Chapter 60

Chaos exploded through the conference hall before anyone understood what had truly happened. A shot. A scream. Then another. And suddenly the world spun out of its axis.

How had a journalist managed to infiltrate a high-profile hospital conference with a weapon?

Makizal saw Williams’s collapse, her body folding to the floor like a wounded beast. Something violent ignited inside him. He spun, drawing his own suppressed weapon, aiming for the aggressor, but Oswald was already being wrestled to the floor by the two security guards. Makizal’s rage did not subside; it intensified. He charged toward the struggling pile.

“Move out of the way!” he bellowed, his voice raw and unrecognizable. He needed to eliminate the threat, to bathe in the swift, cold satisfaction of vengeance.

Ultra, his mind instantly mapping the security nightmare, intercepted Makizal’s wild rush. He slammed his body into Makizal’s chest, pushing him back forcefully against the table.

“Move, Makizal!”

“Get out of my way, or you will all be next!” Makizal roared, his eyes black with murderous intent.

Ultra, maintaining a grip of iron, hissed into his ear. “There are active cameras everywhere, Sir. Pull yourself together. This is a public execution if you shoot him now.”

The shock of the public threat forced him to retreat as he staggered back, shaking, the gun lowering slightly.

Around them, organized chaos began. Doctors were urgently evacuated by staff. Courageous or reckless journalists scrambled for cover, their phones discreetly raised, recording the aftermath.

Williams, for her part, was not dead. She had immediately dropped and rolled under the edge of the heavy conference table, the move born of instinct. A terrible burning agony bloomed in her right shoulder. With her left hand, she pressed down hard on the wound, her sharp intake of breath the only sound she allowed herself. For a moment, the external world seemed muted. She heard the distant screams and the thud of running footsteps, but a cold, authoritative voice whispered only in her head: Dr. Niran Williams fears no harm. She survives.

A trauma surgeon, frantic with professional duty, scrambled toward her. Williams ignored his outstretched hands, keeping her left hand pressed firmly against the searing entry point.

“Evacuate,” she commanded. There was no room for compassion or weakness in her world.

Makizal’s other colleagues, now recovering, ripped down the still-active television cameras, smashing them against the floor to stifle image leakage, grabbing memory cards, and forcing journalists outside. But the damage was already done. Several news channels, panicked by the sudden graphic violence, had cut the live transmission. Others replayed the moment in slow motion. Police sirens were approaching rapidly, mixing with the rush of other journalists trying to breach the building to gather the first vital information.

Her hand still clamping the wound, Williams used her last store of mental energy to stay conscious. Her survival instinct, honed by decades of trauma, had completely taken over. She attempted to move her right arm. The limb was heavy and unresponsive with pain.

“Let me take you to the infirmary. We need to stabilize the bleeding, Madam!” Makizal rushed to lift her, guilt and panic making his voice high and unstable.

She pushed his hand away sharply. Even in agonizing pain, the command was absolute. “Take me home immediately.”

“Home, Makizal. Right now.” She pushed herself up with her left arm against the table’s edge. Dizziness flooded her vision, but she fought it down, standing stiffly, moving with the unnatural, focused gait of a soldier who has not yet escaped the combat zone. The hall was empty, and every person had been evacuated to a private safe zone.

Makizal escorted her to the car discreetly. He knew he was taking an insane risk, removing a gunshot victim from a hospital, but he was pinned. You never say no to Williams. Flanked by Ultra and Gamma, who were fending off approaching staff, he escorted her back to the waiting luxury vehicle.

As he drove away from the sirens and flashing lights, Makizal glanced into the rearview mirror. Williams sat rigid in the back, her body angled away from the windows, her face pale, pressing the wound herself. A true warrior, he thought, admiring yet confused. Why flee? Why reject immediate quality care? It made no tactical sense.

“Do you want me to bring an express medical team?” he asked, his voice low.

“As soon as we arrive, send everyone away. I want no one in that house. Understand?”

“Yes.” His voice cracked slightly.

Williams’s voice was changed. Extreme, suppressed pain resonated in it, but deeper was a profound, wounded anger. That of humiliation. Exposure and loss of control. Like a lioness bleeding in front of her own pride.

Makizal felt a crushing wave of guilt and inadequacy. He was Williams’s angel of death, her impenetrable shield. How could this catastrophic breach have happened under his watch? Would she replace him for this negligence? The thought was a cold spike of fear.

He clenched the steering wheel until his knuckles burned. One thought possessed him. Oswald would pay. Anyone involved would pay. He would raze the world before letting someone else touch her again.

Back at the opulent villa, Williams rushed inside without a word and isolated herself in her bedroom.

Makizal, regaining his focus, was ruthlessly efficient. He emptied the house of all staff, leaving only the guards outside.

He stood alone in the yard, shoulders tense, eyes dark with regret.

His phone vibrated. Beta.

“Where is Doctor Williams?” Beta demanded.

“At home,” Makizal stated, his voice calm, betraying nothing.

“How? Why?” Beta sounded stunned.

“It was her order.” His tone remained still, but inside, he was collapsing.

Beta paused, a calculated sigh passing through the line. “Listen, Makizal, do not blame yourself. Now is not the time to weaken. The journalist is in custody; they are taking depositions. Ultra and Gamma are already containing the scene. Let’s settle this wrongful termination case, and we will state that Williams is receiving care in a safe, private location. Do you hear me?”

Makizal did not answer immediately. He felt the cold pressure of his vulnerability, exposed for the first time in years.

A single question haunted him.

Had he crossed a line?

Had his loyalty become something more than duty?

It was the first time he felt vulnerable.

The first time, he feared he might no longer be enough.

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