The underground war room inside the Swiss bunker was silent except for the rhythmic hum of generators. On the monitors, a countdown blinked in red:
⏳ 64:22:17 – Until Blacklist Reset Protocol Engages
That was the window Cipher had bought them. Just over 64 hours until Kaito wiped everything—his operatives, his data, and any trace of their own identities—from the digital world.
Adrian stood in front of the largest screen, arms crossed, jaw clenched. A dozen faces stared back at him—news anchors from all over the world. Their segments played on loop.
"Adrian Kael: From Blacklist General to Global Threat."
"The Ghost Soldier. Is he Dead or Worse?"
"$15 Million Bounty—One Man's War Against the Syndicate."
Nora appeared at his side, hair still wet from the bunker's freezing shower. Her shoulder was bandaged, and a faint bruise lined her cheek from their escape in Vienna. But her eyes were clear—focused.
"They've already framed you," she said, watching the headlines. "Let's make it worth it."
Adrian's lips curled in a wry smirk. "I was thinking the same thing."
The goal was simple: draw out Kaito's inner circle using the one thing he couldn't resist—control.
Adrian would go public.
Not just show his face, but issue a live broadcast, challenging Kaito directly, revealing a glimpse of the Blacklist's inner workings, and claiming he had access to all of their offshore accounts and encrypted data banks.
"Make him paranoid," Nora said. "Make him reckless."
"But we'll need a controlled location," Adrian replied. "Somewhere public, but not exposed. Somewhere that gives us the upper hand."
Cipher had left them a final gift—a secure broadcasting station hidden beneath a decommissioned nuclear monitoring facility in Croatia. It was off-grid, shielded, and equipped with relay tech designed to bounce signal footprints globally without being traceable.
"The world will be watching," Nora murmured.
Adrian looked at her. "Let's give them a show."
Later that night, in the bunker, Adrian couldn't sleep.
He sat at the edge of a cot, stripped to the waist, old scars and fresh bruises mapping his back. Nora entered quietly, tossing him a towel.
"You're bleeding," she said softly, gesturing to his side.
He looked down. The stitches had torn from a fall earlier. Blood had soaked through the gauze.
"Didn't notice."
"Liar."
She knelt beside him and cleaned the wound in silence, her fingers steady even as her heart wasn't.
"You're going to make yourself a target tomorrow," she whispered. "They'll shoot to kill."
Adrian met her eyes. "You think I care?"
"I think I do."
It was out before she could stop it. The words hung heavy between them.
He didn't speak, just reached out, cupped her jaw with one blood-streaked hand.
"You shouldn't," he said roughly.
"But I do."
The kiss that followed wasn't soft. It wasn't slow. It was desperate and raw, the kind that said, we may not have tomorrow. She pulled him down to her, and for a few precious hours, there were no Syndicates, no betrayals, no Blacklist.
Only them.
The skies over the abandoned outpost were steel gray, the air thick with electricity.
The broadcast chamber hummed to life. Adrian stood in front of the camera, wearing black. No mask. No disguise. Just truth.
Nora stood behind the console, fingers poised over the encryption keys.
"This feed goes live in 3… 2… 1—"
Adrian looked directly into the lens.
"My name is Adrian Kael. You know me as a killer, a ghost, a threat. You've heard stories. Whispers. Bounties."
His voice was low but sharp as a blade.
"But you haven't heard the truth. Not until now."
He lifted a flash drive.
"This contains a list of every Blacklist operative active in the last 12 months. Including those currently embedded in government, media, and law enforcement."
A ripple spread through newsrooms worldwide. Analysts scrambled. Screens lit up.
"I was one of them. So was Nora Vex. They created us. Trained us. Used us. Then tried to erase us."
His voice darkened.
"We are not the only ghosts. And if you're watching this—neither are you."
Nora hit the uplink. The signal flooded the dark web, news networks, encrypted forums.
Chaos erupted.
Thirty minutes later, they got what they wanted.
Movement in Zurich.
Kaito's private jet logged a secret departure from a bunker base in Sweden.
Simultaneously, an alert appeared on the Blacklist's encrypted comms:
"Secure the data. Terminate Kael and Vex. Full cleanse authorized."
That meant one thing: Kaito was coming himself.
And he was bringing a kill squad.
"They're going to hit the outpost," Adrian said. "Hard."
"Then we don't let them," Nora replied.
They loaded explosives into the tunnel walls, hacked into Kaito's aerial surveillance, and scattered false heat signatures across the terrain. It was all designed to funnel Kaito's forces into the underground corridor—where they'd be trapped.
But one piece remained unaccounted for.
Simon.
They didn't have to wait long.
As night fell, the first strike team arrived—masked, heavily armed, moving with military precision.
Adrian and Nora watched from the command room.
But then something shifted.
Nora squinted at the feed.
"Wait. That's not just a squad. That's Simon."
He was leading them. Directing them straight through the fake corridor.
Adrian stiffened. "He's avoiding the traps. Someone warned him."
"Someone inside the chain."
But it wasn't Dax. It wasn't Cipher.
Nora's blood ran cold.
It was her.
Not intentionally. But her old tracker implant—the one she thought was deactivated—had pinged back online the moment they entered the monitoring zone.
Simon had been waiting for it.
She looked at Adrian.
"I led him here."
He didn't blame her.
He just handed her a gun.
"Then we finish it here."
The facility turned into a war zone.
Gunfire echoed down corridors as smoke bombs exploded. Adrian moved like a shadow, cutting through the first wave of attackers with brutal efficiency. Nora covered him, taking out two from a catwalk with pinpoint accuracy.
They fought like a unit—flawless, wordless, synced by trust and necessity.
Then—
Simon stepped into the room.
He wore black combat gear, eyes cold, no remorse.
Adrian lowered his weapon slightly.
"You really sold us out."
Simon shrugged. "You were already doomed. I just made sure I was on the winning side."
"You were family," Adrian said, voice sharp with betrayal.
"That's the problem," Simon said. "You never saw me as anything else."
He raised his weapon—and fired.
Adrian rolled, but the bullet grazed his shoulder. Blood splattered the floor.
Nora screamed. She rushed forward and fired three rapid shots—hitting Simon in the vest, staggering him.
But Simon grabbed her and shoved her into the console, knocking the air out of her.
They struggled—raw, violent, brutal.
Until Adrian tackled him from behind, knocking them both to the ground.
A flashbang went off.
Then silence.
When the smoke cleared, Simon was unconscious—cuffed, bleeding, but alive.
Adrian slumped against the wall, pressing a hand to his shoulder. Nora crawled to him.
"You okay?" she whispered.
"I've been worse."
They sat in the flickering light of the ruined outpost, surrounded by smoke, bodies, and the scent of blood.
"We survived," Nora said.
"Barely."
And then the screen lit up.
One last message.
From Kaito himself.
"Impressive. I didn't expect you to win this round."
"But don't worry, Adrian. Nora. I'm already waiting at the finish line."
The transmission cut.
They both stared.
This wasn't over.
Not yet.