Chapter 7 – Ghosts and Triggers

The moment the car door clicked shut behind them, Zaria let the silence settle like dust in her chest.

She stared at the envelope clutched in her hand, its wax seal barely holding. Her fingers trembled—not out of fear exactly, but from something jagged and rising inside her. Like the edge of a scream caught behind her teeth.

Ares said nothing.

He just watched her, his face unreadable, as the driver pulled away from the rusted gate and back into the city's shadowed arteries.

Zaria turned the envelope over again and again.

She already knew the words inside. She'd read them once, but they lived inside her now like barbed wire.

> If you're reading this, I'm already dead... You have to decide: run, or finish what I started.

"What did he start, Ares?" she asked quietly.

He didn't look at her. "Something dangerous."

"You keep saying that like it explains anything."

"I don't do speeches. I do damage."

Zaria let out a sharp breath. "Well, I do grief. And apparently now I do murder plots and encrypted USB drives. So congratulations. You've got a partner."

His jaw ticked, but again, he said nothing.

She leaned back in the seat, eyes fixed on the city blurring past. Everything looked different now. As if the shadows were watching. As if even the buildings had secrets.

---

When they reached the safehouse, it was nearing dawn.

Zaria barely noticed the layers of security—fingerprint scanners, voice locks, steel gates that opened like jaws. Her mind was still caught on the drive. On the letter. On the way the old man's voice had cracked when he said, "Only if someone came looking for his name in blood."

Inside, she dropped the envelope on a metal table. The place looked like an abandoned war room—cameras, monitors, maps with red threads, old documents spread like breadcrumbs from the past.

Ares walked in behind her, pulled off his jacket, and tossed it over a chair.

Zaria stared at the USB drive like it might bite her.

"Is it safe to plug this in?" she asked finally.

Ares moved to a drawer, pulled out a battered laptop wrapped in static-shielding foil. "This is off-grid. No WiFi. No ports except power. Clean and paranoid."

She slid the USB in.

The screen blinked.

A folder. No password.

Inside: three video files. A spreadsheet. And a single text document titled FOR ZARIA.

Her throat closed.

She clicked the document.

> Z, if you're reading this, I'm sorry. I never wanted you to be part of this. But if the drive reached you, then things went wrong. Horribly wrong.

> I kept things from you—not because I didn't trust you—but because I did. I knew you'd chase the truth. And that truth is laced with blood.

> The men in that photo—Vico Meretti, Claude Rane, and Marcus Pierce—they were part of something called Serpentum. Not a syndicate, not a family. Something worse. They don't just traffic weapons or launder money. They trade in people. Information. Power. Governments bow to them.

> And I was one of them. Until I wasn't.

> When I tried to leave, they killed your mother. They made it look like an accident. I stayed after that—not out of loyalty. Out of fear. But then you were born, and I realized I couldn't keep living with blood on my hands.

> So I started collecting evidence. Secret meetings. Bank accounts. Backdoor deals. But most of all, I recorded what they did to people who tried to expose them.

> It's all here. On this drive. Including what happened to Mia.

Zaria's heart stopped.

She blinked.

Mia?

Her cousin. Her best friend. The one who'd disappeared five years ago after going to "volunteer" overseas. Her name hadn't come up in years—not from her father, not from anyone.

She looked at Ares, mouth dry. "Did you know about Mia?"

He flinched. Just barely. But it was enough.

"I thought she ran," he said. "That's what they told us."

Zaria's hands were ice. "She didn't run. Did she?"

"No."

Her knees gave a little. She caught the edge of the table.

"Mia went looking for the same truth your father did. They found her first."

Zaria covered her mouth. A sob wanted to rise, but she shoved it down. Anger flared, searing and sharp.

She clicked open the first video.

---

It was grainy. Dated five years ago.

Her father sat in a dark room, only a desk lamp illuminating his face. He looked older than she remembered. Tired. Haunted.

> If they find this… if they find me… it means I failed. But if you're watching this, Zaria, it means you didn't.

> You've always been smarter than me. Stronger. And if you've made it this far, then maybe… maybe there's a chance to end this.

The camera shook slightly. A pause.

> Don't trust anyone from the old circle. Not Rane. Not Meretti. Not even Marcus. They'll smile while stabbing you. If you're working with anyone now… make them earn it. Especially the man standing behind you. If it's Ares—

The video cut off.

Zaria stared at the screen.

"Behind me?" she said slowly.

Ares didn't move. "I wasn't then. I am now."

"Why did he stop the video there?"

"I don't know," Ares said.

"You do."

His voice was calm. "I was once tasked with killing your father. I didn't. That's why I was burned."

Zaria stepped back.

"And now you're just… what? Protecting me out of guilt?"

"No," he said. "I'm protecting you because you're the last person left who can end this."

---

The second video was harder to watch.

CCTV footage. A basement. Chains. Screams.

Zaria watched fifteen seconds before she stood, went to the bathroom, and threw up.

When she came back, Ares had paused the footage. He didn't look smug. He didn't look cold. He looked like a man who'd seen too much and still wasn't prepared for this.

"She was in there," Zaria whispered. "Mia."

"I think so."

She sat down again. "We expose this. All of it."

Ares nodded. "And then they come for us."

"They already are."

---

They stayed up all night cataloguing the files. Faces. Codes. Routes. Even a half-done manifesto of what Serpentum believed in—pure power. No borders. No humanity.

By sunrise, the plan was forming.

Zaria stared at a name circled in red—Claude Rane.

"He's the weak link," she muttered. "He's still public. He has a family. A company. A public image. That's leverage."

Ares nodded. "He was the PR face. The fixer. If anyone slips up—it's him."

Zaria closed the laptop.

"I want to meet him."

Ares blinked. "That's not how this works."

"It is now. Set it up."

There was silence. Then the faintest grin on his lips.

"You really are your father's daughter."