Chapter 88: The Rescue Begins

The factory air felt like an invisible net, suffocating Livia as it wrapped tightly around her. Her hands were bound behind her back, tied to a cold, unyielding chair. The coarse rope bit into her skin, but her expression remained composed, her eyes sharp and unyielding. Beads of cold sweat trickled down her forehead, glistening under the dim, flickering light overhead.

She couldn't discern the exact conversation of the kidnappers, but her keen ears picked up the faint sounds of footsteps and the occasional clatter of objects outside. As a seasoned thief, she quickly deduced that they were setting something up around the factory—possibly traps or methods to destroy evidence. Her mind raced through countless possibilities, but one conclusion stood out, chilling her to the core: they didn't plan to let her leave alive.

These kidnappers weren't mere street thugs. Their precise movements and clear division of labor indicated training and discipline. They seemed more like professional soldiers—and indeed, they were soldiers from the Second Army Group. Yet their actions betrayed their lack of true "professionalism." A genuine underworld operative would have opted for an efficient solution, such as using delayed poison to ensure her demise even after a rescue. These men, however, seemed inclined toward a cruder, more direct approach, which suggested a glimmer of hope: an exploitable weakness.

Livia lowered her gaze, feigning exhaustion as she slumped against the chair. In reality, her well-honed senses were at work, methodically analyzing the ropes binding her wrists. The knots, hastily tied, betrayed their inexperience. One knot, in particular, was slightly loose. With painstaking precision, she began manipulating the rope, each tiny motion calculated to avoid detection.

Meanwhile, her other hand adjusted slightly, and with a practiced flick, a concealed dagger slid down her sleeve into her palm. The cold touch of metal against her skin brought a sense of relief. Forcing down the surge of hope, she maintained her stoic façade.

"Not yet," she reminded herself. Even if she managed to free herself, facing five armed soldiers alone was impossible. Rash actions would only spell failure. She needed to wait—for a mistake, an opening, or reinforcements.

Her thoughts briefly turned to Elias and Marcellus, and a complex mix of emotions churned within her. Alia was not one to rely on others, least of all those who had once threatened her life. But at this moment, she had no choice. She knew those two men wouldn't leave her to die—especially Marcellus. Despite his cold demeanor, the anxiety had been genuine. Men like him might not act purely out of sentiment, but their determination and resourcefulness were undeniable.

The sounds outside began to dwindle, suggesting that the kidnappers were nearly finished with their preparations. Closing her eyes, Livia focused on regulating her breathing, suppressing her fear and anxiety. Her body relaxed, slumping further into the chair as though she had surrendered, but internally, she was taut as a drawn bow, ready to spring into action.

Her objective was clear: escape at the opportune moment. Whether slipping away unnoticed or coordinating with Elias and Marcellus, she needed to act swiftly and decisively to secure her freedom. The dagger in her hand was her ace, and she intended to use it wisely.

"Just wait," she thought coldly, radiating an unshakable confidence despite her restraints.

Outside, the wind picked up, a somber herald of the imminent confrontation. Alia sat motionless, poised like a predator in the dark, waiting for the perfect moment to strike.

Under the cover of night, Marcellus, Elias, and Mark bounced along a winding dirt road in a rugged SUV. Dense woods flanked the path, the fractured moonlight breaking through the branches to cast jagged patterns on the muddy ground. The car's headlights cut through the darkness, illuminating the narrow, treacherous route ahead.

Inside the vehicle, the tension was palpable. The silence was thick, an unspoken pact between the three men. The car jolted over uneven terrain, but none of them voiced any discomfort. Marcellus, seated in the passenger seat, held a map tightly in his hands. His sharp gaze scanned the paper like a hawk zeroing in on prey.

"Turn left in two hundred meters. There's a more concealed path leading closer to the factory," he instructed in a low, steady voice that belied the peril of their mission.

"Got it," Mark replied from behind the wheel, his focus unwavering.

In the backseat, Elias peered out the window, his hand resting on the gun at his hip. His fingers tapped rhythmically on the grip, betraying his impatience. "I hope we're in the right place," he muttered, a hint of unease flickering in his eyes. "Time isn't on our side."

"We're not wrong," Marcellus replied, turning briefly to meet Elias's gaze with unshakable certainty.

As they neared their destination, the air grew colder, laden with an eerie stillness. The occasional call of a night bird echoed through the woods, mingling with the low hum of the engine. Elias tightened his grip on his gun, his gaze fixed ahead. "If they're here, they'll have traps waiting for us. We need to be careful."

"I'm aware," Marcellus replied.

The outline of the factory emerged from the shadows, its decrepit form bathed in moonlight. The crumbling walls and rusted gates exuded an air of desolation, like a slumbering beast lying in wait. Vines snaked up the walls, and the partially open gate seemed to beckon them inside.

"We'll park here," Mark said, pulling the car off the road and into a patch of tall grass. He killed the engine, ensuring their arrival wouldn't be betrayed by noise.

As they exited the vehicle, Marcellus retrieved a compact pistol from the trunk, loading the magazine with practiced ease. His movements were swift and precise, his expression grim. He gestured for Mark and Elias to gather close.

"We'll split up from here. Mark, approach the factory from the front entrance. Elias, take the left flank. I'll circle around to the right. Take out any guards and secure the area," he instructed, his voice low and commanding.

"Understood," Mark replied with a nod, disappearing into the shadows.

Elias tightened his grip on his gun, his expression hardening. Without another word, he moved toward his assigned position, the tension in the air thickening with each step. The hunt had begun.