Jorghan moved to the window and looked out carefully.
Three black SUVs had pulled up in front of the house, their headlights illuminating the street with harsh white light. Doors opened, and figures emerged—at least fifteen men, all wearing dark tactical gear, carrying automatic weapons with the confidence of trained soldiers.
But these weren't military.
Their equipment was too varied, too personalized. Private contractors, maybe, or gang enforcers dressed to look professional. And several of them moved with the subtle grace that suggested awakened abilitie,s enhancing their physical capabilities.
"Lizbeth, who are these people?" Margaret called up the stairs, her voice tight with fear.
"I don't know," Lizbeth replied, but her face had gone pale.
"Unless..."
One more figure exited the lead vehicle.
A man in an expensive suit, his posture radiating smug authority, his face showing satisfaction at having finally tracked down his target.
Lizbeth's husband.
