Chapter 61: A Name Never Spoken

The study was silent, the kind of silence that wasn't welcoming, but suffocating.

The long mahogany table stretched before Noor, the weight of command settling over it like an executioner's blade. She sat at the head, perfectly composed, fingers resting against the polished wood. The chandelier above flickered slightly, casting golden light over the gathered group.

Her trusted allies. Or, at the very least, the ones competent enough not to get themselves killed yet.

Maya, her supposed right hand, slouched in her chair like a teenager who had been forced to attend a family intervention. Zeyla leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, smirk intact, looking like she was just here for the entertainment. General Tomas sat with his usual grim seriousness, while Lucien—resident hacker, self-proclaimed genius, and professional insomniac—tapped away at his tablet, barely pretending to listen.

They were all talented.

And yet, sometimes Noor wondered if she should just do everything herself.

She exhaled, slow and deliberate, the only warning they would get.

"I assume you're all here because you still find breathing preferable to dying."

Maya grinned. "For now."

Lucien muttered, "Debatable."

Zeyla sighed dramatically. "What a welcoming start. Madam,you always know how to make a girl feel special."

Noor's gaze barely flicked to her. "If you wanted affection, you came to the wrong person."

Zeyla smirked. "Oh, I figured. But I do so enjoy watching others suffer."

Noor ignored her and turned her attention to the matter at hand.

"Kieran Drago is moving."

That shut them up.

She leaned back in her chair, eyes sweeping over the room like a judge assessing whether the accused were worth saving.

"Kieran still breathes."

Tomas cleared his throat, trying—and failing—not to look uncomfortable. "We've been tracking his network. He's careful, but not invincible."

Lucien perked up slightly, pushing his glasses up his nose. "He's made mistakes. Small ones, but enough to track his financial movements. We can use that."

Noor's expression remained unreadable. "And how long before you actually do something useful with this information?"

Lucien grinned. "Oh, I love this game. Let me guess—yesterday?"

Noor's lips twitched slightly. "Good. You're finally learning."

Maya stretched, sighing. "So, the plan is to crush him before he realizes we're coming? Typical. Predictable. Efficient. Boring."

Zeyla smirked. "Well, not all of us enjoy setting cities on fire, Maya."

Maya gasped in mock offense. "That is so unfair. I also like blowing up bridges."

Noor cut through their antics with a single, cold sentence. "You can argue over your destructive tendencies later. If you're not too busy failing me further."

The room fell silent again.

Tomas cleared his throat. "Our best move is to hit his resources first. Cut him off at the supply chains, dismantle his communication hubs, and force him into a corner."

Noor gave a slow, thoughtful nod. "You make it sound so easy, General. Almost like you've forgotten that Kieran survived us once before."

Tomas stiffened. "We won't make that mistake again."

"No, you won't," Noor said smoothly. "Because I'm not giving you the chance."

Noor turned to Maya, and immediately, the humor in the air died.

Maya tilted her head, but her posture sharpened. She knew that look.

"You're going in." Noor's tone left no room for debate. "One of Kieran's strongholds. I need confirmation of his timeline, his forces. If the opportunity presents itself—"

Maya smirked. "Kill him?"

Noor simply stared at her. "If I wanted him dead that easily, I wouldn't be sending you."

Zeyla snorted. "Wow, even your assignments come with insults."

Noor didn't even spare her a glance. "I only insult people with potential. The truly useless don't get my attention."

Lucien whistled. "That was beautiful. I almost felt that in my soul."

Maya leaned back, grinning. "You wound me, Madam. I thought I was your favorite."

Zeyla covered her mouth, laughing softly. "Maya, I think you should be honored. Madam never called me her favorite anything."

Noor sipped her tea. "Because you've never been useful enough to deserve it."

She stood, signaling the end of the discussion.

"We move in ten days. No mistakes. No delays. If you value your life, do your jobs."

Lucien muttered, "So, no pressure."

Zeyla grinned. "I do love when she threatens us."

Maya smirked. "I live for it."

Noor tilted her head slightly. "That can be arranged."

The group filed out, the sarcasm lingering in the air, but the weight of Noor's authority heavier than ever.

She turned to the window, watching the darkening sky.

The storm was coming.

Noor's fingers drummed softly against the mahogany table. Slow. Precise.

