Chapter 19
The silence was the worst part. In the week following the disastrous ambush in Switzerland, a heavy quiet had fallen over Sophia’s compound.
The usual sounds of training and conversations had been replaced by the soft tread of guards on patrol, the hushed tones of strategic meetings, and the unspoken fear that lingered after the battle.
Devon was mobile, but he was not fully healed yet.
The silver-laced wound in his side was a constant, burning reminder of his failure, a dull ache that was as much a blow to his pride as it was a physical injury.
He moved with a stiffness that was alien to his usual fluid grace, his four hundred years of controlled power suddenly feeling fragile and finite.
The debriefing was held in Sophia’s glass-walled office.
“The lead was a trap,” Sophia began, her voice lacking warmth. “And the location a kill zone. We walked into it like amateurs.”
Luc sat hunched in his chair, his arm wrapped around his still-taped ribs. “I should have sensed them,” he said, filled with regret.
“Blame is a luxury we cannot afford, Luc,” Devon said, his voice soft but steady. “I made the call. I underestimated him. I saw a rival, a spoiled child playing at war. I did not see a fanatic with a network of loyalists ready to die for him.”
Antoine, who had been quiet until now, spoke with a low rumble. “He did not fight with honor. He fought to win. There is a difference. We came prepared for a fight. He prepared for an execution.”
His words lingered in the air, a clear reminder of the new rules of engagement. Aleksander was not playing their game. He was playing his own.
Later, Kate found Luc in the training room, going through combat drills with a reckless, punishing intensity. He moved with a desperate energy, favoring his injured side, his face a mask of grim determination. He was trying to outrun his guilt.
“You’ll tear your stitches,” she said softly from the doorway.
He spun around, startled, his chest heaving. “I’m fine.”
“No, you’re not,” she said, walking toward him. “You’re blaming yourself.”
“Devon almost died,” he bit out, slamming a practice sword back into its rack. “On my watch. I was supposed to be the point man, the one who sees the traps. And I saw nothing.”
Kate stopped in front of him.
“That’s not on you, Luc. That’s on Aleksander.
This is what he does. He finds your weaknesses and twists them.
” She looked at him, her gaze steady. “I know how it feels to be powerless while someone you care about is in danger. It’s the worst feeling in the world.
But punishing yourself won’t change what happened. ”
He looked at her; the guilt in his eyes slowly turned into a shared understanding. He saw not just a fledgling, but a fellow soldier who understood the unique agony of their situation.
In the compound’s medical wing, Antoine stood before a refrigerated storage unit, taking inventory of the human blood supply. Sophia joined him, her expression weary.
“How are your injuries, old friend?” she asked, her voice low.
“They will heal,” he said, not looking at her. “It is the wounds to our pride that will take longer.”
He traced a finger over the cold metal of the storage unit. “We were arrogant. We have been at the top of the food chain for so long, we have forgotten what it feels like to be prey.”
“He is not a predator,” Sophia countered. “He is a rabid dog. And we will put him down.”
“A rabid dog with resources we did not anticipate,” Antoine said, finally meeting her gaze. “His network is larger, and his followers are more zealous than we knew. We survived this time. We may not be so lucky again.”
It was a mistake they could not afford to make again.
That night, Kate found Devon in their private quarters, standing before the large window that overlooked the moonlit grounds. He was staring out at the darkness, but she knew he wasn’t seeing the landscape. He was replaying the ambush, the fight, his failure.
She wrapped her arms around his waist from behind, resting her cheek against his back. He was still so tense, his muscles coiled like steel springs.
“It wasn’t your fault,” she whispered.
“I led them into a slaughterhouse,” he said, his voice heavy with self-hate. “I let my anger and my need for revenge cloud my judgment. I underestimated him.”
“We all did,” she replied, turning him to face her.
He looked down at her, his icy blue eyes filled with a pain that had nothing to do with his physical wounds. “He almost took you from me before I even had you.”
“But he didn’t,” she said, her voice sharp. “You’re not going to fight him alone anymore. We do this together: plan together, fight together, win together.”
But even as they stood united after their close call with death, a new feeling of worry settled over the compound.
The guards increased their patrols. They upgraded the security systems. They were getting ready, building up defenses, waiting for the next attack.
They anticipated a frontal assault, a direct confrontation.
They never considered the one thing that kept them all alive, the one thing they all trusted completely.
They never thought to look at the blood.