The sound of roaring engines sliced through the night air as the military helicopters touched down with precision. The bird engines—jet-like drones designed for aerial reconnaissance and firepower—tore through the sky above, black shadows soaring under the moonlight, destined for Tyson Hale's empire.
Far from the noise, on a secluded, silent street lined with abandoned houses and dead streetlights, Tesmee parked her car. No cameras. No people. Just silence. She exhaled deeply, undoing her seatbelt and leaning back against the leather seat, her body tense and mind alert.
Reaching for her comms, she checked in:
"Lorenzo, Lyra—update."
A swift report came back confirming they were in position, monitoring the military's progression and Tyson's movement.
Next, she tuned into the sniper line. "Hold your scopes. No one fires unless I say."
She tapped once more. "Tiger?"
"On target, boss," his deep voice responded from the separate vantage point.
Her fingers tightened around the comm device. Every piece was moving. Every person was positioned. She sat back again. Just a little longer. Let the dust settle, let the night stretch.
Elsewhere, chaos stirred.
Tyson Hale let out a cold laugh that held no humor, only venom. Clad in dark tactical gear, he grabbed his gun and holstered it. "Call in every last alliance," he ordered his closest guard. "This isn't strategy anymore. It's war."
He moved through his mansion's grand halls without hesitation, stopping only to bark his final command. "Guard my family with your last breath. If the shadows shift—evacuate. No hesitation."
He stepped out into the night, his cruel grin carved beneath shadowed eyes. This wasn't reaction. This was retaliation.
Back on the quiet street, Tesmee's breath felt heavier. The pressure, the anticipation—it was closing in like smoke in her lungs. She was frustrated. The waiting. The fear of losing even one of them. It wasn't doubt. It was care. The kind that burned through the strongest shields.
She pushed her door open and stepped out, slamming it closed behind her. The air was cooler now, brushing against her skin. She leaned on the car door, elbows resting on top, eyes shut tight. Ten minutes passed. Maybe more. Her mind floated somewhere between stillness and rage.
Then—
A chill crept up her spine. Something slid beneath her shirt, cold like steel. A gun. A hand curled around her waist, warm, deliberate, unapologetic. The scent hit her next. Not cologne. Not danger. Memory. Something old. Something sharp. Something she should've forgotten.
She didn't open her eyes. She just scoffed softly and raised her head. "It's a great night, isn't it, Tyson?"
And there he was—close, too close. The past in the flesh. A loaded moment between enemies once tethered by something neither dared name.
"You know Tyson..." she scoffed, her voice sharp with edge but carrying a strange softness, like a buried truth surfacing. "There are some things we do without thinking—stuff that gets called mistakes. But they're not really that, are they? Just things we don't regret... until they backfire. Then we cry ourselves to sleep. I can give you live examples."
Tyson was quiet, too close. His breath was steady on her neck, the weight of the past almost heavier than the pistol pressing into her lower back.
"You may do whatever you want to a man, Tesmee," he said, his voice low and bitter. "And he'll let you be. But taking his power..." he leaned in closer, his tone turning colder, "that's curving your own death."
Tesmee turned her head slightly, her eyes cold as they met his—but Tyson shoved her harder, pinning her front against the car, the pistol still pressed firmly into her back.
She let out a sharp breath and scoffed, her voice steady despite the pressure.
"Careful," she said lowly. "Don't touch the wound your stupid brother carved."
There was a flicker in his eyes.
"It would've been better if he silenced you," Tyson said, cruel and cold.
Tesmee smirked slightly, not looking back.
"I'm sure that would've broken your heart," she said, a mocking edge in her voice.
He scoffed. "Metaphorically."
"Take your men out of my territories," Tyson said, his voice dropping into something colder, darker—like a storm waiting to strike.
Tesmee didn't flinch. "OR WHAT?" she snapped back, defiant and steady.
He pressed the pistol harder into her back. Her body tensed slightly, but she exhaled calmly, letting out a soft sigh.
"Tyson, baby," she said, voice smooth, "it's better to let me do what I do best…"
He didn't move. His breath lingered near her neck.
"Tesmee, I'll give you a choice," he said quietly. "Pull back… or die."
She tilted her head, smiling slightly, but her eyes burned.
"I guess that's what we're doing now, huh? Kill me—and you lose everything. Power and family. Let me live? You only lose power."
Tyson didn't respond with words. Instead, he tightened his grip around her waist, pressing the pistol deeper into her back, the steel biting through her shirt.
"Don't you dare touch them…" he muttered low and cold.
Tesmee smirked. "Watch me."
---
Earlier That Night
The comm crackled as Tesmee's voice came through.
"Tiger, have you set your location clear?"
"Yes, boss," Tiger replied. "I'm on the hill near the Hale residence. Got visual."
"Good," Tesmee said. "Keep watch. I'll give you the signal when it's time."
She switched channels, reaching out to Lyra and Lorenzo.
"How's Tyson's movement?"
"He's heading toward your direction," Lyra responded. "Full speed."
A calm smile curved Tesmee's lips as she leaned back in her car seat, fingers drumming lightly on the steering wheel.
"Good," she whispered. "Let him come."
Present Moment
Tyson pinned the pistol harder against her back, his other hand sliding up to her neck. His grip tightened slowly, not enough to choke, but enough to remind her of the control he still thought he had.
Tesmee leaned her head back slightly against his shoulder, her breathing steady despite the pressure. His breath brushed her ear as he whispered, "Sometimes I love how you think you're so smart. You can't outsmart everyone. Not me."
She let out a soft, defiant sigh, her voice low. "I've lost count of how many times I already did."
"Not this time," he snapped.
With a rough motion, he spun her around to face him. Without warning, he drove his fist into her abdomen, hitting the healing wound from the earlier gunshot. Her body jerked forward in pain, but before she could recover, he raised the pistol—and slammed it against her head.
Tesmee's body collapsed to the pavement, unconscious. Tyson stood over her for a moment, staring in silence, jaw clenched tight.
Tyson didn't even glance back. He walked off, calm and collected, as if nothing had just happened. His footsteps echoed on the empty street, slow and steady, not a trace of hesitation in them. He got into his car, slammed the door shut, and drove off—leaving her lying there on the pavement.
No remorse. No regret.
It was clear now—if it hadn't been already—that Tyson Hale had drawn the line. His empire. His family. They came before anything else. And if anyone, even Tesmee, stood in the way of that… he wouldn't flinch.
He'd kill. Hurt. Burn it all down if he had to.
Even her.