Chapter 49

|6:00 PM

The emergency ward smelled of disinfectant and iron.
Kannika and Rouffiee had been rolled in minutes apart, both barely clinging to consciousness. The mission had gone sideways; the IT specialist took the bait, hit Transfer, and the data reached headquarters, but the cost had been brutal.

Kannika had taken a bullet straight to the chest, so close to her heart that the surgeons whispered it was a miracle she was alive.
Rouffiee’s body looked like it had been pulped. He had called for backup seconds before they entered the club; otherwise, they both would have died. Kannika had thrown herself in front of the bullet meant for his skull.

She had saved him.

Now, the hospital lights buzzed faintly overhead as Yada sat at her brother’s bedside, her fingers trembling over the bandage at his temple. Beside her stood Pako, his and Kannika’s colleague, and a doctor with a nurse hovering behind him.

“Will he survive, doctor?” Yada’s voice cracked. Tears blurred her vision as her parents sped toward the hospital.

The doctor offered a gentle, reassuring smile. “He was incredibly lucky. He took many blows to the head and back, but rest assured, he is out of danger. He just needs rest.”

Yada reached out and lightly brushed her fingers across Rouffiee’s damp hair, a maternal gesture born of fear.

“And the woman who was with him?” Pako asked, his voice low and professional.

The doctor’s expression shifted. His smile dissolved into a serious, guarded neutrality. “Her case is more critical. We are monitoring her closely, but I cannot offer further details. You are not legally…”

“A family member, yes, I understand,” Pako cut in smoothly, pulling the cloak of plausible deniability tighter around the situation.

Yada stiffened. “But then, did you inform her family?” she asked, confusion colliding with a sudden surge of protective instinct.

The doctor met her gaze. “I cannot discuss the other patient with you. You will have to excuse me.” He offered a polite, clipped nod and left, the soft click of the door concluding the conversation.

“What is going on, Pako?” Yada demanded, turning to him.

“Well, we have not called anyone from her family.”

“Why?”

Pako exhaled hard and rubbed his hands through his hair.

“Yada, you were informed because your parents are police. You are being granted a courtesy. Normally, we manage these situations internally before contacting anyone.”

“She has a friend, my client. You could at least tell her. What if she dies? Will you just quietly dispose of her body?” Yada felt a sudden, fierce protectiveness welling up for the woman who lay isolated down the hall, having saved her brother’s life.

“I should not be talking about this,” Pako hedged.

“Please,” Yada pleaded, her tone desperate.

He sighed, defeated by her intensity. “She has no family, Yada.”

Yada froze.

“What?”

“Only one adoptive sister. A minor. In a foster home. She is the only person who will be informed, and only once the entire story is wrapped up.”

Before she could speak again, her parents entered, their authority instantly filling the room. Her father, a high-ranking officer in a fine suit, gave Pako a look that demanded an accounting. Pako stepped out quickly to explain the mission failure, the IT specialist’s arrest, and the successful but costly data transfer.

Yada hugged her mother tightly, but her heart twisted.
No family.
The words echoed with a profound emptiness.

Yada remembered Kannika’s constant worry at the courthouse. Was this the reason? Was Kannika trying to shield the one person she had left?

Her brother was safe, surrounded by love and support. But Kannika lay alone, hovering between life and death, with no one to hold her hand. Pako was right. Kannika and Rouffie were secret agents, wounded on a classified mission, and they were in a secure private wing of the hospital for a reason. She could not alert Evelyn.

Yet something ignited in Yada’s chest, a mixture of anger, sorrow, and something deeper she did not yet dare to name.

The sky outside the window faded to a deep, impenetrable night.

Evelyn had been calling Kannika for hours. Every unanswered ring scraped her nerves raw.

Jack had sent messages too, asking to see her, but Evelyn ignored them. She needed him to withdraw completely, to stop holding onto hope.

Kannika, please give me a sign of life. It is important. I am worried about you.

She texted again. Her heart would not settle.

|9:00 PM

When she reached her home, she pushed the door open, tossed her bag to the floor, and flicked the light switch.

She froze.

Someone was sitting in her kitchen, calmly sipping from a glass.

“Williams!”

Evelyn’s breath caught. Her heart lurched painfully against her ribs.

Williams turned her head slowly, her smile poised and surgical.

“Good evening, Evelyn Hazel.”

Evelyn glanced frantically at the door. There was no sign of forced entry. Williams had used her signature method, manipulating the deadbolt. Before Evelyn could move, the door swung open behind her and Makizal stepped in. He shoved her violently forward and slammed the door shut, the impact rattling the silence.

“What do you want?” Evelyn managed, catching her balance.

“Sit down, Evelyn,” Makizal commanded.

Trembling, she approached the sofa and sank into a nearby armchair.

Williams was delicately eating a piece of fruit, a perfectly segmented orange. She glanced from the fruit to Evelyn’s fridge, which stood ajar. Since her collapse, something odd had awakened in her. Her appetite had become ferocious, a physical manifestation of her need for control.

“Do you like fruit, Evelyn?”

Evelyn looked at the fruit, then at her open fridge, then up at the ceiling. She heard a soft scraping sound from upstairs. Williams had brought company.

Evelyn slid her hand toward her phone, still clutched in her palm, but Makizal’s eyes intercepted the movement. He snatched the phone and placed it on the coffee table.

“What do you want from me?” she snapped. “I told Polo I would come on Monday…”

Makizal’s hand shot out and pressed down on her shoulder with brutal force, pinning her to the chair. His dark look was a pure, unspoken threat. “Lower your tone, or I will gag you.”

Evelyn understood. This was not a negotiation.

