After carefully transporting Pittacus Lore's body and retrieving all the encrypted files from Malcolm's hidden archive and the White tablet given by Pittacus lore to track the Garde, the group returned to base in tense silence. The atmosphere was heavy—with grief, with urgency.
Inside the dim-lit debrief room, Dante stood over the holographic table. With a flick of his wrist, his PDA synced, and shimmering footage projected into the air—a dark, grainy reel captured by the SNITCHs stationed at the Paradise Halloween Parade.
He glanced around, then said, "I deployed a couple of SNITCHs to keep tabs on Malcolm's wife and Sam. You're going to want to see this."
The hologram sharpened. Mark and his friends organize a nasty surprise during the haunted hayride: Sarah, John and Sam are left stranded in the woods, where Mark plans to beat John up. John fought back, he launched a boy clear across the frame, slamming him into a tree. The light from his palms burst like miniature suns, casting eerie blue shadows on the group.
Cut to Sam's face, frozen in shock.
The room was dead silent for a beat.
Then came the collective groan—a mix of frustration, disbelief, and sheer exhaustion.
Six slapped her hand over her face.
"For the love of Lorien… Can someone explain how he hasn't blown the entire cover already?"
Hilde muttered under her breath."He is…"
Six cut in, pinching the bridge of her nose.
"Love-brained idiot. Impulsive. Dumb."
She glanced at the others, the footage still looping behind her."He used his Legacies. In the open. In front of a group of humans. Threw a guy like a ragdoll. If that doesn't scream suspicious, I don't know what does."
Katrina shook her head."I was starting to think he had grown out of this phase."
Crayton deadpanned,"Apparently not."He felt Ella was much more sensible that number four.
Sandor folded his arms, deadpan."And I thought Nine was bad."
Griffin smirked."That's saying something."
Nine, lounging in a chair, gave Griffin a light smack on the arm."Dude, I am not that stupid."
He paused, catching Sandor and a few others giving him a long, knowing look. He rolled his eyes. "Okay, I may have been slightly love-brained. But I wasn't dumb enough to blow my cover."
A few reluctant nods followed. Even Maddy hadn't seen the full scope of Nine's powers, and he never used them publicly.
Hannu leaned forward, brow furrowed."Do we go and get them now? This whole thing is bound to create some serious talk in town. Mark's group probably noticed some stuff, add in Mark's father is Sheriff he is bound to ask questions about Mark's broken arm."
Freya, arms folded, added sharply, "Yeah, and don't forget the suits. The FBI's already keeping tabs on Sam. It's only a matter of time before Four does something else to light up their radar."
Maggie, quieter but firm, chimed in."We can't afford another slip-up. If this escalates… it's not just their problem anymore—it's ours too."
Marina (Seven) added."So we are going to get Four and his Cepan.:
Alexander turned to Malcom, arms crossed.
"Knowing how curious your son is… there's no way he's letting this go. It's only a matter of time before he pulls himself deeper into it."
Malcom looked thoughtful, jaw clenched. "You're right. If fate brought him to John, he's not going to stop until he finds answers."
Alexander nodded."Then it's best to bring your wife and son here—now. Safer here than leaving them in Paradise Falls."
Malcom sighed, a shadow of concern flickering in his eyes."Sam will definitely keep digging. Especially after what he saw."
Then Alexander turned to face the others—his voice calm, decisive."So. We go get John and Henri."
Six narrowed her eyes."And if John argues?"
Griffin smirked."Then we smack some sense into him."
While in Florida, the skeletal remains of the house stand against the ashen shore, its charred ruins. Smoke still lingers in the salt-tinged air, mixing with the scent of scorched wood.
Heavy, synchronized footsteps disturb the blackened sand.
Mogadorian Commander DuRand marches forward, his long coat trailing behind him. Two Vatborn Mogadorians flank him, their unnatural, bruise-colored skin glistening in the faint moonlight. Their black eyes scan the ruins, unblinking.
DuRand surveys the ruins, his cold, predatory eyes scanning for anything salvageable. He said in gravelly, yet commanding tone."Everything is burned down."a pause, then a sharp nod."Find out if anything remains."
The vatborns spread out instantly, silent and methodical. Their augmented eyes glow faintly red as they scan the debris. Ash swirls around their boots as they pick through the ruins with unnatural patience.
One vatborn pauses. Something catches his eye—a half-burned piece of fabric, tangled in blackened wood. He kneels, carefully extracting it from the wreckage. The material is singed, but still holds its color, its fibers woven with memory.
A dress piece. Small.
He turns, moving swiftly toward DuRand, the fabric pinched between his black-gloved fingers.
DuRand watches without expression.
The vatborn extends the scorched cloth. DuRand reaches for it, his fingers brushing against the material before bringing it to his nod and the wrinkled slits running vertically along the sides of his nose—an augmentation designed for one purpose.
To hunt.
He inhales deeply, the scent burning into his mind, a trail forming in the darkness.
His cold lips curl slightly. A whisper of something close to amusement and muttering in Mogadorian, a guttural growl."Number Four didn't die here."
The vatborns shift, their bodies tensing. A hunt that had seemed complete was now beginning again.
DuRand's grip tightens around the dress piece.
The night suddenly feels colder.
In the distance, the waves continue their ceaseless rhythm—unaware that death is once again on the move.