CHAPTER 169: SMOKE!!

The WEB base — Norway.

A silent fortress of glass and steel buried deep within the snow-covered valley outside Oslo. The air smelled faintly of ozone and gun oil. Inside, the corridors glowed with sterile white light, shadows of armed operatives passing in quiet synchrony.

In the main lounge, Thea sat sprawled on a crimson couch, a glass of aged wine turning slow circles in her hand. Her dress—blood red, silk that caught the light—contrasted sharply against the cold, metallic sheen of the room. Her heels rested carelessly on the edge of a glass table, beside a dossier marked Confidential – Sterling Operations.

The door slid open with a soft hiss.

A man in black entered, head bowed. His posture already confessed he brought bad news.

"Princess," he said, voice low, cautious. "There’s been... a problem."

Thea didn’t even look up at first. She let the rim of the glass touch her lip, eyes locked on the frost gathering outside the tinted window. "What now?" she asked, voice calm—but the kind of calm that trembled with danger underneath.

The man swallowed. "It seems the team we assigned to Mr. Kyle Sterling was attacked during the mission."

That caught her attention. Her eyes flicked toward him—sharp, glacial. "What?" she said, each letter clipped. "You can’t even execute a simple mission in one small city? Who were they fighting?"

"We don’t have the full details yet, Princess," the man stammered. "We lost all connection with them after the last transmission. Their trackers went dark near Citadel City."

Thea set her glass down hard on the table. The sharp clink of crystal echoed across the room. "And what are you doing standing here then?" she said coldly. "Go. I don’t want excuses, I want results. Find out what happened and get me the status within an hour. I don’t want to lose a single man because of your incompetence."

The man bowed quickly. "Yes, Princess."

He turned and hurried out, the automatic door shutting behind him with a soft hiss.

Silence returned.

Only the soft hum of distant generators and the faint rhythm of Thea’s breathing remained.

She leaned forward, reached into her sleek black handbag, and pulled out a small encrypted phone—the kind reserved for personal operations. Her thumb hovered for a moment before pressing the power button. The dim blue screen flickered to life.

A new message blinked in her inbox.

She opened it.

A single image loaded—a photo of Kyle and Chester Sterling, both handcuffed, being shoved into an armored truck surrounded by men in tactical uniforms.

For a long second, Thea stared at it without expression. Then a small smile curved her lips. A quiet, satisfied kind of smile—the kind that didn’t celebrate victory but savored inevitability.

She scrolled to her contacts and pressed an unsaved number.

The line connected instantly.

A deep, gravel-textured voice spoke from the other end. "Tell me."

Thea leaned back on the couch, her tone smooth and certain. "He got them."

There was a pause—followed by a faint chuckle from the other side. "Good. Leave the rest to me."

Thea nodded slightly, though he couldn’t see it. "Alright."

The call ended with a soft click.

She stared at the blank phone screen for a moment longer, then slid it back into her bag. Her reflection glimmered faintly in the glass table—the red dress, the faint smile, the eyes of someone who’d already moved three steps ahead of everyone else.

Citadel City — Sterling Estate, Meeting Hall

The heavy air in the hall had finally settled, though its silence still carried weight. The storm had passed, but its echoes lingered in the eyes of those left behind.

Gordon leaned forward, his voice slow, uncertain. "What are you going to do with Kyle and Chester?"

Miles looked up from the file in his hand, the faintest cold smile forming on his face. "They have a lot to suffer."

Gordon exhaled, the sound tired and defeated. "I see... so, are you going now?"

Miles nodded, adjusting his coat. "I have to. I promised my mom I’d be back before Sunday."

"Alright," Gordon said quietly. "I hope you bring your family next time. Also—" he paused, choosing his words carefully, "I’ll send one of our operations managers to your office in Star Harbor, like you said. To help Silvey manage ACE."

Miles gave a short nod. "Alright."

He turned his gaze toward Luna, who had been standing quietly near the window, her posture unsure, her expression lost. "Luna," he said, his voice softer now. "What do you plan to do?"

Luna looked down at her hands. "I... I have nowhere to go," she admitted. "I even lost my my only one friend."

A voice called from the other side of the room. "Who said you lost me?"

Silvey rushed forward, her heels clicking against the marble floor. Without hesitation, she threw her arms around Luna, hugging her tightly. "You’re always my best friend, Layla," she said, her voice trembling with emotion. "You’re staying here with me."

Luna’s eyes shimmered. "I’m sorry for everything, Silvey."