Williams finished the slice of orange and wiped her fingers. “I told you to think about it. So tell me what your final answer is.”

“I told the parents to decide. If on Monday they prefer to keep the child, then I will keep it,” Evelyn shouted, defiance spiking her voice. “And you will have to respect that.”

Makizal moved toward her, ready to act, but Williams raised one manicured hand and stopped him.

“But I, Miss Hazel, will not wait for Monday. You will abort.”

“What? How will you do that? Will you drag me to a hospital for this?”

Williams leaned forward, her gaze utterly devoid of warmth. “You know, in this field, there are many ways to end a pregnancy. Medication, surgery, or a more direct intervention.”

Evelyn felt an icy shiver as Beta entered the room and placed a metal tray on the coffee table. On it rested a surgical syringe. He prepared it as though for a routine injection, but the cold finality in his eyes made the gesture sinister.

Her voice cracked. “What are you implying?”

“I still want to give you the choice, Evelyn. But understand me well. I will not leave this room until this mistake is corrected.”

“It is murder, Williams. You cannot do that.”

“Your answer?” Williams gestured to the guard to clear the table, then stood up and towered over Evelyn.

“No, Williams, let go of me.”

A sudden flurry of motion erupted. Two other guards, Gamma and Ultra, appeared from the kitchen, tearing up thick stacks of hospital paperwork pulled from Evelyn’s drawers. They were eliminating all traces.

Makizal pushed Evelyn’s chair back and snapped on latex gloves. He lifted the metal tray, the syringe now filled with an opaque fluid, and placed it before Williams.

Williams looked down at Evelyn, who struggled helplessly against Makizal’s grip. “Seize her,” she said.

As Makizal signaled his colleagues to restrain her, Evelyn struggled violently against their combined weight.

“No. No. You forgot something,” she screamed, just before a rough hand clamped over her mouth.

Williams froze and lifted her hand for silence.

Evelyn strained against the gag. “One…”

Makizal ripped the cloth away. “Speak now.”

“Yes,” Evelyn spat, her eyes gleaming with desperate triumph. “You are not as intelligent as you think, Dr. Williams. Did you make sure I did not have a camera?”

Williams’s eyes darted to Makizal.

“There is no camera on the corners of the walls,” Beta reported.

“And the furniture?” Evelyn added, her voice hoarse. “The beautiful portrait you see there has a camera. And do not bother destroying it; the data is already stored offsite. If something happens to me, they will know everything you did.”

Makizal walked toward the framed photo, his expression murderous, and smashed it against the wall. When he examined the pieces, he realized she was right.

“Where is the data stored?” Makizal snarled.

“You will not get anything from me,” Evelyn retorted, adrenaline ripping through her.

Williams stood frozen. The phrase you are not intelligent echoed like a gunshot in her mind. Her gaze was fixed on the metal tray. The syringe trembled in her grip.

But no one saw the tremors.

Makizal signaled a guard.

Gamma shoved a cloth over Evelyn’s mouth while the others pinned her to the table.

“Put her hand on the table,” Makizal growled, smiling. “If you want to play like this.” He pressed the point of a knife against the back of Evelyn’s smallest finger. “I will cut off your fingers one by one. Every time you give me the wrong answer, I will move to the next.”

Evelyn struggled, hysterical tears streaming down her face, but Makizal was immovable. Just as the knife bit into her skin, she managed to wrench her face free.

“Niran. No, do not do that.”

Williams staggered.

Her whole body froze.

Then she collapsed to her knees.

Her fingers trembled violently.
Her breath faltered, short and ragged.
Her nose began to bleed again.

The pressure in her head was immense, making her entire body vibrate uncontrollably. Evelyn’s voice, that name, was the cause. Williams could not understand why.

Makizal rushed to her, genuinely concerned. “Williams?” He reached to steady her.

“Do not touch me,” Williams shrieked, twisting away.

“Sorry.” Makizal backed away, confused.

Evelyn and the guards stared at Williams, the torture halting in confusion. Williams struggled to her feet and stumbled toward the bathroom. She, a woman who despised entering any bathroom not surgically clean, stepped inside out of desperate necessity.

In the cramped compartment, she splashed lukewarm water on her face. She looked at the mirror, fixing her hair and adjusting her tailored blazer. She remembered Emilio’s words: Take care of your health. A simple reaction to stress can be a problem. But as her eyes met her reflection, the chaos vanished. Her emotions fell back under her command. Williams was back.

She straightened her hair, smoothed her expression, forced her heartbeat down.

Then she walked out of the bathroom.

Makizal, unsettled by her pause, had stopped the torture and waited for her command. Williams stepped directly up to Evelyn.

“I hate wasting time.” She delivered a shocking, violent slap across Evelyn’s face.

The guards released Evelyn, who crumpled to the floor, stunned. Williams hauled her up by her arm.

“Williams,” Evelyn gasped.

Williams delivered a second, backhanded slap, the sound echoing through the room. Then she seized Evelyn’s throat with one hand, her fingers pressing into the sensitive flesh of her neck, and slammed her against the wall. Evelyn’s feet barely touched the floor. She clawed at Williams’s hand, struggling for breath, her airway cut off.

Makizal watched, a flicker of pure excitement in his eyes. This raw, untamed violence was the Williams he admired.

Williams stared into Evelyn’s eyes, her own gaze blazing with psychotic rage, as if Evelyn had committed the ultimate personal offense. The trickle from Williams’s nose became a steady stream of blood, staining her teeth, but she did not notice. She tightened her grip, determined to crush Evelyn’s defiance. But Evelyn refused to break.

“Ah, Wil…” Evelyn’s fingers scrabbled at her captor’s wrist, managing a short, desperate gasp of air.

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