Chapter 27 Unholy Alliance #2
“Belle.” Luna’s voice carries a warning I recognize from our Shark Bay days. “What you’re describing—it’s essentially what our families did. Using secrets, surveillance, and manipulation to control outcomes. Are you sure this is the path you want to go down?”
The question hits harder than it should, forcing me to confront the uncomfortable parallel between my proposed strategy and everything I’ve spent months trying to escape. But the alternative—hiding in abandoned buildings while people I care about die—is worse than any moral complexity.
“The difference is our motivation,” I say finally. “Our families used these tactics to exploit and control. We’re using them to expose and stop the very system they created. Sometimes you have to become what you’re fighting to win the war.”
Silence stretches across the connection, broken only by the crackle of static and the wind outside our temporary shelter. I can feel the weight of decision pressing down on all of us, the moment when we choose between safety and justice, between hiding and hunting.
“I’m in,” Luna says first, her voice carrying the steel that once made her the most dangerous student at Shark Bay University. “But Belle, if we do this, we do it right. No half measures, no backing down when things get ugly.”
“Agreed. Erik?”
“David would want us to fight back.” His voice is thick with emotion, but determined. “And I have his resources that they don’t know about. Legal contacts who operate outside official channels, investigative journalists who specialize in exposing corruption.”
Max squeezes my hand. “I’m with you. All the way.”
The alliance crystallizes in that moment, binding us together not through shared trauma but through shared purpose. We’re no longer just victims running from our past, but active participants in writing our own ending.
“Okay,” I say, pulling out a notebook to begin documenting our strategy.
“Here’s what we know: The Architect is the real power behind the network.
Harper is their law enforcement asset. There are multiple active members still operating under protection.
And they want me specifically for some kind of ritual completion. ”
“Why you specifically?” Erik asks. “If Luna was the original target—”
“Because I wore a wire to bring them down,” I realize aloud. “In their system, that level of betrayal requires special punishment. It’s not enough to just eliminate me—they need to make an example.”
“Which gives us leverage,” Max points out. “If they want you alive for their ritual, they can’t just have us killed outright. They need to capture you specifically.”
“That’s a thin line to walk,” Luna warns. “Assuming they’ll stick to their own rules instead of adapting when things don’t go according to plan.”
She’s right, but it’s the only advantage we have. I flip to a fresh page in the notebook, beginning to sketch out our operational structure.
“Luna and Erik, you focus on documenting the Queen network’s remaining connections. Use the files your mother had, cross-reference with current news, identify who’s still active. Max and I will work the financial angle, trace money flows from my father’s records to current operations.”
“What about Harper?” Erik asks. “He’s expecting some kind of response to his ultimatum.”
I smile, and I know it’s not a pleasant expression. “We give him exactly what he expects. Panicked communications, desperate attempts to negotiate, evidence that we’re falling apart under pressure. Let him think his psychological warfare is working while we build our real case.”
“And David?” Luna’s voice is soft. “We can’t just leave him vulnerable while we play spy games.”
“Erik, can you talk to his boss and arrange private security for him? People outside official channels who won’t report back to Harper?”
“Already working on it. I also have contacts from my father’s business who specialize in executive protection.”
The conversation continues for another hour, filling in details, establishing communication protocols, creating the framework for what might be the most dangerous operation any of us have ever attempted.
When we finally end the call, I feel simultaneously exhausted and energized, drained by the magnitude of what we’re planning but galvanized by having a concrete strategy instead of just running blindly.
Max closes his laptop, the sudden absence of screen light making the hunting lodge feel even more isolated. “Think it’ll work?”
“It has to.” I set down the notebook, pages now filled with names, connections, operational timelines. “Because the alternative is letting them win. Letting them complete whatever ritual they think they need, letting them silence everyone who dared to speak out against their system.”
“And if we get caught? If Harper figures out what we’re really doing?”
I think about David Stone in a hospital bed, about Luna’s voice carrying the weight of years of trauma, about the photograph of Janet Wilson’s marked body that’s burned into my memory.
“Then we make sure our evidence gets out anyway. Create dead man’s switches, multiple release points, insurance policies that activate if we disappear.” I meet Max’s eyes in the dim light. “Max, we might not survive this. You understand that, right?”
“I understand that some things are worth dying for.” His hand finds mine across the table. “And some people are worth living for. Belle, whatever happens, I want you to know—”
“Don’t.” I squeeze his fingers, cutting him off before he can voice whatever farewell he’s preparing. “We’re not saying goodbye yet. We have work to do.”
His smile is soft, understanding. “You’re right. Where do we start?”
I flip the notebook to a fresh page, pen poised to begin documenting the network that’s shaped our entire lives.
Outside, the wind continues its skeletal assault on the hunting lodge’s windows, but for the first time since Harper’s betrayal, I’m not afraid of the darkness beyond our temporary shelter.
The girl who once survived by becoming my father’s perfect spy is gone. In her place sits someone harder, more dangerous—someone who understands that the only way to truly escape monsters is to become something they fear more than their own shadows.
“We start,” I say, pressing pen to paper, “by teaching The Architect what happens when their victims stop running and start remembering everything.”