Silvey shook her head, still holding her close. "It’s okay. It’s all in the past now."

From behind them, Gordon cleared his throat gently. Both girls straightened instantly, stepping apart and composing themselves.

Silvey turned to face him. "Grandpa, I’ve already taken care of the issue. Our legal team is working on the paperwork and the charges."

David nodded approvingly from his seat. "Good. That’s how a Sterling should act."

Miles adjusted his cuffs, glancing at the clock. "Then, I should leave now."

Gordon nodded. "Please, stay in touch."

David smiled faintly. "Take care, Miles. And... thank you for everything you’ve done."

Miles gave a brief nod, his usual expression returning—a calm mask hiding the storms beneath.

Silvey stepped forward again. "Hey," she asked, "how did you even find out about the doctor?"

Miles paused mid-step. "Someone helped me," he said quietly. "I don’t know if she was a friend or an enemy... but she helped us to save Uncle David."

Silvey’s brow furrowed. "Who?"

Miles shook his head, almost smiling. "Forget it."

He turned and began walking toward the exit. His footsteps echoed in the vast hall, steady and composed.

As the doors closed behind him, the air inside the hall seemed to ease—like a long-held breath finally released.

Everyone stood still for a moment, each of them silently aware that the man who had just walked out had changed everything.

Meanwhile

The Sterling Security cavalry rolled through the narrow road that led toward the airlift zone on the outskirts of Citadel City. The early evening sky was thick with drifting fog, the pale orange glow of streetlights cutting slanted lines across the armored convoy.

Inside the lead vehicle, two tactical officers monitored the rear feeds—every frame showing the heavy, steel-clad transport truck moving in perfect formation.

In that transport, Chester and Kyle Sterling sat shackled, opposite each other.

The inside smelled of metal and restraint—cold, airless, final.

Chester leaned his head back against the armored wall, his wrists bound, his voice hoarse. "You really think your nephew will let us live long enough to see the inside of a cell?"

Kyle didn’t respond. His expression was stone, his breathing shallow. The lines in his face looked carved from guilt and pride both.

The hum of the engine filled the silence—steady, heavy.

Outside, the convoy of six vehicles moved in flawless rhythm, lights cutting through the dark.

Then—

BOOM!

A sudden, concussive blast tore through the stillness. The shockwave hit the side of the armored truck like a hammer. Metal screamed. The vehicle spun violently before crashing into a concrete divider, the world inside tumbling in chaos.

The cavalry stopped in formation, tires screeching.

"Truck hit!" the lead officer shouted into the comms. "Truck Alpha is down—repeat, Truck Alpha is down!"

Smoke billowed from the wreck, black and sharp-smelling. The guards from the other vehicles jumped out, weapons raised, eyes darting for hostiles.

"Check for contact! Flank both sides!" one of the squad leaders barked.

Two men approached the truck, covering their mouths as they neared the smoke.

The driver and co-driver were coughing, dragging themselves out from the front. "We—we didn’t see it!" one gasped. "Something—something blew from under the road!"

The back door creaked, heat warping the hinges.

When they pried it open, a dense gray cloud of smoke gushed outward—filling the air with a stinging chemical smell. The guards waved their hands, eyes watering.

And then... silence.

Inside, the steel cage was open.

The seats were scorched, the floor smeared with the remnants of cuffs and chains—

but no sign of Chester or Kyle.

The men looked at one another, panic flickering behind their tactical masks.

"They’re gone," one finally said, voice trembling. "They’re not in the truck!"

"Impossible," another whispered. "They were locked—there’s no exit—"

"Radio the commander! NOW!"

The report went through the encrypted channel instantly.

───

Meanwhile, miles away, Miles was driving down the fogged highway, the soft rhythm of tires against asphalt matching the quiet in his head. For the first time in years, he could almost feel something close to peace—

that cold, sharp kind of peace that comes after vengeance is finally in reach.

His phone buzzed.

A secure line.

He pressed the button on his earpiece. "Yes?"

A voice came, urgent, trembling.

"Boss... the transport... there’s been an explosion. The truck’s hit. Chester and Kyle— they’re gone."

Miles slammed the brakes. The car screeched to a stop, the world outside shuddering to stillness.

He didn’t say a word for several seconds.

Only his reflection stared back at him in the windshield, and the quiet, pulsing sound of his own heartbeat filled the air.

Then, coldly, low—

"What?"

The silence that followed said everything.