Chapter 6 - The Interrogation
The barrel of Vane’s polished nickel-plated Beretta gleamed under the sterile lights of the safehouse.
“Drop the weapons. Both of you,” Vane ordered, his voice smooth and devoid of any emotion. His eyes flicked briefly toward Lily, who instinctively shrank back behind the titanium partition, clutching her blanket to her chest. “I must admit, Marcus, I thought the fire in the woods took care of you once and for all. But you’ve always been like a cockroach—hard to squash.”
Marcus didn't move. His jaw was clenched so tight a muscle ticked in his cheek. “You killed Elena, Vane. You sold out your own family for pocket change.”
“Business, Marcus,” Vane replied casually, stepping further into the bunker while his guards kept their sights locked on our vitals. “Elena was asking questions she had no business asking. She thought she could save the world, and she ended up becoming a tragic casualty of urban development. Just like you are about to be.”
Vane gestured to the two guards on his left. “Tie them up. Put the girl in the transport vehicle. The Tribunal wants a clean sweep tonight.”
The guards stepped forward, heavy zip-ties clutched in their hands.
This was the exact moment twenty years of survival instincts kicked in. You never let an enemy back you into a corner without an exit strategy.
I caught Marcus’s eye and gave a subtle, almost imperceptible nod.
As the first guard lunged forward to grab my arm, I didn't resist. Instead, I let him pull me close, instantly pivoting on my heel, using his own momentum to slam him directly into Vane’s path.
At the same time, Marcus dropped low, sweeping the legs of the second guard out from under him and driving his elbow down into the man's chest with bone-crushing force.
Chaos erupted.
Vane stumbled backward as his human shield collided with him, his gun firing wildly into the ceiling, showering us with chunks of drywall.
“Kill them! Shoot them!” Vane shrieked, panic finally cracking his polished facade.
The remaining guards raised their assault rifles, but before they could squeeze the triggers, a snarling, furry blur launched itself from the medical table.
Bear—fully awake and enraged by the noise—leaped straight at the throat of the lead gunman, sinking his teeth deep into the tactical padding around the man's neck. The guard screamed, dropping his weapon as he crashed backward into the control console.
I lunged across the stainless-steel table, grabbing Vane by the silk tie and slamming him face-first against the concrete wall. The impact knocked the wind out of him, his Beretta clattering onto the floor.
I pressed my forearm hard against his throat, pinning him in place as the remaining guards hesitated, unsure whether to fire and risk hitting their boss.
“Drop your weapons!” I roared, the sound echoing off the concrete walls with terrifying authority. “Drop them now or your boss dies right here!”
Slowly, the clatter of assault rifles hitting the floor echoed through the bunker.
Marcus stepped over a groaning operative, picked up Vane’s dropped Beretta, and casually checked the magazine before pointing it directly at Vane’s chest.
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Vane coughed, gasping for air against my forearm, his face turning a mottled shade of purple. “You... you can’t win,” he wheezed. “The entire High Council... they know I’m here. If I don't report in within ten minutes, they’ll send an entire battalion to level this entire waterfront.”
“Let them come,” I whispered into his ear, my voice chillingly calm. “I’ve been looking for an excuse to clean house for a long time.”
