The villa was too quiet.
Xander sensed it first—instinct sharpening, a chill crawling down his spine as he stepped out of the shower.
Aurora stood on the balcony, bare-legged in one of his shirts, a glass of wine in her hand.
She looked calm.
But her shoulders were tense.
"Something's wrong," he said, voice low.
Aurora didn't move.
"I know."
He stepped closer. "What did you hear?"
She didn't answer.
Instead, she slowly turned to face him.
"There's a man in the woods. Southeast corner."
"How long?"
"Five minutes. Maybe less. He's not alone."
Xander cursed and went for the gun in the drawer.
She didn't flinch.
"I told you, Xander," she said quietly. "Silas plays dirty. And he doesn't wait."
His jaw flexed.
He crossed to her, wrapped an arm around her waist, and kissed her fiercely.
"If anything happens to me—"
She kissed him back, hard. "Don't you dare finish that sentence."
"I mean it."
"No," she whispered. "You don't get to die. Not now. Not after I've finally let myself want you."
A sound cracked in the distance—like a branch snapping.
Then silence again.
Xander's body tensed.
"We have to move. Basement route?"
Aurora nodded. "I'll grab the flash drives."
He frowned. "The ones you said you destroyed?"
She smiled, dark and sharp. "I lied."
He didn't have time to be impressed.
They moved fast, silent, coordinated.
But as they passed the kitchen, the front door blew open.
Smoke and light flooded the villa.
Xander shoved Aurora behind the marble counter, gun drawn.
Three men entered—tactical gear, automatic weapons.
They didn't say a word.
They just opened fire.
Glass shattered. Walls cracked. Bullets sprayed.
Xander returned fire, taking one down instantly with a headshot.
The second dropped with a scream—Aurora had flanked him from the side, stabbing her combat knife straight into his neck.
The third tried to run.
She didn't let him.
She moved like a ghost—graceful, merciless. Within seconds, he was on the ground, choking on his own blood.
Xander stared at her, stunned.
She wiped the blade on her thigh and met his gaze.
"What?" she said. "You think I survived Silas by baking cookies?"
He almost laughed.
Almost.
Until his phone buzzed.
UNKNOWN NUMBER.
He answered.
"Elijah's dead," said the voice.
It was smooth. Cold. Familiar.
Aurora stiffened.
"Silas," she whispered.
"Hello, sister," came the voice from the speaker. "Nice knife work back there."
Her face went pale.
"I told you to stay dead," Silas said. "But you always had to ruin things."
"What do you want?" Xander growled.
Silas chuckled. "Oh, Xander Blackwood. How the mighty have fallen. Trading empire for emotion? Dangerous."
"You'll never touch her."
"I already did," Silas whispered. "Years ago. When I sold her to them. When I left her behind."
Aurora's scream was silent—but her eyes burned with fury.
"You're sick," she whispered. "You're a monster."
"I'm your blood," he replied. "And I'm not done with you."
The call ended.
The silence that followed was deafening.
Aurora sank to her knees.
Xander caught her, pulling her into his arms.
"He sold me," she whispered. "My own brother sold me to a lab. Left me to rot."
Xander held her tighter.
"No one will ever touch you again. I swear it."
But he was wrong.
Because as they packed and prepared to vanish again, the villa's security camera flickered.
One frame. One image.
Elijah. Alive. Standing beside Silas.
And he was holding something.
A child.
A little girl.
No older than four.
With Aurora's eyes.