CHAPTER 190: TREASURE HUNTERS!!!

The door clicked shut behind Miles, sealing the room in a muted stillness.

He stepped forward, the faint scent of old wood and cigar ash lingering in the air.

General Wilfred Wraithbourne sat calmly on the long leather couch — posture straight, eyes sharp, very much the soldier he once was.

The old man turned his head slightly.

"You are here."

Miles studied him for a breath. "General Wilfred. You don’t seem surprised to see me."

A small, knowing smile tugged at the corner of the general’s lips.

"I never imagined we’d meet under my own roof again... but yes, I expected you. Ghost of the Graveyard."

"I’m retired," Miles replied coolly.

"Hn." Wilfred exhaled, almost amused. "Retired... and yet the world refuses to retire from you. Responsibilities don’t end, son—they simply change shape."

Miles stepped closer.

"Let’s get to the point. Did you invite Miles Sterling, or the Ghost?"

Wilfred’s eyes narrowed with a weight that felt older than the walls around them.

"The truth is... both identities belong to the matter at hand."

A flicker passed through Miles’s gaze.

"So you came back for me?"

Wilfred leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees.

"I especially came for you."

"Why disappear then?" Miles’s voice dropped. "Why hide from your family? From Celina?"

Wilfred’s expression tightened with something like regret.

"I had my reasons. Painful, complicated reasons. But not the kind we have time for today."

Miles didn’t respond, but the tension in his shoulders eased just a fraction.

Wilfred inhaled deeply.

"I’m here to tell you something important."

Miles’s tone sharpened. "Important?"

"Essential," Wilfred corrected. "For your safety. And for your family’s."

Miles’s stare hardened.

"What is it?"

Wilfred’s answer came slow, heavy—like he was dropping a stone into a perfectly still pond.

"What do you know about the Treasure Hunters?"

Miles blinked, taken aback.

"The Treasure Hunters? I thought they were history."

Wilfred shook his head.

"People die, Miles. But bloodlines... and legacies... continue."

Miles frowned, recalling fragments of old rumours.

"The Treasure Hunters were an international criminal syndicate—ghosts with passports. Members from every Most Wanted list you can imagine. Interpol, CIA, MI6, RAW, Mossad...

They left identical clues at crime scenes. Authorities followed the trails until they disappeared. Everyone assumed the organisation collapsed."

"That," Wilfred said gravely, "is what the world was meant to believe. The Hunters simply stopped using identical signatures. They work alone now. New codes. New methods. New monsters."

Miles’s jaw clenched.

"You’re saying they never stopped."

"They’ve been hunting," Wilfred replied, "quietly... relentlessly."

Miles exhaled slowly. "If they’re alive, what does this have to do with me?"

Wilfred’s eyes hardened like steel.

"They once set their sights on a man who had something that they wanted. A man, they considered a treasure that the world would carve."

Miles straightened.

Wilfred continued.

"That man was your grandfather — Timothy Sterling."

Miles abruptly stood, the chair scraping behind him.

"What??"

The room vibrated with the weight of the revelation, the air thick with the ghost of secrets buried far too long.

Miles let out a long breath, trying to assemble the fragments of truth falling into his hands like broken glass.

"What did the old man have," he asked quietly, "that they were after him?"

Wilfred’s gaze deepened, as though he were staring into a place much farther than the room.

"I never figured that out," he admitted. "Whatever it was... its value was beyond anything we could comprehend. All I know is that only one person ever got close enough to reach Timothy—close enough to threaten him. That’s why your grandfather left Star Harbor. He went to confront that person... to protect his children from the Treasure Hunters."

Miles straightened.

"Who was that person?"

Wilfred’s voice dropped into a cold register.

"Alistair Finch."

Miles froze.

The name sliced through him like a sudden blade.

"Wait..." he muttered. "I’ve read his case studies. We have CIA files on him.

He was a thief. A world-class one.

Wasn’t he found dead? Case closed."

Wilfred nodded slowly.

"Yes. Him. The same Alistair Finch.

He was the founder of the Treasure Hunters."

Miles’s eyes widened, disbelief dissolving into sharp clarity.

"What??"

Wilfred continued, unwavering.

"He started it. Built it. Led it.

And the day he died... was the same day your grandfather disappeared."

Miles’s chest tightened.

"So the old man had something to do with his death."

Wilfred didn’t flinch.

"I’d say... he protected your family.

He ended a monster."

Miles muttered under his breath, voice low and bitter,

"Unless he didn’t."

Wilfred looked up sharply.

Miles’s eyes hardened with the weight of a wound that never healed.

"His own relatives killed his son.

They destroyed my family.

Everything he tried to protect... was still shattered."

A storm passed through Wilfred’s face—surprised, dark, and furious.

"This... is the first I’ve heard of it."

His jaw clenched. "Who was that relative?"

Miles stared at the floor for a moment.

"Kyle Sterling.

He’s in my custody now."

Wilfred exhaled slowly.

"So you’ve taken revenge?"

Miles shook his head faintly.

"I don’t know.

He’s mentally broken now... maybe he’s just reaping what he sowed.

I don’t want to drag the past out in front of my mother again. She has buried enough pain."

