The jet landed under a red-stained sky.
Blood-colored clouds. Fitting.
Alina stepped onto the tarmac like a queen returning from exile—scarred, sharpened, and ready to take everything that was stolen from her.
Nicholas followed behind her, phone to his ear, barking coordinates to Camille.
“We move the moment the lab is exposed. No second chances.”
Camille’s voice crackled through the line. “Already working on it. But you need to know—Luther’s not the only one hunting the serum.”
Nicholas stopped. “What?”
“De Rossi’s back. And he’s not playing by rules anymore.”
Nicholas hung up. Turned to Alina.
“Change of plans,” he said.
Her lips curled. “Good. I was getting bored.”
The house on Blackridge Hill was abandoned. Or so it seemed.
But Alina knew better.
This was where her father
