CHAPTER 282: CHAPTER 282 NIGHT COVER

When Liam and Vanessa finally arrived at her place, they hovered just above the treetops—only to be met with a chaotic sight. Below them, the house was surrounded. Dozens of police cars lined the street and red-blue sirens flashed like angry eyes in the night. Armed officers had their weapons drawn, voices shouting through megaphones.

"This is the police! We know you’re in there! Vanessa Reeds, come out with your hands in the air!"

Liam’s eyes widened as his gaze swept over the scene. His heart skipped a beat—not for himself, but for one person.

"Lana’s inside," he said sharply.

He moved to dive straight down, fury building in his chest, but Vanessa reached out and grabbed his arm.

"No!" she hissed. "Don’t go straight in. If you land in the middle of all that, you’ll alert the entire damn system."

Liam hovered midair, gritting his teeth. She was right. His instincts screamed at him to rush down, but logic told him that would be suicide.

He sighed, adjusted his wings, and veered to the side. They landed instead in a large tree a little distance away from the house. The thick branches hid them well enough, and from here, they could observe without being seen.

The second Vanessa’s boots touched the branch, her eyes narrowed. Her gauntlet beeped rapidly—urgent, repetitive pulses.

"What is it now?" Liam asked, his voice sharp.

Vanessa didn’t have to answer.

A shadow moved through the trees just below them, moving fast and smooth. And then—there she was.

Lana stepped into view, emerging from the brush like a ghost. She was dressed in one of Vanessa’s backup suits—a skin-tight black tactical outfit that hugged every inch of her curvy, hourglass figure. The suit was sleeveless, highlighting her smooth arms, and the neckline dipped slightly in a way that was more alluring than practical. Her hips swayed naturally as she walked, and the fabric around her thighs seemed sculpted to perfection, the gleaming black material outlining every curve. Her long, dark brown hair was tied into a sleek ponytail, and her green eyes were sharp with confidence.

Liam blinked. "H-How?" he stammered.

Lana gave a casual shrug, her tone light. "The AI Vanessa installed alerted me the moment the perimeter was breached. It told me exactly what suit to wear and where to escape through."

She wasn’t talking like someone who just narrowly escaped death—more like someone who just completed a cool mission in a video game.

Liam just stared at her, still trying to take in the fact that she was safe. "You’re serious?"

Lana grinned. "Totally. The whole suit’s integrated with her system. It told me which hallway not to pass, and when I needed to jump down the balcony."

Vanessa nodded in approval. "Good. That AI’s working better than expected."

Liam finally allowed himself to breathe. "That same thing... It warned me too, didn’t it? When you were fighting Clark. That’s how I knew something was wrong."

Vanessa gave a little smirk. "Yeah. I wrote the alerts to be urgent. I wasn’t sure it would get through all the system scrambling, but clearly it did."

Just then, a sudden implosive sound broke through the air.

BOOOOOOM!

It wasn’t a normal explosion—no flames, no fire—just a deep concussive thump that shook the nearby trees and sent birds scattering into the night sky. Then came the shriek of car alarms, lights flashing wildly, and police shouting commands in panic.

Lana flinched. "W-What the hell was that?" she asked, her voice suddenly high with tension.

Vanessa’s eyes locked on the direction of her house.

"That," she said grimly, "was my living room."

Lana’s face turned pale. "Your... what?"

Vanessa turned to her with a raised eyebrow. "Why do you think the system was so eager to get you out?"

Lana just stood there, mouth slightly open, realizing that had she not followed the AI’s directions, she would have been inside that exact living room.

"Holy shit," she whispered. Her hands trembled slightly, and a bead of sweat trickled down her cheek.

She gulped, then looked back at Vanessa. "If I hadn’t listened—"

"You’d be in pieces," Vanessa replied bluntly. "That house was set to go the moment the infiltration protocol activated. I had to wipe everything."

Liam’s brows furrowed as he turned toward her. "Wait... What about your stuff?"

Vanessa simply gave a confident smile.

