CHAPTER 260: TICK

I truly despise the fact that the people around me are unsafe—because of some man’s defect. What drives that thing? What’s the end to all his ruin?

What was the true reason? It gnawed at me. Was it a twisted sense of revenge for some perceived slight? A craving for power, a desperate attempt to etch his name into history, however infamously? Or was it something far more personal, a poison festering within him that I had somehow overlooked, or worse, contributed to?

I lost soldiers, men who had family expecting them to come back home to them. I almost lost my mother... my wife. And my child... the phantom limb of a life I would never hold, a future stolen before it could even begin. The grief was a raw, gaping wound, and beneath it simmered a rage that threatened to consume me. The weight of those losses pressed down on me, a physical burden that stole my breath.

I should have seen it coming. This is all my fault. I was too relaxed. I had allowed a false sense of security to lull me into a dangerous complacency. I had focused on the obvious threats, the grander schemes, and completely missed the rot that had been allowed to take root in our midst.

I tried to be a decent human and gave him damn too many chances to save his life.

Caden. The name was a bitter taste on my tongue. A fool, I’d called him. A blustering, arrogant fool who played at being a villain. And he had proven me catastrophically wrong. I’d dismissed his threats, his machinations, seeing them as the desperate flailing of a man out of his depth. But he had been so much more than I had ever given him credit for. He had a depth of malice, a cunning I hadn’t anticipated, a capacity for cruelty that belied his jester-like facade.

No. This was the work of a viper, striking from the shadows. He hadn’t just attacked my people; he had targeted what I held most dear. He knew my weaknesses, my blind spots, and he had exploited them with chilling precision. And I, in my arrogance, had gifted him the very vulnerabilities he used against me.

A leader. The title felt like a mockery. How could I lead when I had failed to protect? When my people had paid the price for my blindness? I saw myself not as a shield, but as a sieve, letting every precious drop of safety trickle through my weakened grasp.

But grief had to wait. Duty didn’t.

The rain hadn’t stopped since the hospital. It had followed me from the lab to the car, a relentless downpour that felt less like weather and more like consequence.

The drive was silent.

Rain slicked the streets, city lights warping into ribbons that bled across the windshield. Wipers swept in a slow rhythm, barely keeping up with the downpour. The world outside looked blurred, distant. Inside the car, my breath came shallow and hot against the cold of the leather seat. Each movement dragged knives along old wounds: the stitch line at my side felt raw under the fabric, the graze near my abdomen pulsed, and the burn across my back was a dull, constant ache. I pressed my fingers there and they came away stained.

We landed at the compound twenty-seven minutes later.

My men moved with practiced efficiency, fanning out from the unmarked vehicles, their weapons held at the ready, silhouetted against the dim, industrial lights. Gray stayed close, his face grim, his eyes scanning the deserted landscape. The air was thick with the smell of damp concrete and something metallic, acrid, that hinted at the fires that had surely raged here recently.

"Perimeter secure," a voice crackled over Gray’s comms, followed by a confirmatory grunt.

I pushed the door open. The storm slapped me with its whole hand; water plastered my hair to my forehead and ran down the collar of my shirt, darkening the blood where it bled through. I didn’t care. There were more important things than comfort.

"Thermal shows faint signatures inside the main processing unit. Nothing large."

"Decoy again?" I asked, my voice low. The thought of another elaborate ruse designed to waste our time, to mock our efforts, made my blood boil.

Dizziness pin wheeled the edge of my vision. For a wild second the world went soft at the edges.

Gray’s hand was at my elbow before I could steady myself. Solid and grounding.

"You okay?"

"Dizzy."

"Medics said not to move you much."

"I’m not here for comfort," I said. My fingers curled into the fabric of my coat until the material creaked. Pain is information. Pain tells you what’s broken. It can be managed.

The rain beat harder, as if it sensed what was coming. It drummed against the concrete, a thousand tiny fists pounding out a warning.

A faint hum cut through the rain — sharp, mechanical, wrong in a place meant only for weather.

Every gun lifted. The rain held its breath.

Static rippled through the air, the hairs at the back of my neck rising a second before the courtyard went blue.

A hologram flared to life in the center like a bad star. A shimmering, ethereal silhouette against the oppressive, rain-streaked darkness. It was Caden, or rather, a digital specter of him. He stood impossibly tall, bathed in an eerie, cool blue light, his usual smirk etched onto his digital features. The air around him seemed to crackle with static, a testament to the power source that fueled this phantom.

"Well, well, brother

," the hologram’s voice echoed, distorted and amplified, devoid of the warmth I once desperately tried to find in him. It dripped with a chilling amusement, a predatory purr that grated on my nerves. "Fancy seeing you here. A bit late to the party, aren’t we?"

My hand curled into a fist. Pain flared through my ribs when I tightened it; the stitch line complained like a fresh bruise, but I didn’t flinch. I had no room for flinching.

"Show yourself, Caden," I said. "Stop hiding behind toys."

"I’d love to, brother. But I got bored waiting for you and left." He gestured with a phantom hand, and the holographic projectors embedded in the surrounding walls flickered to life, each displaying a scene.

One showed a group of children, their innocent faces contorted in fear as they are all tied up, they are kids from the orphanage I founded, kids I had sworn to protect. Another showed beds overturned, medical supplies scattered, and a small group of frail, elderly citizens, terror etched onto their wrinkled faces, hands bound. These were the residents of the community elder care facility I had personally overseen, funded with my own resources, a safe haven I had promised them.

My breath stopped. The images burned themselves into my skull — the children I’d promised safety, the elders I’d sworn to protect. Every face a failure.

Beneath the feed: red numerals burned across the screen. 01:27:19.

A countdown.

My stomach dropped. My heart tried to beat faster and failed. I tasted rust.

"You see, brother." Caden’s voice purred through the static, dripping with satisfaction. "I feel so proud of myself in doing all of this. It’s so...refreshing. Anyway, if you want all this people to stay alive, meet me at the dockyard. Alone."

A cold, terrible quiet settled over me. The pain from my stitched wounds seemed to recede, replaced by a numbing shock, a deep-seated horror that rooted me to the damp concrete.

The children. The elderly. He had attacked the foundations of my decency. These were my people, the ones whose vulnerability had always demanded my protection. He had taken them as leverage, knowing that no amount of power or security could shield me from the shame of their capture.

"You’ve crossed a line, Caden," I said. My voice was dangerously level, devoid of the earlier rage, replaced by a crystalline clarity that was far more menacing. The rain beat down, washing the blue light of the hologram into the gutters.

The digital smirk on the phantom face widened. "Lines are for fools, brother. And you’re the biggest fool I know. Still playing the hero, aren’t you? Tsk tsk. Don’t waste time. The clock is running."

The numerals on the screen pulsed a furious red: 01:26:52.

My stomach dropped as understanding hit. The board meeting—an hour left. The exact moment the clock runs out.

"You son of a bitch," I muttered. "That’s when it ends."

"You have my word," I said, meeting the projection’s eyes, my lips turning into a half smile. "I will be there. Alone."

The hologram smiled that simulated smile. The blue light collapsed inward, vanishing instantly, leaving the compound suddenly darker, wetter, and colder than before. The only remaining light came from the still-ticking clock feeds, mocking us with the faces of the terrified hostages.

And in that flickering red light, I made a silent promise — this time, the hunt ends with blood.