Four men sat in a loose circle around a bonfire, the flames throwing uneven light across their faces. The smell of roasted bird drifted through the night air. Davin's eyes narrowed as he recognized one of them—the yacht driver. The other three were the workers who had built the photoshoot set. His jaw tightened as realization sank in.
"Looks like they've left," the driver said, turning the spit lazily. "I saw a helicopter taking off earlier."
"What about the model?" one of the men asked, his voice uneasy.
"She's probably done for," another replied, chuckling nervously. "That wall we built came down right on top of her."
"That wasn't part of the plan," the third man muttered, his face pale. "Mr. Suarez only wanted us to scare her—make her back out—so her sister could take the modeling contract for the Kingdom and the Empire. We weren't supposed to kill anyone."
The driver sneered. "You think she survived that? You saw what happened. That hit would crush anyone. If she's lucky, she's already dead."
"I didn't sign up to be a murderer," the nervous man said, shaking his head.
"Then maybe you should start swimming," another snapped. "We blew up the yacht—no ride home now. Either you stay quiet or you drown trying."
He stopped talking. His eyes widened in horror.
Three small red dots glowed on the foreheads of the men across from him. A heartbeat later, a voice rang out—low, commanding.
"Hands up. Don't even think about fighting back."
The men froze as three figures stepped from the shadows, rifles raised, laser sights trained on their chests. The leader—Phillip—spoke again, calm but deadly. "Put your hands where I can see them."
The four saboteurs obeyed, trembling. One soldier moved forward, cuffing them quickly, his movements efficient and silent.
In the distance, the deep thrum of rotor blades grew louder. The chopper's searchlight swept across the clearing, bathing everything in cold white light.
"Move," Phillip ordered. The prisoners were herded out of the thicket toward the landing zone. Davin walked behind them, silent, his presence colder than the night air.
When they reached the helicopter, Phillip gestured for them to board. The men hesitated, glancing nervously at Davin.
"Take them to Navy Headquarters," Davin said evenly.
None of the four dared to speak. They could feel the weight of his gaze on them—sharp, unblinking, predatory. His expression was calm, but there was something behind it, something that made their skin crawl.
To them, he wasn't just a man in uniform. He was a wolf in human form—silent, controlled, but ready to tear into them the moment they moved. And under that cold stare, every one of them began to shake.
The hum of the helicopter blades faded into the distance as the aircraft carried the captured men toward the Navy Headquarters. Davin stood by the edge of the clearing, watching until the light of the chopper disappeared into the horizon. Only when the sound was gone did he allow himself to breathe.
By the time he reached headquarters, it was nearly dawn. The hallways were silent, painted in sterile light. The air smelled faintly of antiseptic and steel. Phillip met him by the reinforced door of the interrogation room.
"They've been processed," Phillip reported. "The driver's talking, but the others are holding out. Seems he's the weakest link."
Davin nodded. "Bring me to him."
Inside, the driver sat cuffed to a metal table, his once-cocky expression replaced with fear. Sweat trickled down his temples. A single light hung above him, swinging slightly. When Davin entered, the room seemed to shrink.
"You," Davin said quietly, taking a seat across from him. His tone wasn't loud, but it carried weight—measured, dangerous. "You're the one who drove us to the island."
The man swallowed hard. "I-I was just following orders."
"Whose orders?" Davin's gaze didn't waver.
The man hesitated. "It was… Mr. Suarez. He—he told us to make the set unstable. Said it was just to scare the model so she'd quit."
Davin leaned forward, his eyes narrowing. "And blowing up the yacht? Was that also meant to 'scare' her?"
The driver flinched. "That wasn't me! I swear! The other men—they said Suarez wanted to make sure no one left the island before the message was clear. I didn't know they'd—"
The sharp slam of Davin's palm on the table made the man jump. The metallic echo filled the room.
"You could have killed them all," Davin said through clenched teeth. "My sister. The staff. That woman."
The man's breath came fast. "Please, Commander—I didn't know! I didn't want to—"
Davin's voice dropped lower, the calmness returning like a blade sliding back into its sheath. "You didn't want to, but you did. You're alive because I still need answers."
He stood, motioning to the observation window. The glass darkened as someone on the other side adjusted the view. Davin turned his back on the prisoner.
"You'll write down every name, every contact, and every instruction you received from Suarez," he said flatly. "If you leave out even one, I'll know."
The man nodded shakily. "Y-Yes, sir."
Phillip entered quietly, holding a folder. "Sir, we've confirmed Suarez's location. He boarded a plane last night bound for Armenia."
Davin took the folder, scanning it quickly. "Armenia," he murmured. "That's outside our jurisdiction."
Phillip nodded grimly. "But if Suarez has ties to the Kingdom, that could explain why they wanted the sister to replace Eden."
Davin's eyes flickered with realization. "This isn't just a modeling contract. They're setting up something political."
He closed the file and handed it back. "Prepare a report for General Bryant. And tell him—" he paused, his tone darkening—"I'm not done with Suarez."
As he left the room, the prisoner sagged in relief, only to flinch when Davin's cold voice echoed from the doorway.
"Pray she survives," Davin said without looking back. "Because if she doesn't—there won't be a place on earth safe enough for the men who did this."
Then the door closed, and the room fell silent again—except for the trembling of one man who had finally realized he wasn't the predator anymore.