Inside the smoking, half-collapsed perimeter of the villa, the DWO operatives gathered in exhausted silence. Every member bore the heavy toll of the battle; bandages crisscrossed torn tactical gear, and stained gauze soaked through with fresh blood.
T-Rex sat heavily on a jagged chunk of concrete, casting a side-long glance at Terminator, who stood a few yards away, lost in a deep silence.
Suddenly, a low, whirring vibration cut through the howling wind. A sleek, autonomous VTOL transport drone crested the snowy ridge and descended smoothly onto the flattened clearing.
"Our aircraft is here," Liam announced.
Terminator snapped out of his trance, his commander's voice cutting through the chill. "Get everyone aboard. Now."
The operatives moved with disciplined, agonizing slurs of motion. T-Rex heaved the unconscious Dr. Philip over his shoulder, carrying him up the boarding ramp.
"Let's deliver this cargo back to headquarters," Terminator instructed, stepping toward the hatch.
Liam nodded tightly. "And the perimeter clean-up?"
"Tell the secondary retrieval team to sweep the area and search all remaining research nodes," Terminator ordered, before ducking into the aircraft cabin.
As the VTOL's thrusters roared to life, kicking up a blinding wall of white powder and lifting vertically into the arctic sky, a lone figure came sprinting over the crest of the hill.
Damian skidded to a halt, chest heaving, his boots churning up snow as he watched the transport aircraft rapidly shrink against the bruised gray clouds.
I searched the entire outer wing for a working transport vehicle, then I saw this... but, I was too late, Damian thought, his shoulders slumping in frustration as he let out a heavy sigh of exhaustion.
Suddenly, the crunch of footsteps echoed through the snow behind him.
Damian turned slightly, his hand instinctively dropping toward his sidearm. A figure was walking steadily toward him from the blinding glare of the morning sun breaking over the peaks. With his hands buried deep in his pockets and a shock of striking, snow-white hair catching the pale winter light, the man's face remained completely cast in shadow.
Damian squared his stance, turning fully to face the approaching stranger.
"Murphy?" Damian said.
The White-Haired Man didn't offer a word. He simply walked into Damian's field of vision.
Damian blinked, recognition flashing across his features.
Wait... it's not Murphy. It's him. The man, alongside Murphy.
"Oh, it's you... Mr.—" Damian started, before the white-haired man abruptly cut him off.
"Damian," the young man said, his voice flat and unyielding. "Come with me."
Damian narrowed his eyes, a spike of suspicion hitting his chest.
Did Murphy send him? So, Murphy track down what happened here.
"Well," Damian replied, crossing his arms. "Before I go anywhere, I need to find my son."
"I can take you to him," the White-Haired Man replied smoothly. "He's safe."
Damian's eyes widened, genuine shock breaking through his hardened exterior. "Ethan? You found him?"
The White-Haired Man gave a single, slow nod. "Yeah. We secured him. Get in the car; I'll fill you in on the details on the way."
Damian hesitated for a fraction of a second, then nodded in agreement.
High above the ridge, hunkered down behind a snowbank, the DWO scout pressed his fingers to his comm-unit.
"Sir, Damian is moving out now. He just got into a vehicle with man who have white hair."
Through the earpiece, the distorted voice crackled back: "Track them silently. Do not let them know they are being followed. Let them lead us straight to their primary hideout."
"Understood, Boss," the scout whispered, adjusting his zoom lens as the car pulled away.
Meanwhile,
Ophelia's phone buzzed sharply against the wooden table.
She picked it up, glancing at the incoming screen text from her son,
Son: I am bringing Damian.
She typed a brief reply:
Ophelia: Okay. Great.
Slipping her phone back into her pocket, she turned her attention across the room to where Ethan lay. Suddenly, Ethan's eyes snapped open.
Where... am I? he thought, his pulse spiking as disorientation washed over him.
He shifted his gaze and locked eyes with Ophelia sitting nearby.
"It's you..." Ethan whispered, tensing his muscles.
Ophelia raised a calming hand, her expression serene. "Don't move around too fast. Your body still needs time to recover."
Ethan froze, his instincts warring with his exhaustion. "Who are you?"
Ophelia didn't flinch. "Why are you helping me?" Ethan demanded, his voice sharp with distrust.
A faint, gentle smile touched Ophelia's lips. She reached out to gently pat Ethan's head.
Ethan recoiled slightly, completely caught off-guard by the maternal gesture.
"You'll understand everything soon enough," Ophelia said softly.
Ethan's expression remained rigid and suspicious; clearly, he wasn't buying the reassurance.
Ophelia noticed his lingering paranoia and offered a reassuring nod. "You can trust me, Ethan. No one here is going to harm you. You are completely safe."
Ethan sank back against the pillows, his face locked in a stubborn scowl.
This kid is a difficult one Ophelia thought internally, suppressing a small sigh.
"Are you hungry?" Ophelia asked aloud.
Ethan stared at her unblinkingly, studying every micro-expression.
It feels like I'm sitting across from an interrogator, Ophelia mused, holding his gaze.
After a long, tense beat, Ethan gave a slow, cautious nod.
Ophelia pulled out her phone and dialed Isabel.
"Isabel. Bring up a hot meal."
Ethan watched her every move as she finished the call.
Who is this woman, really? Why is she helping me? She somehow knows my father... what does she actually want?
A few moments later, the door clicked open, and Isabel wheeled in a silver tray laden with hot, steaming food.
The moment the aroma hit the room, a memory flashed through Ethan's mind: Zero.
That woman... she was a fierce fighter, but she shared her food with me when I had nothing, Ethan remembered, a quiet pang hitting his chest.
The tray was placed on a bedside table, but Ethan didn't reach for it. He continued to eye Ophelia with profound skepticism.
Ophelia let out a soft sigh. "It's fine."
She picked up a fork, took a few deliberate bites of the food herself.
Realizing the meal wasn't poisoned or laced, Ethan finally relented, picking up the utensils and eating.
He finished the plate in minutes, but his stomach still rumbled. Ophelia caught the cue without him having to ask, quietly texting Isabel. Within moments, a second, larger tray arrived.
Ethan watched Ophelia take another small bite first before he dove back into the food.
Maybe... this woman isn't entirely evil, Ethan thought, chewing thoughtfully.
As he ate, he couldn't help but observe her posture and demeanor.
This woman... is she some kind of royalty? Her movements, her composure—she carries herself with the grace of a noble and the quiet majesty of a queen. She is very Majestic.
"Miss Ophelia," Ethan asked around a bite of food, breaking the silence. "Do you actually know my father?"
Ophelia nodded smoothly. "Yes. I even know your mother, and all your siblings."
Ethan stopped chewing, genuinely startled. "You... you know my mother and Daisy too?"
Ophelia nodded again.
Ethan's defensive shell cracked, his expression softening into profound vulnerability.
At that exact second, the heavy door swung open, and Isabel stepped inside.
"My Lady, they have arrived."
Ophelia stood up, gave Isabel an encouraging thumbs-up, and made a firm, closed fist. Isabel instantly mirrored the gesture, bumping her fist against Ophelia's in a silent, synchronized salute.
Ethan watched the exchange with mild bewilderment.
She is like absolute royalty, yet she's completely chill with her subordinates...
"Bring them in," Ophelia instructed calmly.
Isabel offered a crisp bow. "Understood, My Lady."
Turning back to the cot, Ophelia looked down at the young man with a warm, welcoming smile.
"Ethan," she said softly. "Your father is here."