"Lucien."

The hacker froze mid-step. He turned, the usual easy confidence flickering slightly under Noor's gaze.

"Back here. Now."

He sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "Why do I feel like I'm about to regret something?"

Maya, still lingering near the door, grinned. "Oh, you should. She sounds like she's about to ask for a miracle."

Lucien slumped back into his chair. "What is it, Your Majesty?"

Noor's head tilted slightly, the faintest hint of amusement flashing across her face before vanishing.

"You gave me vulnerabilities," she said, tapping a single finger against the table. "Not weaknesses."

Lucien blinked. "And... there's a difference?"

Noor's gaze sharpened. "There's a difference between cutting a man's supply line and leaving him with no escape."

Lucien's smirk faltered slightly. "You don't want to cripple him. You want to corner him."

Noor's lips curved—not in a smile. In understanding.

"Kieran has survived too much," she murmured. "A wounded animal is dangerous. But a man who thinks he can still win? That's when he makes the worst mistakes."

Lucien exhaled. "Alright, let me guess—you don't just want to weaken his supply chain. You want to make him think he has options, only to close them one by one."

Zeyla let out a low, appreciative whistle. "That's cruel."

Maya leaned against the wall, arms crossed. "That's our Madam Noor."

Noor ignored them both, her eyes fixed on Lucien. "Show me the routes."

Lucien muttered something under his breath about 'always extra work,' but tapped quickly on his tablet. A holographic projection flickered to life above the table—a detailed map of Kieran's operations.

His network stretched across three continents, with key locations marked in red.

"This is what we've found so far." Lucien zoomed in on several points. "These are his main supply chains. We could bomb them, intercept the shipments, whatever you want—"

Noor cut him off. "Not yet."

Lucien blinked. "Not… yet?"

Maya raised a brow. "Oh, she's got a game planned. Let's hear it."

Noor stood, placing a hand lightly against the table's surface. Her voice was steady, calm—but every word was a knife.

"We let him move," she said. "We let him think he's winning."

Zeyla's smirk widened. "Ah. Psychological warfare."

Noor's gaze didn't shift. "We don't burn his resources overnight. We let his shipments reach just close enough to their destination—then we take them."

Maya's grin sharpened. "Bait the hook."

Noor nodded. "Once. Twice. Just enough times that his people start questioning his leadership."

Lucien let out a low chuckle. "You're not just taking his power. You're making him look weak."

Noor's fingers curled slightly. "Wars aren't won with brute force. They're won when the enemy no longer trusts their own hands to hold a blade."

Silence.

Then, Zeyla laughed. A sharp, dark sound. "You know, sometimes I forget how terrifying you are."

Noor finally sat back, completely composed. "Then I'm not doing my job properly."

Lucien sighed heavily. "Alright, fine. I'll adjust the plan. You want to drag him through hell before we kill him? Consider it done."

Maya smirked. "I do love a long, drawn-out death."

Noor stood, smoothing the silk of her sleeve. "Good. Then let's begin."

---

The study was thick with tension. Not the kind that brought hesitation—but the kind that made men tread carefully.

General Tomas, ever the soldier, exhaled through his nose, his fingers steepled before him. "Someone explain to me why we're discussing a man you already destroyed."

Lucien, eyes glued to his tablet, muttered, "Technically, Madam Noor didn't destroy him. She just… permanently removed him from power."

Maya smirked, lazily flipping a knife between her fingers. "Tomato, tomahto. If a man loses everything, does it really matter if he's still breathing?"

Zeyla, perched against the doorframe like a queen of chaos, sighed dramatically. "Oh, the dramatics of men. Lady Noor dismantles one measly crime empire, and suddenly, it's all revenge and blood feuds."

Noor sipped her tea. Unbothered. Unimpressed.

Tomas rubbed his temple. "So, what I'm hearing is, Kieran Drago was once untouchable—until Lady Noor touched him."

Lucien muttered, "That… sounded less disturbing in your head, didn't it?"

Maya grinned. "I thought it was poetic."

Tomas ignored them both, his gaze sharp. "We all know the Dragos weren't just a syndicate. They were a dynasty. Generations of power, smuggling, corruption, and political control. They ran cities. They had governments in their pockets." He looked to Noor. "Until you ended it."

