Daughter Of Shadow's King

Chapter 11: Rescued

Alain shoved me into the van, the package slipping from my grasp as I stumbled onto the metal floor. The doors slammed shut, plunging us into darkness. The engine roared, and we sped off, tires screeching on the pavement.

I scrambled to my feet, trying to orient myself. The van was empty, no windows, just a metal cage. Alain sat up front, his eyes watching me through the partition.

"Where are we going?" I demanded, trying to keep my voice steady.

Alain's smile was cold. "You'll see."

I searched the van, feeling for any weaknesses in the metal. Nothing. The package was gone, likely already in the hands of Jasmine's people.

The van took a sharp turn, and I fell, my head hitting the metal floor with a thud. Dizziness washed over me, and I struggled to stay conscious.

When I came to, the van was slowing down. We stopped, the engine cutting off. The doors opened, and Alain dragged me out.

We were in an abandoned warehouse, crates stacked high around us. A figure approached, a woman with a cold smile.

Jasmine.

"Hazel, darling," she said, her voice dripping with venom. "Welcome to Paris."

I tried to struggle, but Alain's grip was like iron. Jasmine took the package from him, her eyes gleaming.

"Time to pay the price, Hazel," she whispered.

Suddenly, the lights flickered, and a voice echoed through the warehouse. "Let her go, Jasmine."

The stranger walked in.

Jasmine's smile faltered, and Alain's grip loosened. I pulled free, backing away as the stranger burst into the warehouse, followed by more men that I don't recognize.

The air was thick with tension as the two groups faced off. Jasmine sneered, but I saw the fear in her eyes.

"It's over, Jasmine," the stranger said, his voice cold. "Leave her alone."

Jasmine's laugh was shrill. "You'll never stop me."

The warehouse erupted into chaos as the two groups clashed. I backed away, trying to find an exit.

A hand grabbed me, pulling me into the shadows. The scarred man from before.

"Come with me," he whispered. "Now."

I hesitated, but his grip was firm. He dragged me out of the warehouse, into the night.

We ran, the sounds of the fight fading behind us. The scarred man pulled me into a car, and we sped off into the Parisian night.

"Who are you?" I demanded, trying to catch my breath.

He glanced at me, a hint of a smile on his lips. "Someone who can help you, Hazel. But we need to get out of here. Jasmine's not the only one after you."

The car sped through the streets, and I realized I was in the hands of a stranger, again.

The car tore through the Parisian streets, neon reflections flashing on the wet pavement as the scarred man kept his eyes on the road and his grip firm on the steering wheel.

“Listen, Hazel,” he said, voice low and urgent, “Jasmine’s network is bigger than you think. We need to get you to a safe place before they regroup.”

I pressed my back against the seat, heart pounding, trying to piece together the chaos. “Who are you working for? And where are we going?”

He glanced at me, a flicker of something like sympathy in his eyes. “My name’s Marcel. I’m with an underground group that’s been tracking Jasmine’s operations for years. Our safe house is in the 10th arrondissement, hidden in an old bakery. It’s the only place we can regroup and plan your extraction.”

The car slipped into a narrow alley, the engine humming softly as we passed shuttered shops and graffiti‑tagged walls. Marcel pulled into a concealed garage behind a rusted iron gate. The lights flickered on, revealing a modest room with a battered sofa, a kitchenette, and a stack of emergency supplies.

“First thing,” Marcel said, handing me a bottle of water and a clean towel, “you need to rest and get your head clear. We’ll assess the situation and decide our next move—whether to get you out of Paris or to strike back at Jasmine.”

I sat down, the adrenaline slowly draining, and stared at the scarred man who’d just pulled me from the warehouse chaos. “What’s the plan for getting me out of Jasmine’s reach? And who else is involved in this underground group?”

Marcel leaned against the wall, eyes scanning the room as if checking for hidden threats. “Our group includes ex‑intelligence operatives and local resistance fighters. We have contacts in the French authorities who can provide legal protection, but we also have covert routes out of the city if we need to go underground. The priority is securing the package—whatever Jasmine wanted from you—because it’s the leverage she’s using against you.”

He pulled out a weathered map of Paris, marking the safe house, potential escape routes, and known Jasmine hideouts. “We’ll set up surveillance on Jasmine’s remaining assets, try to intercept any messages, and prepare a secure transport for you to leave France if that’s what you want.”

I felt the weight of the situation pressing in. “I need to know exactly what the package contains and why Jasmine’s after me so badly.”

