Bound by Bloodline

CHAPTER 4

Day 2 – 11:42 a.m.

The first attempt came with breakfast.

They’d found the kitchen stocked like a doomsday prepper’s fantasy: vacuum-sealed steaks, decades of wine, a walk-in pantry the size of a subway car. Cassian was at the range boiling water for coffee; Evie was slicing apples with a knife sharp enough to shave with.

The silence between them was weaponized.

Cassian broke it first. “We need to sweep the house for more cameras. Burn the hard drives if we find them.”

“Already started,” she said, not looking up. “There are blind spots. The wine cellar. The old servant passages. The crematorium.”

He glanced at her. “You want to hide in a crematorium?”

“I want options.”

The kettle began to scream.

Cassian reached to lift it off the burner.

The gas igniter clicked once. Twice.

Then the entire range exploded.

Blue flame roared up the wall like a living thing. The blast knocked Cassian backward into the island; the kettle became shrapnel.

Evie was already moving (years of fire drills in boarding schools kicking in). She grabbed the antique fire blanket off the wall, threw it over Cassian as he rolled, beating out the flames licking his sleeve.

He came up coughing, left forearm blistered, eyes black with murder.

“Gas line was cut,” he rasped. “Clean. Professional.”

He looked at her. Really looked.

“You okay?”

She realized her ears were ringing and her hands were shaking.

“I’m fine,” she lied.

He didn’t call her on it.

Cassian crossed the kitchen in three strides, killed the main gas valve, then stood staring at the blackened stove.

“Someone wants us dead before we can breed,” he said.

“Or they just want one of us dead,” she answered. “So the other walks away with everything.”

Their eyes locked.

Trust had never been on the table. Now it was radioactive.

Cassian peeled off his ruined shirt, used it to wrap his burned arm without flinching.

“New rule,” he said. “We cook together. We eat the exact same thing. We sleep in shifts.”

Evie nodded once.

Then she walked to the pantry, pulled out two identical protein bars, and handed him one.

He took it without breaking eye contact.

They unwrapped at the same time. Bit at the same time.

Chewed.

Swallowed.

Alive.

For now.

From a tiny camera hidden inside the smoke detector, a red light glowed steady and patient.

The audience had just placed bigger bets.