Noor tilted her head slightly. "I ended him."

Silence.

Then Maya let out a slow, mock-dreamy sigh. "GOD, that's attractive."

Lucien didn't look up. "That's terrifying."

Zeyla smirked. "Both things can be true."

Tomas exhaled heavily. "Fine. So how did a man with generational power lose to one woman?"

Noor set her cup down, the soft sound somehow carrying the weight of an executioner's blade.

Silence.

Maya raised a brow. "Oh, that's evil. I love it."

Lucien blinked. "You let him lose?"

Noor's lips curved—not a smile. A promise. "Kieran built his empire on fear. But fear is fragile. Once his people doubted him, they turned faster than he could bleed."

Zeyla exhaled dramatically. "Men. No loyalty."

Maya shook her head. "Imagine ruling the underworld for decades just to crumble like stale bread the moment you face a woman in silk."

Lucien muttered, "If I ever betray you,please kill me quickly."

Noor finally glanced at him. "If you ever betray me, you won't even realize it."

Lucien froze.

Zeyla grinned. "Oh, I love it when she says things like that."

Maya sighed, looking impressed. "Truly, a standard for ruining men's lives."

Tomas, ignoring them all, leaned forward. "Then why did he escape?"

The room shifted.

Noor didn't blink. Didn't react.

But the temperature dropped.

Lucien shifted uncomfortably. "Right. Because he did escape."

Noor exhaled, slow. Controlled. "No. He ran."

Zeyla chuckled. "Oh, I love that for him."

Maya wiped a fake tear. "A once-feared crime lord, reduced to a runner. A moment of silence."

Lucien muttered, "The man really took 'fight or flight' literally."

Tomas wasn't smiling. "And now he's back."

Noor's gaze darkened. "Now he's desperate."

Lucien swiped on his screen, pulling up a map. "His network is rebuilding. He's moving carefully, but he's making deals. He's recruiting. And, most importantly—he's trying to secure funding."

Zeyla's smirk widened. "Then let's make sure he doesn't get it."

Noor stood, slowly, deliberately.

"Lucien."

Lucien froze mid-scroll. "…Yes, Madam?"

Noor's voice was smooth, lethal in its certainty.

"Find out who still believes he can win."

Lucien nodded. "And when I do?"

Lady Noor exhaled softly, as if the answer was obvious.

"We make them regret it."

The room shifted again.

Maya grinned. "Now it's getting fun."

Zeyla clapped her hands together. "Truly, I love these meetings. They're so inspiring."

Tomas, already rising, nodded. "I'll prepare the teams."

Lucien, still looking vaguely concerned for his own survival, sighed. "Guess I'm not sleeping again."

Noor turned to the window, watching the darkening sky.

She had ended Kieran's empire once.

And now, she would bury what was left.

------

The door clicked shut behind Noor.

The silence stretched—not in fear, but in sheer disbelief.

Maya exhaled, stretching her arms behind her head. "WELL. That was delightful. I do love when she threatens our existence so casually."

Lucien muttered without looking up from his tablet. "Do you ever wonder if she's just keeping us around because we amuse her?"

Zeyla, still leaning against the doorframe, grinned. "Oh, absolutely. If we were boring, she would've replaced us."

Tomas, ever the serious one, folded his arms. "She doesn't need amusement. She needs efficiency."

Maya snorted. "Oh, sure, General. Because she keeps Zeyla around for her efficiency."

Zeyla placed a hand over her heart, mock-offended. "I'll have you know I bring immense value to this team."

Lucien deadpanned. "You bring violence and wine."

Zeyla smirked. "And?"

Maya rolled her eyes. "Anyway, let's focus on the actual problem. Kieran Drago is alive and planning something, and I'm supposed to go sneak into his stronghold like it's a casual field trip."

Zeyla perked up, her smirk turning absolutely predatory. "Oh, that's right. Our little Maya is going on her suicide mission."

Lucien sighed. "Why do we call them that? It really doesn't set a positive tone."

Maya scoffed. "Because Zeyla is dramatic."

Zeyla ignored her, a wicked gleam in her eyes.

Lucien, still swiping through his tablet, muttered. "You know what would be great? Not dying."

