The rain returned overnight.
It beat against the vast windows of Blackwood Manor as Theo stood alone in his study, coat discarded, shirt sleeves rolled to scarred forearms. On the desk lay the black envelope, its crimson wax broken and curling. Around it, maps and digital files glowed across the table's embedded screen: names, dates, symbols — twenty years of hunting the Order of the Veil.
He hadn't slept since the gala.
Sophie sat curled in a leather chair nearby, hoodie up, laptop open, coffee untouched. "We've looped back through every camera feed in that ballroom," she said. "The courier's face was never captured. Whoever it was — pro level. Used a quick line-of-sight hack on two cameras, ghosted the rest."
Marcus leaned against the wall, arms folded, suited but still somehow battlefield-ready. "I spoke to venue security. No one remembers a waiter matching that description. Uniform turned up in a service closet, empty."
"Veil infiltration, then." Theo's voice was calm but held a quiet edge.
"Or someone selling access," Marcus said darkly. "Either way, we've got a leak."
Alexandra entered, elegant in a dove-grey coat, hair perfectly arranged despite the early hour. She placed a folder on the desk. "Board of the Royal Heritage Trust. Half of them could be compromised. I've marked those with… questionable ties."
Theo glanced at the names, memorising them in a heartbeat.
"They wanted you to know," Alexandra said. "They could have struck. Instead they whispered."
"A test," Theo said. "A reminder. And an invitation."
Sophie grimaced. "Creepy invitation."
"Effective," Marcus countered. "You're talking about them."
Theo straightened, eyes on the rain-lashed windows. "Let them think they've unsettled me."
Alexandra's gaze sharpened. "You intend to answer."
"Not tonight." He reached for the puzzle box — always on his desk — and turned one panel absentmindedly. "But soon."
A chime sounded — the manor's encrypted line.
Sophie swiveled. "Incoming secure video. Masked route. Weird fingerprint — half dark web, half academic."
"Put it through," Theo said.
The main screen flickered alive.
Lara Croft appeared, damp hair loose, a mug of tea in one hand. She looked faintly amused and very awake. "Morning, Your Grace."
Theo's brows lifted a fraction. "Dr. Croft."
"Lara," she corrected, easy. "Figured we'd skip the dance. You had a visitor last night — black envelope, Latin. Looked unfriendly."
Sophie shot Theo a look: told you she saw. Lara noticed the hacker and grinned. "Nice firewall, by the way. Took me twenty minutes."
Theo's expression didn't change, but his voice went a shade cooler. "You breached my network."
"Knocked politely first. No one answered." Lara sipped tea. "Look, I know a Veil warning when I see one."
Alexandra stepped closer, arms folded. "And how would you know that?"
"Because they tried to kill me in Peru two years ago," Lara said casually. "I got in the way of their pet cult chasing a conquistador hoard. Nasty bunch — robes, gold sigils, love to burn people alive. Ringing any bells?"
Theo said nothing, but the faint tightening of his jaw was answer enough.
"I thought so." Lara leaned back. "They don't make social calls. If they sent you that, they're circling."
Marcus muttered, "Or luring."
"Both," Lara said. "They like to test defenses before they strike."
Theo studied her face on the screen. No fear, only pragmatic wariness. "Why warn me?"
"You're interesting," she said with a quick smile. "And if the Veil's moving, I want to know why. We might be chasing the same ghost."
Alexandra's voice was cool. "Or you want what we protect."
"Lady Blackwood, if I wanted to steal from you, I'd have come through the roof last night." Lara's grin was quicksilver. "I'm offering intel. I have a lead on a Veil cache — safe house in Marrakesh. They've been funneling artefacts there since last spring."
Theo's eyes narrowed. "Proof?"
"Coordinates. Shipment manifests. I can send you the package."
Sophie perked up despite herself. "That would help."
Theo's soldier instincts warred with his scholar's. Lara was unpredictable, dangerous… but clearly knew the Veil's moves. "Why give me this?"