Marcel’s expression hardened. “The package is a prototype device with sensitive data that can expose Jasmine’s entire smuggling operation. She wants it to blackmail or sell it to fund her next move. Protecting you and that device is our mission now.”

The night stretched on in the cramped safe house, the distant sirens of Paris echoing outside. Marcel set up a communications device, preparing to contact his allies for reinforcement.

“Alright, Hazel,” he said, turning to me with determination in his voice, “we’ll get you safe, recover the package, and bring Jasmine down—step by step. First, you need to rest, then we’ll map out the extraction plan in detail.”

I nodded, feeling a flicker of hope amid the danger. The next phase would be deciding whether to stay hidden, fight back, or leave Paris entirely, and Marcel’s team would guide every move.

Lorenzo's POV

Lorenzo's eyes scanned the crowded gala, his grip on Francesca's hand tightening as he searched for Hazel. "Where is she?" he muttered, his voice barely audible over the music.

Francesca followed his gaze, her brow furrowing. "I saw her here a while ago."

Lorenzo's jaw clenched. "I also saw her near the door."

Stefano, Matteo, Nevan, and Vincenzo closed in, their faces tense. "We need to find her, Lorenzo," Stefano said, his voice low and urgent.

The music pulsed around them, the crowd oblivious to the growing tension. Lorenzo's eyes locked with Dominic's, and he saw the fear mirrored there.

"Find her," Lorenzo barked, his voice cutting through the noise. "Now."

The group split, their movements swift and silent as they combed the gala. Lorenzo's heart pounded, his mind racing with worst-case scenarios.

"Sir," a voice whispered in his ear. "I saw her being drugged by the stranger. He was wearing a mask."

Lorenzo spun, grabbing the man's lapel. "Describe him."

The man swallowed. "Tall, dark coat, silver mask. He took her through the east exit."

Lorenzo's eyes flashed, his grip crushing. "Find them," he growled, releasing the man.

The group reconvened, their faces grim. "We have a lead," Lorenzo said, his voice cold. "Let's move."

As they burst through the east exit, the cool night air hit them like a slap. Lorenzo's eyes scanned the deserted alley, his heart heavy with dread.

"She's gone," he whispered, his voice lost to the wind.

The group's silence was palpable, their eyes fixed on Lorenzo. Fear gripped him, a cold, suffocating shroud.

"We'll find her," Stefano said, his voice firm. "We'll tear the city apart."

Lorenzo's nod was a promise of violence. "Let's go."

The alley stretched out before them, a dark and narrow tunnel of concrete and steel. Lorenzo's eyes scanned the shadows, his senses on high alert. The sound of distant music and laughter from the gala seemed to mock him, a cruel reminder of the peace he'd failed to keep.

"Split up," he barked, his voice echoing off the walls. "Stefano, Matteo, check the cars. Nevan, Vincenzo, take the streets. Dominic, with me."

The group dispersed, their movements swift and silent. Lorenzo strode down the alley, his eyes fixed on the street ahead. The stranger's mask glinted in his mind, a silver beacon leading him deeper into the night.

As they emerged onto the street, the city unfolded before them, a sprawling maze of lights and shadows. Lorenzo's phone buzzed, a message from an unknown sender.

"Looking for Hazel? Check the old clock tower. Alone."

Lorenzo's grip on the phone tightened, his eyes flashing with fury. "It's a trap," Dominic whispered, reading the message over his shoulder.

Lorenzo's smile was a cold, cruel curve. "Good."

The clock tower loomed before them, its face a pale and ghostly glow in the night. Lorenzo's eyes scanned the surrounding rooftops, his senses on high alert.

"Wait," Dominic whispered, his hand on Lorenzo's arm. "Something's off."

Lorenzo's gaze snapped to the tower, his heart pounding in his chest. A figure stood silhouetted in the doorway, a silver mask glinting in the moonlight.

"Welcome, Lorenzo," the stranger said, his voice low and smooth. "I've been waiting."

The figure stepped forward, the mask glinting as it moved.

"Let her go," Lorenzo growled, his voice barely human.

The stranger laughed, the sound echoing through the night. "Oh, Lorenzo. You should know better than to make demands."

The clock tower seemed to darken, the shadows deepening as the stranger spoke. Lorenzo's eyes flashed, his grip on reality tenuous at best.

"Let. Her. Go," he repeated, his voice a promise of violence.

The stranger's smile was a cruel curve. "No."

The night exploded into chaos, the clock tower's bells tolling as Lorenzo moved.

"Before you move, know that she's not with me. I sent her where she was needed the most" the stranger laughed loudly and disappeared in the darkness of night.