Zeyla grinned. "Oh, come on, Maya. You should be thrilled. One last adventure before you go die tragically."

Maya snorted. "I'm not dying."

Zeyla tilted her head. "You say that. But what if this is the last time you see your beloved Lior?"

Maya froze.

Lucien perked up instantly. "Wait. What?"

Zeyla's grin turned absolutely feral. "Oh, dear Maya, don't act innocent now. You know exactly what I'm talking about."

Maya narrowed her eyes. "Zeyla, I swear to GOD—"

Zeyla clutched her chest dramatically. "GOD? No, no, darling. Lior. Your true devotion."

Lucien's mouth fell open. "Hold on. You and Lior?"

Maya groaned, rubbing her temples. "There is no me and Lior."

Zeyla smirked. "Oh? So, I imagined you two sneaking off together after that last mission? You know, the one where you 'needed rest' but miraculously recovered the moment Lior showed up?"

Lucien grinned like a man who just discovered blackmail material. "Oh, this is fantastic. Maya has a weakness."

Maya scowled. "I will kill you."

Zeyla chuckled. "Darling, save your rage. Use it to fuel your passionate farewell embrace before you ride into battle."

Maya pointed a knife at her. "Say one more word and I swear I'll—"

Tomas, who had been watching the exchange in mild horror, finally cleared his throat. "Enough."

Zeyla pouted. "You're no fun, General."

Tomas shook his head, exhausted. "You're all focusing on the wrong thing."

Lucien raised a brow. "And what should we be focusing on, oh wise General?"

Tomas exhaled, folding his arms. "The fact that none of you should even be alive."

Maya rolled her eyes. "Oh, here we go."

Tomas looked at her seriously. "Do you even understand who you serve?"

Lucien blinked. "We're aware, Tomas. She is terrifying. This is not news."

Tomas shook his head. "No. You think you know. But none of you were there when it began."

Zeyla raised a brow, curiosity flickering across her face. "Oh? So tell us, General. How does a man like you—a retired army commander—end up serving Madam Noor like a devout disciple?"

Tomas was silent for a long moment. Then—

"Because I saw the impossible."

Lucien, now fully intrigued, leaned forward. "Explain."

Tomas exhaled, his voice calm but weighted with something none of them had heard before.

"Noor didn't just win wars. She was the war."

Silence.

Tomas continued. "I was still leading my battalion then. We were stationed in the eastern territories, caught in the middle of a bloody conflict. The Drago syndicate controlled the city. We were losing."

His gaze darkened, the memory sharp and raw.

"And then, in the middle of the battlefield, a figure appeared."

Maya frowned. "A figure?"

Tomas nodded. "A girl. Barely past her teenage years. Dressed in rags."

Zeyla scoffed. "Oh, come on. You're telling me she showed up dressed in rags?"

Tomas's jaw clenched. "She didn't need armor. Or weapons. Or an army. She was the weapon."

Lucien frowned. "What are you talking about?"

Tomas's next words sent chills down their spines.

"She swallowed the entire Drago stronghold in a single night."

Zeyla actually hesitated. "That… sounds impossible."

Tomas's eyes were dark, his voice heavy.

"That's because it was impossible."

Lucien, for once, had no sarcasm. "Explain."

Tomas exhaled, staring past them like he was watching ghosts.

"She walked onto the battlefield—alone."

Maya scoffed. "With what? A strong sense of righteousness?"

Tomas's gaze hardened. "With a sword."

Lucien blinked. "Wait. A sword? Against—"

Tomas nodded. "An army with guns."

Zeyla laughed. "Oh, come on. I know our Lady Noor is terrifying, but even she can't dodge bullets."

Tomas looked her dead in the eyes. "She didn't have to."

That shut them up.

Maya frowned. "What do you mean?"

Tomas's hands clenched, knuckles white. "I mean, I never saw her move. One second, she was standing in front of us, rags clinging to her like a ghost."

His voice dropped lower.

"The next? The entire Drago stronghold was dead."

Lucien blinked. "I'm sorry. What?"

Tomas exhaled. "We had snipers. We had scouts. We had military intelligence. We watched the Dragos patrol that fortress for weeks. It was impenetrable. And yet—"

He met their gazes, his voice grave.

"We never saw what happened. Only the aftermath."

