Chapter 93 Damian
Damian
The safehouse was still when I left—Morgan’s hair tangled on the pillow, her hand stretched across the bed where I’d been. Ruby curled in the next room, cocooned in blankets, finally sleeping without flinching at every sound. Leaving them tore at me in ways I didn’t have words for.
But this was the job. I did sleep for a few hours.
By the time I reached command, the place buzzed with tension.
Screens glowed, the air thick with coffee and anticipation.
Cyclone barely looked up from his laptop, his fingers flying across the keys like he was trying to outpace the devil himself.
Oliver leaned against the wall, arms folded, while Gage stood pacing like a caged wolf.
“You’re late,” Oliver said, but his smirk undercut the words.
“Had somewhere important to be. Plus, I fell asleep.” I dropped into the chair across from Cyclone. “Tell me you’ve got something.”
Cyclone shoved his glasses up his nose, eyes blazing with that manic light he always got when the puzzle started snapping into place.
“Got something? Damian, I’ve got everything.
That server wasn’t just a hub—it was the spine of Luthor’s network.
Shipping manifests, coded drop schedules, bank transfers.
The whole damn operation laid out like a map. ”
Gage stopped pacing. “So where’s the bastard?”
Cyclone clicked to another screen—satellite images, coordinates flashing red.
“Here. Dockyards were just a feeding point. The real prize? He’s funneling money and bodies through a compound outside the city.
High security. Cameras, drones, private guards.
This isn’t just a hideout—it’s where he runs the show. ”
My jaw tightened. Finally. A lead straight to him.
Oliver stepped closer, eyes narrowing at the map. “You’re telling me if we hit that compound, we cut the head off the snake?”
“Exactly,” Cyclone said, grinning despite the tension. “But it won’t be easy. This place is a fortress. Luthor’s not stupid—he knows we’re coming. He wants to draw us in, bleed us dry.”
I leaned forward, elbows braced on my knees, studying the image. My shoulder ached, the bandage pulling tight, but I ignored it. Pain was nothing new.
“We’ve taken fortresses before,” I said flatly.
Oliver gave a low chuckle. “Always the optimist.”
Gage crossed his arms. “What’s the play? Kick the doors in? Go quiet?”
Cyclone glanced at me, then back at the map. “If we hit it wrong, he vanishes. And next time, we won’t get another shot. He’ll bury his tracks so deep we’ll never see him again.”
All eyes shifted to me.
I dragged in a breath, the weight of Morgan’s whispered you came back still echoing in my chest. I couldn’t let Luthor slip through. Not after what we saw in that warehouse. Not after those girls. Not with Morgan and Ruby still in his sights, even if he didn’t know it yet.
“We hit hard,” I said finally. “No warnings. No negotiations. We breach, cut the power, and take him alive if possible. Dead if not. Either way, this ends.”
Silence settled for a beat, heavy but sure. Then Oliver’s smirk widened, Gage cracked his knuckles, and Cyclone muttered something about rewriting firewalls like a rockstar.
The plan was forming. The mission was set.
And in the back of my mind, one thought pulsed steady as a heartbeat:
I’ll end this, Morgan. So when I come back, it’s over.