Blackwood Isle was drenched in rain when the Gulfstream broke through low clouds and banked toward its private runway. The sea below foamed white against black cliffs; beyond, the rebuilt manor rose from mist like a fortress out of myth.
Theo stood in the cabin's aisle as the wheels touched tarmac, body loose but eyes sharp. Behind him Lara stretched stiffly and gave a low whistle. "Your home looks like it belongs in an Arthurian epic."
"It's meant to," Theo said.
"Fits the man."
He ignored the bait. Marcus unbuckled and checked his phone. "Perimeter reports clear. No Veil tails this side of the Channel."
"Good," Theo said, though he didn't relax.
Sophie yawned, still glued to her laptop. "I've got all Moroccan traces scrubbed. But we definitely pissed off the wrong people."
The door opened to a blast of Atlantic wind. Theo descended first, boots hitting his own soil. Guards in discrete tactical suits saluted. Alexandra waited in the storm, coat hood up, regal as ever.
She pulled Theo into a quick embrace — rare, brief. "You're alive."
"As promised," he said softly.
Then she looked past him and her gaze sharpened on Lara. "Dr. Croft."
"Lady Blackwood," Lara answered easily, offering a hand that Alexandra ignored in favour of a cool nod.
Theo broke the tension. "Inside. We've work to do."
The manor's war room glowed warm against the storm outside. Fire in the hearth, long table alive with screens and ancient maps. The Custos Mentis cross lay at its centre under glass, haloed by soft light.
Lara circled it like a predator, fascination warring with restraint. "It's older than the Crusades," she murmured. "The engravings — proto-Coptic, yes, but with something stranger. Almost… pre-Christian."
Theo stood opposite, hands clasped behind his back. "The Guardians of the Mind believed knowledge could shape faith itself. They hid objects that could rewrite what people believed."
Lara met his gaze. "That's terrifying power."
"It's why the Veil wants it."
Sophie tapped a key and pulled up a glowing map of Europe. "From the Moroccan servers: a shipping schedule. The Veil is consolidating Nazi plunder — Amber Room pieces, occult reliquaries, Templar loot. Next big transfer: Königsberg, seven days."
"Germany?" Lara asked.
"Technically Russia now," Sophie said. "Kaliningrad. Old Prussian fortress city."
Theo's expression darkened. "The Nazis hid the Amber Room there during the war. The Veil must think something else is buried with it."
Marcus leaned forward. "You thinking we intercept?"
"Yes," Theo said.
Alexandra's voice was cool steel. "And provoke every intelligence service in Europe? MI6 already called this morning asking about unusual activity in Morocco."
Theo's eyes flicked to her. "What did you say?"
"That you were reviewing humanitarian sites. They don't believe it." She turned to Lara. "And who exactly are you in this? Your record is… adventurous."
Lara smiled faintly. "Archaeologist. Adventurer. Survivor. Useful."
Alexandra didn't look impressed. "Usefulness doesn't keep my nephew alive."
"It might," Lara said, not flinching.
Theo cut between them before sparks became flame. "Enough. We need each other. The Veil's accelerating. If they reach Königsberg first, we lose the trail and the relics."
Rain drummed hard against the tall windows while the room filled with the low hum of machines.
Alexandra remained standing, poised and immovable. "Theo, this isn't Afghanistan or the Sahel. If you operate in Europe and something goes wrong, it will be headlines. Parliament already whispers about the 'Blackwood Ghost.' MI6 asked if you're running a private army."
"I'm not," Theo said evenly.
"They'll see it that way."
"Let them," he answered, voice flat but calm. "The Veil doesn't wait for bureaucracy."
Alexandra's mouth tightened. "And what about the Crown? The Duchy is ancient. Your name carries weight."
"It carries duty," Theo said, meeting her eyes. "My father died guarding something he didn't have the strength to finish. I do."
For a beat, thunder filled the silence.
Lara spoke up, easy but deliberate. "With respect, Lady Blackwood, the Veil isn't playing in polite halls. They're killing and stealing to rewrite history itself. MI6 won't act until it's too late. I've seen this before."