Maya's grip tightened around her knife. "You're telling me she took down an entire fortress—alone?"

Tomas nodded, slow and deliberate. "Not just took down. Erased."

Lucien, for once, looked genuinely disturbed. "That's… not possible."

Tomas's expression was stone-cold. "And yet, we watched it happen."

Zeyla tilted her head, intrigued. "You're saying no one saw her fight? Not even your snipers?"

Tomas's jaw tightened. "Not a single soul."

Maya frowned. "You expect me to believe an entire stronghold was wiped out, and not one of you saw how?"

Tomas nodded. "That's exactly what I'm saying."

Lucien leaned forward, tapping his fingers against the table. "So… what did you see?"

Tomas inhaled deeply, as if the memory itself still rattled him.

"Nothing. One moment, the Dragos were laughing, patrolling their walls, smoking their cigars like they owned the world. The next—"

He let out a slow, controlled breath.

"Their bodies were everywhere."

Lucien blinked. "Define 'everywhere.'"

Tomas's voice dropped lower. "Inside. Outside. Some still standing, their eyes blank, their throats slit so fast they didn't even realize they were dead."

Zeyla, for once, didn't have a joke.

Maya's lips parted slightly. "You mean—"

Tomas nodded. "Some of them still had their hands on their weapons. But they never fired."

Lucien's face paled. "That's… not human."

Tomas's gaze darkened. "No. It wasn't."

Zeyla finally spoke, her voice low, almost fascinated. "And then what happened?"

Tomas leaned forward slightly, his voice measured.

"She walked out. Blood-drenched. Calm. Like she had just finished a stroll."

Maya swallowed.

The weight of Tomas's words still hung in the air, like an unspoken prayer in a battlefield chapel.

Zeyla was the first to break it.

"You mean to tell me," she said slowly, "that after wiping out an entire stronghold alone, covered in blood and moving like death itself—she walked out with someone?"

Tomas nodded. "A boy."

Lucien, visibly unsettled, dragged a hand down his face. "Okay, I need a drink before we continue."

Maya, arms folded, frowned. "A boy?"

Tomas nodded. "No more than ten. Barely conscious. Wrapped in Noor's arms like he was the only thing in that massacre worth saving."

Lucien, who had half-jokingly reached for his flask, paused. "Wait. Hold on." He squinted. "You're telling me Noor walked into a death zone, wiped out an entire fortress, and instead of taking the stronghold, the weapons, or the power… she took a child?"

Tomas's voice was steady. "She took him."

Zeyla's smirk had long vanished. "And who, exactly, was he?"

Tomas's jaw tightened slightly, as if he were choosing his next words very carefully.

"Well, according to what little intel we had, he was the heir to another syndicate—one that had been wiped out before he even had a chance to lead. I believe the name was…" Tomas paused, frowning slightly. "…Salvador."

The air in the room changed.

Zeyla's entire posture stiffened.

The room was too still.

Tomas's words had long since faded, but their weight remained.

Zeyla, usually so relaxed, wasn't moving.

Her fingers pressed hard against the table, and when she spoke again, her voice was low, sharp, and demanding.

"Say that name again."

Tomas raised an eyebrow. "What?"

Zeyla's eyes narrowed. "The boy. What was his name?"

Tomas sighed, as if this entire conversation was beneath him. "Salvador. That's what we gathered."

Lucien blinked. "Why does it matter?"

Zeyla didn't answer.

She didn't even acknowledge Lucien.

Instead, she turned—slowly, carefully—to Maya.

Her gaze was piercing. Searching.

"…Did you know someone by that name, Maya?"

Maya frowned. "I don't understand. Neither do I recall."

And then—Zeyla stood up.

Not slowly. Not hesitantly.

She left.

Just like that.

No explanation. No glance back.

Just the soft click of the door behind her.

The room was silent.

For a full second, nobody spoke.

Lucien's mouth opened—closed. He turned to Maya. "What the hell was that?"

Maya didn't answer.

Because for the first time in years, she had seen something she had never seen before.

Zeyla was shaken.

She pushed up from her seat, ignoring the confused stares of the others, and followed.

She found Zeyla just outside, in the dim corridor.

But this wasn't the Zeyla she knew.

She wasn't smirking. She wasn't lounging against the walls with her usual carelessness.

