Roughly forty minutes later, the Citadel stirred awake.

A black sedan moved across the lower ramp, its frame neat but understated against the armored bulk of the vehicles it passed.

Tires squealed faintly as it slowed into the open zone where strips of overhead light painted the floor in pale bars. The engine cut.

Above, Gary stood at the railing of the upper platform, tablet in hand, his voice crisp as he finished issuing orders to a pair of minions.

Below, more minions hefted crates into the trunks of waiting black Escalades—rows of them, lined like a convoy ready for war.

Each lift and thud of a weapons case echoed across the chamber, mingling with the distant whrrr~ of automated lifts carrying more supplies into the bay.

Gary's gaze shifted toward the sedan the instant it parked.

The lights flickered.

Once.

Twice.

The entire garage dipped into shadow, then flared back.

When they steadied, Predator was standing beside Gary.

Gasps rippled across the floor. Every minion turned sharply, salutes snapping up in unison. One of the loaders closest to Gary nearly fumbled his grip, the crate tilting until his partner steadied it with both hands.

Gary didn't scold. He only let the corner of his mouth lift, calm as always.

"Welcome, sir," he said, turning toward Predator with an incline of his head. "The young Madam is waiting for us in the command and control center."

Predator's mask tilted slightly in acknowledgment, the skull-etched surface swallowing the glow of the fluorescents. The air around him seemed to drag, weight pressing subtle even in stillness.

The minions held their salute a fraction longer before Gary waved them back to work.

———

The tram ride was short, its hum echoing down the shaft as it carried them deeper into the Citadel.

When it docked, Predator stepped out beside Gary, boots striking the walkway.

The doors to Command and Control slid open with a hydraulic hiss~.

Don let the suit unravel, the void-thread peeling back until only ink-black traces curled across his arm before fading.

When he stepped into the chamber, it was just him again—black vest over his shoulders, navy sweatpants hanging loose at his hips.

Elle sat opposite the main seat. Stacks of papers, datapads, and flickering holo-screens spread in a crescent around her.

Images cycled overhead: a huge mansion tucked into dense forest, zoomed stills of masked guards patrolling its perimeter, a helicopter mid-descent, and dossiers of faces Don didn't recognize.

The doors' movement made her pause.

Her pupils trembled. Her nose twitched faintly, ears angling sharper before she even looked up. Then, as though pulled, her head snapped toward the entry.

Her eyes almost lit when she saw him.

Don met her gaze and offered a faint smile. "Hard at work?"

Elle startled, fumbling the stack of papers in her hands as if remembering she was supposed to look busy. "Uhm… yeah. Anyway—" she glanced down, then back up, her words tumbling over themselves, "welcome back."

Subtle or not, Don had come to notice she always said that when he returned. Not hello, not you're here. Always welcome back. As if the Citadel was Don's real home.

It was touching. And it made something tight coil in his chest all the same.

"Thanks." He stepped closer.

Elle stiffened when his shadow fell across her—only to melt when he leaned down and pulled her into a hug.

Seated, she folded into him without resistance, her face pressed against his body as she breathed in like she wanted to memorize his scent.

It didn't last long.

He pulled back sooner than she wanted, and the faint dip in her shoulders gave her away.

"Care to fill me in on what the mission is exactly?"

Don didn't take the head seat. Instead, he leaned against the back of hers, close enough she could feel the weight of him behind her.

"Sure thing," Elle said, steadying herself with a quick breath. Her hand brushed across the clutter of papers, drawing them into order as Gary moved to her side.

He clasped his hands behind his back, posture straight, his eyes set on the screens.

"Because of the information Gary recovered on Barclay and Ashley," she began, "we started digging into her father, Gerald Richmond."

Gary lifted a hand and swiped across the nearest holo-screen. Images shifted, a dossier sliding forward in crisp detail before he flicked it outward.

The glowing file floated across the projection until Don caught it with a casual hand movement, scrolling through without hurry.

The man pictured was older, blonde hair graying at the edges but combed back into place. His face had a sharp jawline, eyes sunken with the weight of years in politics, his mouth tight as though smiling had never been part of his repertoire.

Below the photo scrolled a list of bullet points.

Gerald Richmond –

• Longtime financial backer of the state's current governor

• Major donor to several infrastructure and energy committees

• Holds extensive real estate assets

• Estimated net worth: ~$940,000,000

• Political alignment: Center-right, pro-corporate development

Don's eyes narrowed on the numbers. "I think I saw him in passing at that event I attended with Miss Claire. From the way he carried himself, I didn't think he was this important."

Gary allowed himself the faintest smile. "He's always been the type to avoid the limelight. Hence the reason for his estate being tucked away—just beyond the forest stretch that holds the Citadel and the Monclaire lands. Different direction. Several kilometers past their private boundaries."

With another swipe, Gary shifted the screens. A slideshow of images expanded—the Richmond mansion. Angles from above, drone captures of the perimeter, forest canopy peeling back to reveal stone walls and large courtyards lit against the night.

Don accepted the stream absently, his gaze fixed on the aerial shot.

Elle leaned in, her voice steady again. "Gary secured some reliable intel that Richmond keeps his important files in a safe within the mansion. Along with private servers that could tell us exactly what his connection to Barclay is."

Don tilted his head. "Do you think it'll be of use?"

"Even if it isn't," Elle said, her gaze lifting toward him, "I'm sure he'll have something worth taking. And if not…" Her words trailed as her eyes held his, unflinching. "We'll send his severed head to Barclay as a warning."

The room hung in that moment until Gary cleared his throat softly.

"That is, of course, only in the worst-case scenario," he amended, calm as always. "Should we manage to retrieve useful data, we will be in a position of power over them. Which I'm certain you—and Sir Predator—would have many uses for."

Elle blinked once, then nodded. "Right."

Don's gaze shifted back to Gary. His voice was also calm, even.

"So. What's the plan exactly?"