The world watched in silence as flames danced on South American soil.
News outlets stuttered over reports of an "industrial explosion" in Patagonia, but drone footage told the truth—black smoke, military-grade aircrafts fleeing the scene, and the shattered bones of an underground fortress now exposed like a rotting carcass.
Herrera's secrets weren't secrets anymore.
Valentina stood at the edge of the cliff, the wind cutting through her coat, her ears ringing with the screams of La Cuna's collapse. Mateo sat beside her, blood staining his sleeve. Paloma was pacing, her hands twitchy, like her nerves still hadn't settled.
But Valentina's eyes were locked on the treeline.
Still no Luciano.
"He's dead," Paloma said bluntly.
Valentina didn't answer. She wanted to believe Luciano was a liar. That he'd stayed behind because he was part of the machine.
But something in his eyes back in that lab… it hadn't been fear.
It had been hope.
And that scared her more than anything.
Back in Bogotá, the tides were shifting.
The fall of La Cuna sparked chaos in the Black Crescent's ranks. Herrera's clean-shaven face no longer smiled on the news—it was buried beneath layers of paranoia. He'd gone dark, vanished into one of his many hideouts. Only a handful of his inner circle knew where he was.
But someone else had surfaced.
Catalina Ferrer.
The "Widow Queen."
She'd been quiet since her husband's death—Herrera's most loyal general—but now she was making moves, rallying defected Crescent lieutenants, painting herself as the one true heir to Herrera's kingdom.
"She's dangerous," Mateo said during a war council at their new safehouse in Medellín. "Not just because she's smart. But because she's grieving."
Grief made monsters of good people.
And Catalina? She'd always started as a monster.
Meanwhile, Elías returned with a message.
"Intercepted transmission," he said, dropping a file on the table. "Luciano's alive."
Valentina's heart skipped.
"He sent this."
The USB she'd given him had been used—loaded with terabytes of files: genetic blueprints, locations of Crescent labs across the world, names of corrupt governments on Herrera's payroll. It was more than proof.
It was a map to burn empires.
But the last file was a personal message, encrypted with an old code her brother used when they were kids.
She played it.
Luciano's face appeared—bloody, bruised, but alive.
"If you're seeing this, it means I made it. I don't know how long I'll last. I've gone deep into the Andes to avoid detection. But I've uncovered something worse."
A pause.
"Herrera is trying to awaken Project Veneno Dorado. Not just as a chemical weapon... but as a living one. A host. One person engineered to carry it inside them without dying. A walking extinction event."
Valentina's stomach dropped.
"And I think he's already chosen the host."
Cut to black.
Silence fell.
Then Paloma muttered, "A walking weapon? That's not science. That's suicide."
"No," Valentina said, her voice low.
"That's war."
That night, as the rebels slept, Valentina stood on the rooftop, staring at the city lights.
She wasn't just fighting a cartel anymore.
She was fighting a legacy. A disease dressed as ambition.
And it would take more than bullets to end it.
It would take blood.
Her blood, if it had to.
She pulled out her brother's necklace and whispered, "I'm not done yet."