"Backed up," she said coolly. "All of it. Every file, every design, every camera log, every backup drive. Stored across four separate locations. I’m not an amateur."

Lana let out a shaky breath. "You scare me sometimes."

-----

An old man silently sipped a steaming cup of coffee as he stared out the tall window of his apartment. The apartment was high above the city, the glowing lights far below creating a quiet, restless energy that pulsed through the streets. People moved like insects from up here—cars weaving through lanes, streetlights flickering on as the night deepened. The old man sat still, his expression unreadable. His beard, thick and white, rested against the edge of the ceramic mug as he drank again.

Then, a knock. Just once.

The door creaked open immediately after. A man stepped in—dressed casually in dark jeans and a gray long-sleeve shirt, no weapon visible, no armor, no sign he was a guard except for how he moved. Silent, controlled, trained. He stepped in fully, closing the door gently behind him. Then he bowed deeply.

The old man didn’t speak. He simply raised his hand slightly. The meaning was clear: Talk.

The guard straightened and spoke with respectful calm. "Clark has returned."

The old man didn’t react at first. He simply set his cup down on the side table beside him, the soft clink of ceramic against wood echoing faintly in the room. He looked forward, eyes fixed on the city for a few more seconds. Then he finally turned his head.

"Was he successful?" His voice was low, rough with age, but firm. "Did he kill the Warden’s daughter?"

The room fell into an unnatural silence for a second.

The guard shifted slightly on his feet before shaking his head. "No, sir," he said carefully. "He returned in a near broken state instead."

The old man blinked once. His fingers stroked the bottom of his beard slowly, thoughtfully. His eyes narrowed slightly, and he finally turned in his seat to fully face the guard.

"Interesting," he muttered. "What happened?"

The guard hesitated again. His next words came out like he didn’t fully believe them himself.

"Clark claimed he fought her. Dominated her. And was about to kill her."

"Then?" the old man pressed.

The guard’s tone changed. Now it was slower, more deliberate, more cautious—like he was trying to make sure he didn’t sound like a fool.

"Someone interrupted. According to Clark... the individual was a Pure Aetherial class. Male. He seemed to be... acquainted with Vanessa. And he’s also the reason Clark returned in the condition he did."

The old man didn’t even blink for a few seconds. His mind locked on two words.

He leaned forward.

"Pure Aetherial?" His voice had a sharp edge now. "Are you sure about this?"

The guard straightened his back without realizing. The tone in the old man’s voice made the hair on his neck stand. His fingers flexed slightly at his sides.

"Clark was sure," the guard said carefully. "But personally... I would take it with a grain of salt. He just lost a fight. Might be hyping up the opponent to make his failure seem less pathetic."

The old man stood slowly. His cup of coffee forgotten.

He stared at the guard like he was trying to see through him. "A Pure Aetherial doesn’t just appear out of nowhere," he muttered to himself.

"I agree," the guard said.

The old man’s face hardened. "But what if he’s right?"

The question hit the room like a silent blow.

"I... don’t know," the guard admitted.

The old man took a slow step forward. "Tell me exactly what Clark said. Word for word, if you remember."

The guard nodded.

"He said the fight was clean. He wore Vanessa down, kept control, and had her at swordpoint. Then—he didn’t see how—the other guy arrived. It was sudden. No noise, no detection, just there. He said he couldn’t see his movements clearly. Only that he was fast. Too fast. Hit him hard, fast, and with something that felt like raw force."

"Aetherial?" the old man asked again.

"Yes. That was his exact word. Clark said the aura hit him when the man even attacked. And the moment he did, Clark knew he was outclassed."

The old man began walking to the far side of the room, pacing now. He wasn’t looking at the guard anymore.

"Clark’s not the kind to exaggerate," he muttered. "He’s a brute. Honest in the most unpleasant ways. If he says Pure Aetherial... and he was injured this badly... then either it was true... or he’s completely lost his edge."

The guard said nothing.

The old man stopped at the edge of the glass wall, staring out at the night again.