Chapter 2 - The Ghost of Mara
The private medical wing of Cross Manor was lit by cold, fluorescent white, a stark contrast to the dark storm raging outside. Dr. Samuel Vale worked with practiced, frantic precision, his surgical scissors cutting away the filthy, duct-taped coat that wrapped around the small child.
Holden Cross stood against the far wall, his imposing frame silent, his eyes locked onto the stainless-steel examination table. Next to him, Phantom rested his massive black head against the edge of the mattress, letting out low, rhythmic whines. The 130-pound killer dog refused to be moved, growling at any nurse who stepped too close without the child’s hand touching his fur.
"She’s severely malnourished, Holden," Dr. Vale said, his voice tense as he hooked up an IV drip. "Third-degree exhaustion, multiple old bone fractures that healed improperly, and acute hypothermia. If she had stayed outside another twenty minutes, her heart would have given out."
"And the blood on her sleeve?" Holden’s voice was like grinding stones.
Dr. Vale pulled back the torn fabric of her left arm. "It’s not hers. The sleeve is soaked through with adult blood, Type O negative. Someone bleeding heavily carried her or pushed her through that gate."
Holden’s fist clenched so hard his knuckles popped like gunshots. He stepped toward the table, looking down at the pale, bruised face of the little girl. She couldn't be older than seven. Her small fingers were stained with grease and dried mud, but tucked around her neck, half-hidden beneath her collar, was a tarnished silver chain.
Holden reached out, his calloused fingers carefully hooking the chain and pulling the pendant into the light.
His breath hit a wall.
It was a family crest. A heavy, hand-engraved silver raven holding an iron sword—the crest of the Cross family. Only two such pendants existed in the world. One was in Holden’s pocket. The other had belonged to his younger sister, Mara, who had been abducted and presumed dead eight years ago during the brutal syndicate war that took his father’s life.
"Boss?" Marcus, his chief security officer, stepped quietly into the medical bay, holding a tablet. "We ran the gate footage. A black armored SUV dropped her off two blocks away before speeding off toward the harbor. We tracked the plates—it belongs to the Volkov Syndicate."
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Holden didn't take his eyes off the little girl. The missing pieces of an eight-year nightmare were violently slamming into place.
"She isn't just a survivor, Marcus," Holden whispered, his dark eyes burning with an ancient, terrifying flame. "She’s Mara’s daughter. She’s my niece."