"Because if you're what the gossip says — soldier, spy, duke with a grudge — you'll hit them harder than I can alone. And because I'd rather not have them using what's in that cache."
Theo considered her for a long, silent beat. Then: "Send it."
Lara nodded, fingers dancing off-screen. "Done. And Theo? Watch your back. The Veil doesn't warn twice."
The feed cut.
Sophie whistled. "Well. She's fun."
Alexandra frowned. "And reckless."
"Useful," Theo said simply.
Marcus grunted. "Or bait."
Theo turned the puzzle box one last time and set it down. "Either way, we'll find out."
The room stayed quiet after Lara's face vanished from the screen. Only the rain tapped the tall windows and the low hum of servers broke the silence.
Sophie was first to move. She spun her laptop round, scrolling. "File's real. Encrypted but basic for her — she wanted us to open it. Shipping manifests, satellite stills, a couple of black-market comms intercepts. Someone's moving crates through Casablanca to a walled compound outside Marrakesh. Tags match a few Veil shell companies we already watch."
Marcus leaned over her shoulder. "Armoured shipments, heavy security, and they pay off local cops. Looks right."
Alexandra crossed to the map wall. "Morocco's messy right now. Plenty of places to hide contraband."
Theo studied the scrolling intel. A satellite image of the compound resolved: high walls, a single dock, heavy floodlights. He filed every angle into memory. "They wouldn't store something sensitive in a country where a bribe opens every door unless they felt untouchable."
"They usually do," Alexandra said dryly.
Sophie tapped a line of text. "Manifest says 'religious antiquities and academic archives.' Translation: whatever relics they're hoarding from digs they don't want public."
Marcus looked at Theo. "Could be bait. Send us to Marrakesh, spring a trap."
Theo nodded once. "True. But if it isn't bait, it's a lead we've been missing."
Alexandra's brows knit. "You trust this Croft woman?"
"I trust what she knows," Theo said. "Not what she wants."
Sophie smirked. "Sounds like a yes with caveats."
He ignored the jab, scrolling through the manifests. Something snagged his attention — a reference number he recognised from an MI6 case file long buried: a Templar reliquary seized by Nazis in 1943 and lost after the war. The same order of artefacts that had drawn the Veil to his family home. His pulse jumped, though his face stayed calm.
"They're moving Templar material," he said quietly.
Alexandra's eyes sharpened. "Then it matters."
"It does," Theo said. He closed the file and looked to Marcus. "Begin op-planning. We'll need quiet insertion — no national attention. Sophie, backtrace these manifests, see who signed. Alexandra, discreetly sound out our Moroccan contacts."
"Already on it," Sophie said, fingers flying.
"On it," Marcus echoed, pulling a slim notepad.
Alexandra gave him a long look. "And you? Planning to invite the Croft girl?"
Theo hesitated only a moment. "Not yet."
"She'll follow anyway."
"Then let her," he said. "But on my terms."
By late afternoon the storm cleared. Theo changed out of the formal black of the gala into field gear: dark combat shirt, quiet boots, sidearm holstered but hidden. He moved through the house inspecting security: reinforced gates, layered cameras, watchmen on the cliff. Years of paranoia turned to discipline had made the manor a fortress.
Still, the black envelope burned in his pocket like a coal.
As dusk settled, Marcus checked sensors and patrol schedules. "All clear. Tight as we've ever been."
Theo clasped his shoulder. "Stay sharp."
He went alone to the library — rebuilt exactly as he remembered yet filled with quiet modern touches. Firelight played across the same Persian rug where he'd once solved puzzles. He stood by the secret panel and laid a hand on the carved raven.
He whispered a prayer under his breath: for his parents, for clarity, for strength.
When he turned back, Sophie's voice cut through his comm. "Theo… motion on the south approach. Not on radar five seconds ago."
"Size?"
"Single contact, moving fast. No transponder."
Marcus: "On it —"
Static exploded in Theo's ear. All house lights flickered, died. Total black.