Wilfred watched him for a moment, and a small, rare warmth touched the old soldier’s voice.

"You’ve grown up well, son."

Miles looked up, eyes sharp again.

"So what is it that made you come all the way back just to tell me this?

And how did you learn my real identity?"

Wilfred gave a breath of a chuckle, almost rueful.

"All I knew was that Miles Sterling had come home.

I only realised you were that same Ghost I once worked beside... today."

Miles clicked his tongue.

"At least pretend to be surprised."

Wilfred smiled faintly.

"Instead of surprised... I was relieved.

Relieved that the boy I once saw grow up in chaos... became a man who can face any calamity on his own."

Miles frowned.

"What do you mean?"

Wilfred leaned forward, voice steady as steel.

"The Treasure Hunters... have never faced a Ghost of the Graveyard."

His eyes locked onto Miles with something like solemn respect.

"And if they truly come for you...

they will learn very quickly—

they are nothing in front of you."

Miles’s voice dropped into a heavy, controlled calm.

"So the Treasure Hunters... they’re after me?"

Wilfred nodded gravely.

"They learned that Timothy Sterling’s grandson has returned to Star Harbor.

They likely believe Timothy passed that... thing to you—the one they’ve hunted for decades."

Miles frowned sharply.

"What the hell? He didn’t leave me anything worth killing for. Not a single thing."

Wilfred spread his hands.

"Facts don’t matter in their world. Assumptions do.

They can’t find Timothy.

But they found you."

A thick silence pressed between them.

Wilfred continued,

"There’s a meeting in London. In a day or two.

The Treasure Hunters are gathering.

And I’m certain it’s connected to... that."

Miles’s jaw tightened. A faint exhale escaped him—half resignation, half calculation.

"Thanks for the warning, General Wilfred.

But I can take care of this myself."

He paused, then asked quietly,

"I have one more question."

Wilfred leaned forward.

"Ask me."

Miles’s eyes were steady but filled with an old ache.

"Him.

Is he alive?"

Wilfred’s expression softened with regret.

"I don’t know, son.

I don’t know what became of him.

I never saw him after that year.

I regret not searching."

Miles nodded slowly.

"It’s okay.

That will be all.

Thank you."

Wilfred straightened, the tone shifting again.

"If you need anything—anything—tell me.

With my rank as General, I can help you more than you think."

Miles gave a small, almost amused exhale.

"General?

The Army probably thinks you went rogue after vanishing for years."

Wilfred blinked.

"Rogue? I—what?"

Miles raised an eyebrow.

"The Secret Service is downstairs.

They’re here to ask you why you returned right before the President’s visit to Star Harbor."

Wilfred froze.

"The President is coming to Star Harbor?"

Miles tapped his phone.

"Watch the news."

Wilfred’s eyes narrowed, then softened in understanding.

"If he’s coming... then this is easier.

He knows why I disappeared.

It was—"

Miles raised a hand sharply.

"Don’t.

I don’t want to hear it."

A dangerous flash crossed his gaze.

"And I don’t need another General to help me."

Wilfred stiffened.

"...Another?"

Miles smirked faintly.

He reached into his jacket—and slid out a red identification card.

The emblem gleamed under the room’s chandelier.

Issued directly by the Presidential Complex.

Wilfred inhaled sharply, stunned, then broke into a half-laugh, half-sigh.

"Of course he gave you one...

How could he not?"

Miles slipped the card back into his pocket.

"Goodbye then."

Wilfred stood as Miles walked toward the door, the air heavy with unfinished histories—and a storm on the horizon.

Miles stepped out of the room, closing the heavy wooden door behind him.

Celina hurried toward him, her expression a mix of worry and curiosity.

Miles paused, studying her face.

"You good?"

Celina gave a small smile. "I’m fine. What did he say?"

Miles exhaled dramatically, deadpan serious.

"He... well, I thought he was going to give me his granddaughter’s hand in marriage.

But it was something else."

Celina froze.

Her eyes went wide.

Her cheeks turned bright red almost instantly.

Miles burst into a grin.

"I’m joking."

Celina smacked his shoulder. "You—! Don’t joke about that!"

Miles shrugged innocently. "We talked about my grandfather."

Celina softened.

"Oh... I hope he stays this time. I haven’t seen him for years."

Miles smirked. "Tell him if he runs away again, you’ll send a Ghost after him."

Celina laughed softly. "I will."

Miles stepped past her.

"I have to go now."

Celina nodded.

"See you."

Miles walked down the grand hallway.

Celina stayed where she was—watching his back as he left.

Her fingers fidgeted.

Her face still warm.

Behind her, a calm, knowing voice spoke.

"It’s indeed a good match."

Celina spun around, face turned crimson again.

"Grandpa...!"

Wilfred only chuckled.

Miles reached the living room where Adam was waiting, arms crossed, expression unreadable.

"Time to go?"

Adam stood.

"Yes. I got my answers from the big boss himself."

Miles raised a brow.

"Seriously... Presidents can hide so much."

Adam sighed heavily.

"You have no idea."

They exchanged a look—part exhausted, part amused—and walked out together.