Alexandra turned a cool gaze on her. "And what's your stake?"
Lara held it. "Same as his. I don't like monsters deciding what the world believes."
Alexandra studied her a long moment — then, unexpectedly, gave a tiny nod. "Then don't get him killed."
"Deal," Lara said.
Theo broke the moment by shifting the map to a satellite view of Kaliningrad/Königsberg. "We'll need two phases: archives in Paris and the Vatican to find the exact Nazi hiding sites, then insertion into the old fortifications before the Veil shipment lands."
Marcus leaned over the table. "So France first?"
"Yes," Theo said. "We can move under academic cover. Blackwood Enterprises funds restoration projects; we'll pose as consultants. Lara's credentials will sell the archaeology angle."
Sophie grinned. "I'll make us professors of something exotic."
"MI6 will watch airports," Alexandra warned.
"They'll watch me," Theo corrected. "We'll move through private channels, use smaller airfields. Paris first, then Rome, then east."
Lara tapped the glass over Königsberg. "You really think the Amber Room's still there?"
"Parts," Theo said. "And more important: what's under it."
"What's under it?"
He met her gaze. "Something my father called the Sacrum Mens — 'Sacred Mind.' He never finished the puzzle. Maybe the Veil has."
Lara's eyes brightened with the mix of danger and discovery that always drew her. "Sounds like fun."
Marcus snorted. "Your definition of fun's broken."
"Probably," Lara said.
Theo turned to Sophie. "How long to ghost our trail?"
"Give me forty-eight hours," she said, already typing. "We'll vanish into a dozen EU bureaucracies."
Theo looked back to Alexandra. "Two days. Then we go."
She hesitated, then inclined her head — regal surrender. "Two days. But when MI6 calls again, I'll have to give them something."
"Give them nothing useful," Theo said.
A faint, reluctant smile tugged at her mouth. "Just like your father."
Night fell early, heavy with mist off the Atlantic. The manor went from bustling HQ to a quiet fortress preparing for a silent war.
Training Hall – East Wing
Theo moved through the echoing hall with a quarterstaff, bare-footed, stripped to a sleeveless shirt. The air smelled of old oak and chalk. His body flowed from strike to strike — a synthesis of aikido, kali, savate, Systema — each motion controlled and lethal.
Lara leaned against the doorway, arms folded. She'd swapped travel gear for fitted black workout clothes, hair tied back. "You train like a monk with anger issues."
Theo didn't stop. "Discipline is control."
"And the anger?"
He ended a strike, breathing steady. "Still working on it."
She smiled faintly. "Want a spar?"
He tossed her a practice blade without answer. She caught it easily, spun it once. "You know, most dukes don't duel strangers in their basements."
"I'm not most dukes," he said.
They circled, weapons whispering across polished wood. Lara was quick and unorthodox; Theo precise and almost frighteningly fast. They traded blows — tap, crack, whirl — until she swept low and he vaulted, twisting behind her. She spun and grinned, breathless.
"You hold back," she said.
"Do I?"
"You haven't tried to win."
He gave the barest ghost of a smile. "Maybe I enjoy the company."
She blinked once, caught off guard, then laughed. "Careful. I might think you like me."
Theo didn't answer but offered his hand to pull her up from a crouch. It was strong, warm, calloused. For a heartbeat their eyes met — two lives built on loss, both still standing.
Then he turned away to hang the staff, walls going back up.
Ops Room
Sophie was a blur of code, three screens alive with fake passports and flight manifests. Marcus came in lugging a weapons crate.
"Gear's staged," he said. "Quiet carbines, suppressed pistols, climbing kit, drones."
"Good," Sophie murmured, eyes never leaving her screen. "Also, heads up — someone just pinged our outer network from GCHQ servers."
Marcus froze. "British intel?"
"Looks like it. Probably MI6 checking if the Ghost Duke's up to mischief."
Marcus rubbed a hand down his face. "You think they'll move?"
"Not yet. They're sniffing. We're ghosts enough to make it annoying."
