CHAPTER 155: CAN YOU COME BACK BEFORE SUNDAY??

The sun sat high and honest by noon, throwing a hard, indifferent light across the city. Miles drove the familiar route, past the glass facades and market streets, toward the old Sterling Enterprises building — the place where his father had once kept an impossible number of dreams. It still smelled faintly of ink and oil, like a ledger you could open and read the past from.

He took the elevator to the top. The chairman’s cabin waited exactly as he remembered it: heavy desk, leather chair carved by time, the long window that turned the harbor into a steady, shimmering map. For a moment he just stood there and watched the water. From this height the city was a problem reduced to angles. He liked that about it.

A soft buzz cut through the quiet. He glanced down at his phone. Ray.

He answered.

"Hello Commander," he said.

"Ghost," came Ray’s voice, rougher than usual. "We dug into the old commander’s things. We found something you should look at. I sent a document to your inbox."

Miles pulled the file up on the monitor. The paper filled the screen: formal headers, clauses, typed lines with the brittle smell of something that had been hidden in haste. At first it read like official nonsense — a contract of sorts, a list of promises, a seal that wanted to mean more than the ink allowed.

"What is this crap," Miles muttered, not bothering to hide the edge in his voice.

"We don’t know," Ray said. "It looks like a contract."

Miles read the lines more carefully. The page claimed that someone who had hired the WEB to attack the Graveyard had been captured and handed over to the Graveyard under a set of conditions. Payment. Silence. Exchange. A bargain traded under a table nobody wanted to remember. The language was clinical, but the implication was corrosive.

"This is garbage," Miles said. "I don’t believe a single thing here. Do you really think the old commander would leave something like this for us to find? Where did you find it anyway?"

"In his vacation home," Ray replied. "There were a lot of other things there, but this was one of the only documents that looked half-legible. We hoped for a full file. We found a page."

Miles let out a breath that sounded like a laugh without humor. The old commander had been secretive by profession. If he had left something, he would have buried it so deep even his shadow would forget the route. Finding one page was either the mistake of someone who thought no one would look, or a breadcrumb left for someone who would.

"This page says the person who hired the WEB was captured and handed to the Graveyard in return for a few conditions," Miles said. "And what are those conditions, Ray? Don’t tell me you only found this one page."

"Unfortunately," Ray said. "We only have this page."

For a moment they both listened to the small sounds of the city through phones and distance. The missing pages ranked like a wound that had been clumsily covered over.

"You were always close to the old commander," Miles said finally. "Did he ever talk about anyone like this? Anyone he feared or trusted enough to barter with?"

Ray’s voice grew softer. "No," he admitted. "He never told me. I thought I knew everything the man kept. Apparently not. I’m as shocked as you. Whoever he was dealing with, he didn’t write it down cleanly. He left fragments."

Fragments could be enough if one knew how to search them. Miles thought about the Graveyard, about the men who had stood with him and yet kept secrets like sacred things. The old commander had been careful. Whoever he had been protecting or bargaining with had to be powerful, patient, or both.

Ray’s next breath carried an edge. "Right now maybe only the WEB can tell us the full truth," he said. "Princess landed in Norway this morning."

The name landed slow and heavy in Miles’s bones. Thea. The woman with the spider tattoo and the ambassador’s passport. The one who had smiled at him over wine and left a small, nagging sense that she knew more than she revealed.

"Don’t do anything stupid this time without telling me," Miles said.

Ray made a small, humorless sound. "Don’t worry. I’ll wait. But if she opens her mouth in the wrong place, these things slip."

"Did she say anything to you while you were in the city," Ray asked. "I know you two had multiple encounters."

Miles shook his head though Ray could not see it. "Nothing," he said. "Asking directly would expose my identity. Pressing her would make a diplomatic mess. I can’t start a fight where the rules are written by someone else’s law."

"You did the right thing," Ray answered. "Family safety first. We’ll dig more. We’ll find the rest."

"Have a good day," Ray said finally, trying to smooth the edges.

"You too," Miles replied, and they hung up.

The monitor still showed the document, the typeface glaring back like a promise waiting to be broken. Miles scrolled through the lines again. Conditions. Names scratched out. A signature place left blank or inked over. It felt like a map with a crucial route rubbed away. Whoever had crafted that agreement had meant it to be hidden. Whoever had left this page had either wanted it found, or had not realized someone else would sift through the ruins.

He closed the window slowly. The quiet returned.

Miles dialed Silvey and watched the phone pulse against the leather desk until she picked up. Her voice came thin, tired, threaded with the kind of exhaustion that pages through hospital nights.

"How’s your father," Miles asked, keeping his voice low.

Silvey swallowed audibly. "I’m not sure. He’s on the bed but he hasn’t woken up. They say he’s stable for now, but it’s like he’s just... gone. I don’t understand it."

Miles felt the cold notch of certainty settle in his chest. "I checked the scene. Your dad’s car was burned. Someone destroyed the evidence."

