The police swarmed the estate like hornets, flashing lights casting eerie shadows across the gilded walls. Guests were herded like cattle, questioned, documented, and released—most too shaken to speak.
Jade and Kelz, masks gone, coats hastily thrown over their outfits, moved silently through the servant tunnels at the back of the estate. Mira led them, a cigarette clenched between her teeth, fingers twitching on the hilt of her gun.
"They weren't one of us," she muttered again. "I know my team. That kill was too clean. Too fast."
Jade's thoughts churned. "Then who?"
They emerged in a hidden study deep in the west wing. Maps, files, and surveillance images littered the mahogany desk—Mira's war room. In the corner stood a wall covered in red string and pinned photos. All De-Lights. All marked with ink or slashes. Except one.
Kelz narrowed his eyes. "Who's that?"
Mira exhaled smoke. "Victor De-Light. Laurenz's younger brother. Estranged. Rumored dead. Until he wasn't."
Jade stepped closer. Victor's photo—greying at the temples, sharp-eyed—sent a chill through her spine.
"Why would he be back now?"
"Because someone's cutting down the De-Light family tree," Mira said. "And he's been sharpening the axe for years."
A long silence stretched between them.
Then Kelz spoke. "This changes nothing. Jade and I—we finish what we started. No mercy. No distractions."
Jade nodded, but her fingers curled tightly.
Because deep down, she felt it.
Victor De-Light wasn't just hunting for blood.
He was hunting for her.
—