Tyson leaned back in his chair, the sharp lines of his face illuminated by the low glow of the desk lamp. His fingers drummed lightly on the polished wood, eyes cold as the fire from the explosion still danced in his mind. The heat, the destruction—it all felt like a statement. He wasn't sure if it was Tesmee sending a message or if she had simply been reckless in her pursuit. Either way, the plan had worked—for now.
Tom sat across from him, his steely gaze unwavering. Jack, who had been quietly observing, shifted slightly in his seat, a faint frown tugging at his lips. The tension in the room was palpable, but Tyson wouldn't break. He couldn't afford to.
"One base exploded, I guess it was their target," Tyson muttered, his voice low, laced with a mix of respect and frustration. "She's smart—knew exactly where the arsenal was kept. But she'll think twice before moving in again now."
Tom studied him for a moment before speaking, his voice like gravel. "Great move," he said, his lips curling into a faint smile. "But we're not done here. It's better to move forward quietly at this pace. This time… we're not defending anymore."
Tyson met his father's gaze. The older man's words hung heavy in the air, a subtle warning in his tone. He wasn't just talking about the mission—they were talking about the bigger picture. The game had shifted.
Jack let out a soft sigh, leaning forward, his elbows resting on the table. "We can't keep making moves like this, Tyson. Not without consequences. Tesmee's too sharp. One misstep, and she'll tear this all apart."
Tyson's jaw clenched, the fire inside him stoking once again. "I don't make missteps," he snapped, his eyes flashing with a cold intensity. "She's not a problem—I'll handle it. We just need to control the next move."
Tom studied his son with a calculating gaze. He knew Tyson's pride, but he also understood the danger of underestimating an enemy like Tesmee. He had watched her rise from nothing, just like him. It wasn't the power she held that was dangerous—it was her ability to adapt, to twist every situation into something she could control.
"That's the spirit," Tom said after a long pause. "But remember, Tyson. Sometimes the best way to win is to let the other side think they've won."
Tyson's eyes narrowed. "What do you mean?"
Tom leaned back in his chair, his hands steepled in front of him. "We're not rushing into another trap. Not yet. We let her think she has the upper hand. We move in silence, make her doubt herself. Make her second-guess every decision she's ever made. We'll draw her in, and when she's close enough, we'll strike."
Jack nodded slowly, a trace of a smile playing on his lips. "I like this plan. Patience. Let's wait for her to make her move."
Tyson remained silent for a moment, his thoughts churning. The thrill of the chase—of not just fighting for victory, but for control—had always driven him. But what his father was suggesting was different. It was a game of minds, of waiting for the perfect opportunity.
"Fine," Tyson said finally, his voice steady. "We wait. But once we move—"
"We move fast," Tom interjected, his eyes dark with intent. "And we don't stop until it's over."
MEANWHILE ; Tesmee, Vhernom, Seig, and Chan were making their way to Delta 7. The small convoy moved swiftly, their bodies tense as they navigated the quiet streets. The night air was still, but there was a sense of urgency. A flicker of light passed between them as Tesmee's car slowed down, her thoughts racing ahead.
The explosion. The uncertainty. Everything about tonight's mission felt too volatile, too unpredictable.
"Boss," Seig's voice crackled through her earpiece. "We're almost at Delta 7. What's the plan from here?"
Tesmee's grip on the wheel tightened. Her eyes never left the road, but her mind was miles ahead, calculating every move, every risk. "We regroup, get the intel from the hacker, and reassess. Tyson won't stay hidden for long. He's too much like me. Always waiting for the right moment."
She paused, a fleeting smile crossing her lips, though it never reached her eyes. "And when that moment comes... we'll show him that we don't just strike—we outlast."
Back in his office, Tyson's eyes flickered to the screen in front of him. His mind was already spinning the web of next moves. But there was something in the air that told him Tesmee wouldn't be easy to shake. Her relentless pursuit was something Tyson knew too well.
His father's words echoed in his mind. Make her think she's in control, and then strike.
But even as he said it, Tyson felt that small pang of doubt. Was he making the right move?
There was no room for doubt in this game. Not anymore.
"Let's move forward," he muttered to himself, more to reaffirm his own resolve than anyone else.
Delta 7, a nondescript warehouse nestled in the heart of the city's industrial district, was their chosen meeting point. Its rusty exterior hid its true purpose, a safe house where plans could be made and secrets shared away from prying eyes.
The four of them entered quietly, moving with practiced precision. Seig was the first inside, his eyes scanning the space with military precision. Vhernom followed closely, his hands adjusting the gear on his back. Chan was last, her movements fluid and silent as she set up a perimeter.
Tesmee entered last, her boots echoing in the silence of the vast space. As she stepped into the center of the room, she felt the weight of every decision pressing down on her. The walls felt too close, the tension in the air too thick. This was no longer just a mission—it was war.
"Gather the intel," Tesmee ordered, her voice cold but steady. "And get ready. The next move is ours."
They all nodded in unison.
And as the shadows of the night crept in, so did the real game—the one where the stakes weren't just lives, but power itself.