hurt.

Because it complicated everything.

Because it humanized everything.

Because hatred would be easier.

Far easier.

Then Hale spoke again.

And shattered the moment.

"We identified the girl."

Everyone looked up.

Immediately.

Hale's expression was grave.

"Her name was Isabella."

Silence.

Then his next words changed everything.

"She wasn't supposed to be there."

The room froze.

"What?"

Damon asked.

Hale opened another file.

Another photograph.

Another name.

Then the blood drained from Luca's face.

Immediately.

"No."

The whisper barely existed.

No one understood.

Except Luca.

Because he recognized the surname.

A surname he never expected to see again.

A surname buried decades ago.

A surname connected to a secret even Vale didn't know he remembered.

Damon noticed the reaction instantly.

"Luca?"

Luca stared at the file.

Unable to breathe.

Unable to look away.

Because if the records were correct

If this was really Isabella

Then she wasn't supposed to be dead.

And that meant only one thing.

Someone had lied.

For fifteen years.

Someone had hidden her fate.

And that someone was almost certainly Vale.

Far away, on the island

Vale stood in front of a sealed steel door.

Watching surveillance feeds from the safehouse.

Watching Luca's reaction.

Watching understanding dawn in his eyes.

A slow smile spread across her face.

"Good."

The door behind her unlocked with a heavy metallic click.

And for the first time in fifteen years

The prisoner inside lifted her head.

Ready to come home.