She was facing away, her hands pressed against the stone.

Her shoulders shaking.

Maya froze.

"…Zeyla?"

No answer.

But when Zeyla finally turned—

Maya found her just outside the study, standing against the cold stone wall.

Zeyla's head was bowed, her hands gripping the wall like it was the only thing holding her up.

Her shoulders shook.

Not from anger. Not from exhaustion.

From something deeper.

Maya froze.

"…Zeyla?"

No response.

Maya took a slow step forward. "What the hell is wrong with you?"

Still—nothing.

Zeyla's fingers twitched. Her breathing was uneven.

Maya's stomach twisted.

Zeyla never cried.

Never.

She had seen her injured. Seen her laughing in the face of death, wiping blood off her cheek like it was nothing more than dust.

But now?

Now, she was breaking.

Maya reached for her arm, uncertain.

"…Zeyla, talk to me."

Zeyla let out a sharp, shaky breath.

Then—she finally looked up.

And Maya's chest tightened.

Tears ran down Zeyla's face, her usual sharp, taunting expression completely gone.

Her voice came out hoarse. Raw.

"It was Heath. Heath Salvador."

Maya stared. The name sent a cold, empty feeling through her.

Something about it felt… wrong.

Like an unfinished sentence. A door she had never opened.

Zeyla let out a bitter, choked laugh.

She pressed her palm against her forehead, her fingers shaking as she whispered—

"He wasn't just some loyal dog ."

Maya's breath was shallow, her heartbeat a dull roar in her ears.

She tried to make sense of it—of the weight in Zeyla's voice, the grief that was so raw it felt like an open wound.

Heath Salvador.

She knew Heath.

She knew Heath.

Didn't she?

A medic. A quiet presence in the background, stitching wounds, handing over supplies, never drawing attention to himself.

Just Heath.

Not Salvador.

Never Salvador.

Maya's fingers clenched. "That's not possible."

Zeyla let out a sharp, bitter laugh. "Isn't it?"

Maya's mouth opened, but no words came.

Zeyla shook her head, anger creeping into her grief. "I didn't care about his last name. None of us did."

She exhaled sharply, rubbing a trembling hand over her face. "But I should have."

Maya frowned. "Zeyla, what are you—"

Zeyla looked up, her eyes red-rimmed, something fierce burning behind them.

"I found out years ago."

Maya stilled. "What?"

Zeyla let out another breath, this one more controlled, but her hands still trembled. "During that rescue mission in the west. The one where Heath patched up Tomas's entire squad."

Maya remembered. It had been brutal. A last-minute extraction. Blood, fire, chaos.

And Heath—calm in the storm, hands steady as he stitched wounds in the back of a dimly lit truck.

Zeyla inhaled. "I saw his file."

Maya blinked. "…You what?"

Zeyla nodded. "Medical records. Supply forms. Whatever I could get my hands on."

She gave a humorless smile. "And that's when I saw it."

Her voice dipped lower, like she was speaking something sacred.

"Salvador."

The last name echoed in Maya's mind.

Something sharp twisted in her gut. "…You never said anything."

Zeyla let out a slow breath, her jaw tightening. "Would you have cared?"

Maya started to snap back—but then stopped.

Because the truth was?

She wouldn't have.

She wouldn't have cared that Heath had a last name. Wouldn't have thought twice about it.

Because to them, he had just been Heath.

Kind. Steady. Quiet.

Just Heath.

Not the heir to a name that shouldn't have been forgotten.

Zeyla exhaled, shaking her head. "But Noor... Noor must have known."

Maya's chest tightened. Of course she had.

She had known all along.

And yet, she had never spoken his name in full. Never let the truth slip.

Because if she did—

She'd have to admit she lost him.

Maya swallowed, her throat tight.

"We should've noticed."

Zeyla let out a broken laugh.

"Yeah."

Her voice cracked.

"But we didn't."

She exhaled, something breaking in her voice.

"He was Noor's family."

Maya's heartbeat stopped.

Zeyla wiped at her face, but the tears kept coming. Her hands wouldn't stop trembling.

Her next words came in a whisper—like she was speaking something she was never meant to say.

"He was all she had."

And then, with a voice so broken Maya barely recognized it—

"And now, he's gone."