The manor plunged into sudden, suffocating dark. Only the red glow of emergency exit strips lit the corridors. Somewhere in the distance a generator stuttered, failed, and went silent.
Theo froze for half a heartbeat, every nerve remembering combat zones. Then his voice went calm and clipped over the comm: "Back-up power?"
Static hissed. No reply.
He didn't wait.
His hand found the small flashlight clipped inside his shirt; it clicked on with a muted white beam. He drew the suppressed sidearm from the holster at his back and moved low, smooth, silent. Footfalls barely whispered against ancient wood as he crossed the library.
A faint scrape of boots came from the main hall.
He reached the edge of the doorframe and listened. Someone moved with deliberate stealth — weight balanced, not a clumsy burglar. Professional. The Veil.
Theo slid out, gun first.
The hallway beyond was long and vaulted, lit only by storm-light through high windows. A single figure in a hooded combat cloak padded forward, head turning slowly as though reading the house by instinct. A second shadow followed ten feet behind.
Theo's training took over. He stepped out from behind a column, two quick suppressed shots. The lead figure jerked, dropped silently. The second dove sideways with uncanny speed, returning fire with a short cough of suppressed rounds. Plaster burst inches from Theo's head.
He moved — fast, low — to the next doorway, fired once more and ducked as return shots stitched the frame. The intruder was good: not panicked, using cover, shifting angles.
A crackle returned in his ear at last — Sophie, breathless: "EMP burst — knocked our grid. Rebooting! Three hostiles in the net so far."
Marcus's voice overlapped: "I'm on south hall. Two down already."
"Third's mine," Theo said quietly.
The hooded man tried to flank left. Theo anticipated, stepped out and fired twice. One round hit armour — sparked off; the second took the man in the thigh. He crumpled but kept fighting, knife flashing as he lunged.
Theo closed, abandoning the gun to avoid a grapple discharge. The fight went hand-to-hand in the dark.
The man was trained — but Theo was better. Years of SAS and MI6 work, a body honed and scars earned, eight martial arts embedded in muscle memory. He parried the blade, broke the man's balance with a shoulder slam, seized the wrist and twisted until bone snapped. The knife clattered. A swift strike to the temple dropped the hooded intruder cold.
Theo crouched, breathing controlled. He yanked back the hood: a man in his thirties, face painted with black sigils, a small raven-and-figure pendant at his throat.
Veil.
Marcus's boots pounded up moments later, carbine ready. "EMP pack disabled," he said, breathing hard. "One more outside — got away."
Theo stood, eyes on the fallen man. "Let him run."
"Why?"
"To carry a message."
Sophie's voice came through, systems crackling back to life: "Power rebooted. We're live again. House secure. I've got exterior cameras — last hostile just vanished into the woods. Damn, they move fast."
Theo looked toward the storm-lit windows. "They wanted to see how we'd react."
Marcus spat. "Saw enough to die for it."
Alexandra appeared at the end of the hall, flanked by two guards. Her face was pale but composed. "Everyone safe?"
"Yes," Theo said. "House is solid. They tested, nothing more."
She stared at the unconscious intruder. "You should kill him."
Theo shook his head. "Better alive. He'll know what he saw — and he'll be afraid."
They hauled the captive to a secure holding cell below the manor. Theo stood over him a moment longer than necessary, memorising the man's features the way he had memorised every enemy. Then he turned away.
Sophie came down with her laptop. "I've got system integrity back, but they hit us with a tailored EMP. Someone studied our grid."
"They're mapping us," Marcus said grimly.
Theo's jaw hardened. "Then we stop letting them study."
The manor's war room—once the old ballroom—was alive again by dawn. Banks of monitors glowed, generators hummed, and Sophie's code rained down the main screen as she tracked every digital footprint of the night's intruders.
Marcus stood at the far table stripping and cleaning his sidearm, calm but tight-jawed. Alexandra, immaculate despite the long night, sipped black tea and studied a printed map of North Africa.
