Lines in the Sand
A full moon hung heavy over the Lansing estate, casting long silver shadows across the marble floors. But no amount of light could pierce the growing darkness taking root beneath its roof.
Richard Lansing stared at the wall-sized monitor in his underground office. Red dots glowed across the map—surveillance pings, data breaches, whispers from the underground channels.
One of them blinked from inside the hospice.
"She's moving again," he muttered.
Marianne.
The woman he had locked away, sedated and silenced. She should have been a vegetable by now. But something—or someone—had intervened.
"Sir," his aide said, "we've traced an encrypted signal routed from the hospice to Houna's network."
Richard's face twisted. "So she's still alive. And more dangerous than I thought."
He straightened. "Send a team. Quiet. If she's regaining consciousness, I want it stopped."
"But sir, it could trigger—"
"I SAID GO."
---
Across the city, Nuel received the intercept moments later.
Hospice breach incoming.
Marianne.
His eyes darkened. He turned to his assistant.
"Mobilize our men near the hospice. I want those bastards intercepted before they touch her."
"And if they resist?"
"Leave one alive. I want him to deliver a message."
"To Lansing?"
"To everyone."
---
Back at the Michaels estate, Gina stood in the war room beneath the greenhouse. The walls were lined with monitors, safe boxes, weapons, and detailed network maps.
Houna joined her, her movements slow but eyes sharp.
"Richard's men are on the move," Houna said.
"Target?"
"Marianne."
Gina turned, spine stiff. "Is she stable enough?"
"She woke briefly last night. Said your name."
A long silence stretched.
"Deploy guards," Gina said. "If they cross the perimeter, we hit back."
"Already done. And I've contacted Nuel."
Gina paused. "Why?"
"Because he's already protecting your shadows."
---
At that very moment, Davina stood outside the door of the secret room beneath the east wing. She had followed the trail Houna left behind. A breadcrumb path in symbols and silent patterns.
Inside, screens glowed. A room her mother hadn't yet introduced her to.
She sat down, typed a single line:
> Activate Protocol: Bloodline
The screen blinked, then loaded a cascade of files. Names, codes, messages. Intelligence on the Lansing cartel and its affiliations.
Davina's hands trembled slightly—but her eyes were calm.
She would learn. Fast. Hard. Like her mother.
---
Dave, meanwhile, was nowhere near stillness.
He had boarded a private jet under a false identity. Destination: Geneva.
He had found an encrypted file hinting that the original destruction of Gina's family had been executed from a foreign account—one his father maintained under a different name.
He needed answers.
And he wouldn't stop until he knew everything.
---
At 3:04 a.m., gunfire erupted at the hospice.
Richard's men never made it inside.
Nuel's operatives met them on the lawn, armed, masked, efficient. The ambush was quick and brutal.
One man was left crawling, bloodied but alive.
He awoke in a basement six hours later. Bruised, bound, and blindfolded.
Nuel stepped into the light.
"You work for a dying empire," he said calmly. "But you've just sent a message back to the King."
He leaned close. "Tell Richard Lansing that not even his ghosts are safe anymore."
Then he walked out.
And fire consumed the rest of the hospice's surveillance system.
---
At sunrise, Gina watched the flames on her secure feed.
Her lips curved into the faintest smile.
"He's started," she whispered.
Houna joined her, holding a mug of strong tea.
"Then let's finish it."