Silvey’s breath hitched, then turned into a low, furious tremor. "So it wasn’t an accident. Tell me it’s him. Tell me it’s Kyle. I swear I will—"

"Calm down," Miles interrupted gently, firm. "Don’t do anything rash. If this is Kyle, he’s not acting alone. The people around him are dangerous, well-funded, and they don’t play by ordinary rules. Let me handle it."

There was a pause on the line, the kind full of trembling control. Then Silvey said, quieter, "Who is protecting him? Who would do something like this?"

Miles answered plainly. "People for hire. Contractors. Mercenaries. The kind who work only if the price is right and the risks are covered."

Silvey closed her eyes as if listening for footsteps in the empty room. When she spoke again she was steadier, sharper. "There’s someone at the cafeteria across from the hospital. He’s always there. Like a shadow. I see him watching. He’s been there since along time"

"Are you at the window?" Miles asked.

"Yes." Her voice was small but precise. "He’s wearing a dark jacket. He looks like he’s waiting for something to change."

Miles imagined the figure and made a decision. "Don’t worry. That’s one of my people watching the place now. I put additional security on the hospital."

Silvey exhaled, a sound that was half relief and half scolding. "You should have told me earlier."

Miles let a dry, half-smile into his voice. "I didn’t think you’d be that sharp, Silvey."

"You think too little of me, Miles," she said, a brief laugh breaking through the tension.

"Okay, okay. Point taken," he said, softer. "You’re safe there. Stay with your father. Don’t leave his side."

There was a rustle on the other end—nurses, machines, the small noises of a hospital that never truly sleeps. Silvey’s next words came measured.

"I heard about the invitation," she said. "Grandpa listened to me. But he wouldn’t have done it without discussion. Uncle Kyle will know you’re coming to Citadel. Be careful."

Miles let that sink in, the thin line between family politics and danger suddenly very clear. "Thanks for the heads up. I’ll be careful. And Silvey—if anything changes, call me first. Don’t tell anyone else."

"I will," Silvey promised. Her voice was steadier now, small embers of determination flaring through. "Thank you, Miles."

"You’re welcome," he answered, and let the line go quiet.

Citadel City — Kyle’s Manor

"Did you arrange the welcome for my nephew?" Kyle asked, voice smooth but sharp at the edges.

The man in black standing before him gave a curt nod. "Yes, Mr. Kyle. All arrangements are done."

Kyle leaned back, swirling the wine in his glass. "Good," he said, eyes glinting. "After the meeting is done, I’ll give you confirmation. If things go as planned, capture him quietly. If not..." — he took a slow sip — "end him."

The man’s tone carried no hesitation. "Yes, Mr. Kyle. He won’t be going back to Star Harbor once he comes here."

Kyle smiled faintly — the kind of smile that didn’t belong to family, but to predators.

"Perfect," he murmured. "Let’s see if the prodigy nephew lives up to the Sterling name."

The Atelier, Star Harbor

The soft golden lights in the restaurant gave the room a homely warmth. This was the private dining area reserved for family — no noise, no interruptions, only laughter and the quiet clinking of silverware.

Miles sat at the head of the table, rolling up his sleeves as he helped the twins serve dinner. Asher’s plate was already a battlefield of sauces and crumbs, while Hope carefully tried to mimic her mother’s posture.

Miles chuckled, scooping more roasted meat onto their plates. "Eat properly, soldiers," he said.

Asher grinned, holding his fork like a sword. Hope giggled — then, with a little mischief, scooped a spoonful of food and held it up toward Miles.

"Say ah, big bro," she said, eyes gleaming.

Miles leaned in obediently, taking the bite. "Mmm," he said dramatically, "perfectly cooked. Five-star rating."

Hope laughed, cheeks glowing. Elena watched the scene quietly, the faintest smile resting on her face as she wiped her hands on a napkin.

"Miles," she said softly.

He looked up. "Yes, Mom?"

"You’re leaving again, aren’t you?"

Miles nodded. "Yeah. I’m going to Citadel City in a few days."

Elena’s expression softened, though a faint worry flashed in her eyes. "Will you come back before Sunday?"

Miles tilted his head, confused. "Why? Something special?"

Elena smiled knowingly. "It’s Daniel’s birthday, and we’re celebrating at home. You have to be there."

Miles turned toward Daniel, who was calmly slicing through his steak. "Oh? You didn’t tell me that, Father."

Daniel chuckled quietly. "Didn’t want to make it a big deal. Just another year, son."

Miles grinned. "Well, it’s not just another year to us. I’ll be there, promise."

Daniel nodded, pleased. Hope and Asher clapped their hands, already whispering plans for decorations.

Elena, still watching her son, thought for a moment before speaking again. "Be careful in Citadel, Miles.I know, you know it as well, The Sterling name... carries both power and danger there."

Miles met her gaze — steady, unreadable — and smiled faintly. "I always am, Mom."