Theo entered quietly. His shirt was changed but the scent of cordite still clung to him. He crossed to the table and dropped the Veil pendant taken from the unconscious attacker. It spun once and settled, gold sigil catching the light.
"Name?" he asked.
Marcus shook his head. "No ID. False prints, burned tags. He's trained not to talk."
"We'll see," Theo said, and the ice in his voice reminded all three of the man forged in SAS and MI6 shadows.
Alexandra met his gaze. "You'll interrogate him?"
"Interrogate, no," Theo said. "Question—yes. He's not the one I want. But he might lead to the ones who sent him."
Sophie looked up from her code. "FYI, the Marrakesh cache intel checks out. Satellite confirms shipments last week. Locals whisper about mercs guarding a restored kasbah. Whoever Croft's source is, it's good."
Theo absorbed that, silent for a long breath. Then: "We hit it."
Marcus raised a brow. "Straight to their front door?"
"They came to mine," Theo said. "They want to measure me—fine. Let's show them something to measure."
Alexandra's voice was low but steady. "It's dangerous."
"So was last night," Theo replied.
Sophie spun her chair toward him. "If we're doing this, I'll need more than three days to prep digital cover and supply chain ghosts."
"You'll have it," Theo said. "We move when we're ready, not when they expect."
A knock at the double doors broke the moment. One of the manor's guards stepped in, looking uncertain. "Your Grace… there's a visitor."
"Now?" Marcus growled.
The guard nodded. "Says she's expected."
Before anyone could respond, Lara Croft stepped around him, utterly at ease, dressed in a weatherproof jacket and boots as if she'd hiked straight from the jungle to the manor's doorstep. A half smile touched her lips.
"Morning," she said. "Hope you don't mind — your gatehouse tried to stop me, but I can be persuasive."
Alexandra's expression went glacial. "This is a secure estate."
Lara glanced at the downed Veil pendant on the table and arched a brow. "Not that secure."
Marcus bristled; Sophie laughed under her breath. Theo merely studied Lara for a long, silent beat.
"You came fast," he said finally.
"I figured they'd test you. They like to poke the bear before going for the throat," Lara replied. Her gaze swept the monitors, the maps, the prisoner feed showing a hooded captive in a cell. "Looks like you survived the poke."
Theo said nothing, but the faintest ghost of approval touched his eyes. "You know Marrakesh."
"I've been in and out," Lara said. "If that cache is real, I can get you close. Smuggling tunnels, safe rooftops, who's bribeable."
Alexandra opened her mouth to object, but Theo held up a hand. He walked a slow circle around Lara, not threatening — assessing. She stood unflinching.
"You said last night the Veil doesn't warn twice," he said.
"True."
"They warned me. Then they came." He stopped opposite her. "I'm going to hit them back. Quiet, hard, and first. You want in?"
Lara's smile was quick and fierce. "Always."
Sophie grinned from her chair. "This is going to be fun."
Marcus muttered something about "suicidal archaeologists" but didn't argue. Alexandra studied Lara, then her nephew, and finally sighed — a queen conceding to a general. "Very well. But we do this with precision. No heroics."
"No heroics," Theo agreed, though the glint in his dark eyes said something sharper. He extended a scarred hand to Lara.
She took it — firm, no nonsense. "Partnership?"
"For now," Theo said.
"Good enough."
They shook once, and an unspoken pact hung between them — survivor to survivor, hunter to hunter.
Theo turned back to the table, eyes sweeping maps and manifests. "Prep the jet. Gear for desert and close-quarters. Sophie, ghost our trail. Marcus, we'll need a strike team, small and clean. Alexandra—politics. Keep the world blind."
"And you?" Alexandra asked softly.
Theo's gaze fell to the pendant and the black envelope beside it. "I'm going to remind the Veil what they created."
Outside, the Atlantic crashed against the cliffs, relentless as memory. Inside the rebuilt fortress, plans for war took shape — not the loud war of armies, but the silent kind Theo Blackwood had been trained to fight.
For the first time in two decades, the boy who fled fire was hunting back.