Wrong Intel

Chapter 15

The hallway stretched before Ronan, silent except for the hum of flickering lights. His footsteps echoed against the cold concrete, slow and deliberate. Blood smeared his fingers, a reminder of the imposter he'd just put down. But he barely felt it. His mind was already fixed on one thing.

Noah.

They still had him.

That thought alone kept his breathing steady, his fists clenched. He wasn't done yet. Not until he had his son back, safe. Not until he made them pay for toying with a child's life.

At the end of the hall, a steel door loomed. Thick. Reinforced. The kind built to keep threats out or in. It didn't matter.

Ronan lifted a hand, pressing his palm against the cold metal.

[Ability: Gravity Suppression Activated.]

The air around the door warped, the metal groaning under an invisible force before it snapped off its hinges with a deafening BANG. The door crashed inward, kicking up dust and shaking the walls.

A strangled gasp came from inside.

Ronan stepped forward.

The room was larger than he expected. A sleek, modern office buried beneath layers of cold industrial metal. Monitors lined the far wall, flickering between security feeds—hallways, cells, laboratories, even the very room he stood in.

Behind a wide desk, a man sat frozen in his chair, the same man who had spoken so confidently with Ronan when he first arrived.

He wasn't particularly impressive. Mid-forties, slim build, well-groomed, but his eyes gave him away—sharp but frantic, scanning every detail of Ronan's face, his body, his bloodied hands.

It was obvious he had watched the whole bloodbath unfold from behind the screen.

Ronan didn't speak immediately. He let the silence settle, let the weight of his presence smother the room.

The man swallowed, forcing his expression into something controlled. "Well... that was certainly an entrance."

Ronan didn't move. "Where is he?"

The boss exhaled slowly, fingers steepling together. "I assume you mean your son?"

Ronan's jaw clenched. He didn't like the way the man seemed too calm and controlled even knowing well he could be killed by him any moment from now.

"You already know the answer," Ronan said coldly.

The boss chuckled under his breath, though it lacked real amusement. "Do I?"

Ronan frowned, and then he moved...fast.

In an instant, he was in front of the desk, hand shooting forward. His fingers curled around the man's throat, lifting him halfway out of his seat. Not choking—not yet—but making sure he felt the pressure, the sheer power behind his grip.

The boss's breath hitched, his hands gripping Ronan's wrist, but he didn't struggle. He was trying to stay calm.

"You think this is a game?" Ronan's voice was low, dangerously steady. "You took my son. That was your first mistake." His fingers flexed slightly, the skin beneath them reddening. "Lying to me would be your last."

For the first time, something flickered in the boss's eyes. Fear.

Ronan saw and felt it. And yet, the man still forced a smirk. "You're... working off bad intel."

Ronan's grip tightened just enough to cut the smirk short.

"Explain," he demanded.

The boss inhaled shakily. "I'll give you credit, Vale. You're... terrifying. Really. Watching you tear through my facility like a goddamn storm? I knew you were strong, but this—" he let out a short, nervous laugh. "Even I didn't expect this."

Ronan said nothing. He just stared.

The boss's throat bobbed. "And that's exactly why we never actually took your son."

Silence.

Cold and sharp.

Ronan's fingers twitched around the man's neck, but he didn't crush.

"...What?"

The boss coughed slightly. "We never had him," he repeated, firmer this time. "We just let you think we did."

Ronan's heartbeat slammed against his ribs, a slow-burning fire igniting beneath his skin.

"You're lying," he said, voice dark with restrained fury.

"I'm not," the boss coughed again. "Look around, Vale. Did you see a single trace of your son in this place? Any evidence? Anything at all?"

The words scraped against Ronan's mind.

He had fought. Killed. Torn through this facility with a single goal in mind—saving his son. And yet…He hadn't once thought of the possibility that Noah wasn't here at all.

His pulse thundered in his ears.

They tricked him.

The realization settled, cold and suffocating. How reckless had he been to have fallen for something like this? Desperate, afraid, and not willing to take any chances to endanger Noah's life.

Ronan slowly—painfully slowly—loosened his grip just enough for the boss to breathe properly.

"Why?" His voice was quieter now, but no less lethal.

The boss hesitated. "Because we needed to see what you were capable of."

Ronan stared at him. His fingers twitched. His rage—simmering, controlled—threatened to spill over.

The boss licked his lips nervously. "You have to understand, Vale. The system—you—aren't normal. We needed to know your limits. Your weaknesses. Your breaking point."

Ronan inhaled through his nose. "So you baited me."

A bead of sweat trailed down the boss's temple. "...Yes."

Ronan's grip twitched, hard, making the man wince. "Do you have children?" he asked, voice disturbingly calm.

The boss hesitated. "...I do."

"Then you already know what I should do to you."

The man swallowed. His hands trembled slightly against Ronan's wrist, his previous smugness long gone. "Vale," he rasped, voice straining, "you have every right to be furious. But listen to me. If you kill me now, you'll lose your chance to find out who's really behind this."

Ronan's eyes darkened. "...What?"

The boss coughed, shifting slightly in Ronan's grip. "Did you think I was the top of the chain? That this facility—this little experiment—was the whole picture?" He let out a weak, bitter chuckle. "No, Vale. We were just a piece. A test run. And if you want to find out who's really pulling the strings…" He forced a smirk, though it wavered. "...you'll need me alive."

Ronan stared at him, mind processing each word carefully.

His fingers tightened—just once—before he finally let go.

The boss collapsed into his chair, gasping, rubbing at his throat. He coughed, grimacing, but the relief in his eyes was unmistakable.

"You have five seconds," Ronan said. "Talk."