"Keep it that way."
She grinned. "That's the plan."
Clifftop Balcony
Later, Theo stood alone outside, night wind cutting cold across the sea. The Custos Mentis cross glimmered in his hand. Its strange script caught moonlight like fire.
Lara joined him quietly, a fresh cut visible along her arm from sparring. "You okay?"
"I've been chasing this shadow half my life," he said softly. "Every step closer and it feels heavier."
"You could walk away."
"No," Theo said simply.
She studied him in the dark. "You're not just hunting for your parents, are you?"
He turned the relic once between fingers. "I'm hunting to keep anyone else from standing in the ashes I did."
Lara's face softened. "Then we're in this for the same reasons."
He looked at her — really looked. "Are we?"
She didn't blink. "Loss teaches you to fight for something better."
For a long moment neither moved. Then he gave a small, almost imperceptible nod.
Morning broke cold and silver across the cliffs. The manor's courtyard bustled quietly — luggage, sealed crates, travel papers, weapons cases being loaded into two sleek Blackwood turboprops. Rain-slicked stone glistened as guards moved with silent efficiency.
Alexandra stood at the foot of the first aircraft, coat belted tight against the wind. Her gaze swept over the small strike team: Marcus checking gear, Sophie in a tech harness bristling with devices, Lara zipped into a weatherproof field jacket, Theo moving among them with quiet precision.
When he reached her, she caught his arm.
"You are about to operate in Europe against enemies with deep pockets and friends in every government. I've covered you as long as I can — but MI6 called again last night. They know you're moving."
Theo's jaw flexed but his voice stayed calm. "Will they interfere?"
"They might 'observe' or shadow. If you cross any obvious lines, they'll act."
"I'll stay a ghost."
She sighed, looking up at him — the boy she'd raised and the man forged in war. "Stay alive too."
"I intend to."
Alexandra touched his cheek just briefly — a gesture she'd rarely allowed since he became a soldier. "Don't let vengeance blind you. Protect, don't destroy."
Theo gave the faintest nod. "I'll remember."
Sophie trotted over, tablet tucked under one arm. "All digital covers set. Professors Blackwood and Croft — cultural consultants to the École des Chartes. Paperwork would make Napoleon proud."
Marcus grinned faintly. "Napoleon lost."
"Shut up," Sophie said, but she smiled.
Lara slung her pack and looked to Theo. "Paris first?"
"Paris first," Theo said. "Vatican after, then east."
She studied him for a second. "You sure you're ready to poke every sleeping intelligence bear on the continent?"
He met her eyes. "They should be more afraid of who we're chasing."
Her grin widened. "Good answer."
As the first prop engines started to whine, Marcus swept the perimeter one last time. He paused, frowning. "Tail on the cliff road. Black SUV. Just parked and watching."
Theo followed his gaze. The SUV sat half a mile away, dark windows, no plates visible.
"MI6?" Lara asked.
"Maybe," Marcus said.
Theo considered for one beat, then simply turned back toward the plane. "Let them watch. We'll be gone before they can move."
They climbed the stairs one by one. Sophie buckled in and fired up encrypted comms. Marcus sat up front with the pilot. Lara took the seat across from Theo, pulling a notebook from her pack.
"You nervous?" she asked lightly as the propellers thundered.
"No," he said.
"Good. Me neither."
The aircraft lifted off into a slate-grey sky, banked east, and left Blackwood Isle shrinking behind them — a fortress against the storm. The SUV on the cliff watched until they vanished into cloud.
In the cabin, the Custos Mentis cross lay between them on the table. Sophie's map glowed with the route: Isle → Paris → Rome → Königsberg.
Theo looked at Lara, at Marcus, at Sophie — his unlikely, deadly little team.
"Europe," he said quietly. "We move fast and silent. The Veil thinks it owns history. Let's remind them it doesn't."
Lara's answering smile was sharp and bright. "Now we're talking."
Marcus checked his weapon one last time. Sophie grinned at her screens.
Outside, the grey sea gave way to the endless continent ahead.
The hunt had truly begun.