Chapter 7: Echoes of the Past

3:06 AM.

The rain had stopped.

Ash drifted through the night air like smoke from an old fire that refused to die.

Inside a dim apartment above an abandoned art gallery in Old Lancaster, Alex Virell sat in silence.

The room was cold, bare—just a cot, a metal desk, and a corkboard littered with strings, names, maps. His bloodied shirt lay on the floor, and stitches marked his ribs where shrapnel had grazed him hours earlier.

But he wasn't thinking about the pain.

He was staring at a photo.

Burned around the edges. Faded. Torn in one corner.

Two children—maybe ten years old. A boy and a girl. Standing in front of a large iron gate. The estate behind them was huge, beautiful… and gone now.

The boy had his arm protectively around the girl.She was laughing.He wasn't.

In the background was a crest. A familiar one.

One that now appeared on Thorne Family documents.

Alex closed his eyes.

And let it in.

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Thirteen Years Ago – Unknown Location

The halls of Virell Estate echoed with fire.

Screams bounced off the marble walls, chased by smoke and the thunder of boots. Somewhere in the distance, glass shattered. The scent of burning wood and oil filled the air.

Alex ran, dragging Lia behind him. She was barefoot. Her dress was torn. Her cheeks were streaked with soot.

They had been hiding under the bed when it started.

Now, they were running from it.

"Where's Mom?!" Lia screamed, coughing.

"She said meet her in the garden!" Alex shouted back.

But when they reached the garden gate… it was already burning.

And on the grass, beside the roses—

Lay her body.

Face pale. Eyes open. Lifeless.

Alex stood frozen. Lia screamed. Something inside him broke.

Behind them, a voice echoed:

"Burn the name. Burn the bloodline. The Virells die tonight."

Men in black suits stepped into the courtyard. No insignias. Just guns and fire.

Alex turned, shielding Lia.No way out. No help coming.

But something unexpected happened.

From the smoke, a third party arrived—silent, masked, armed.

They weren't with the attackers. They weren't with the family.

They were there for something else.

A deal. A secret. A cleanup.

In the chaos that followed, the Virell siblings slipped away.

Through fire.

Through shadows.

Through loss.

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Present Day – 3:12 AM

Alex opened his eyes.

His breathing had steadied. But his hands trembled, just slightly.

He picked up a file from the desk. The crest from the estate now belonged to the Thorne Banking Network—an entity that shouldn't exist under that name.

Unless…

Unless the Thornes were involved in the fall of the Virells.

He picked up his phone and sent a message to Lia:

"Thornes were there. Garden crest matches theirs. Will confirm."

Seconds later, she replied:

"I know. Celeste wears the symbol. Necklace. Hidden usually. Saw it tonight."

Alex stared at the text.

For a long time, neither of them messaged again.

Some truths are so heavy, even blood can't carry them easily.

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Elsewhere – 4:27 AM

In a private chamber beneath the Thorne Estate, a monitor flickered to life.

Alaric Thorne stood over it, sipping from a crystal glass.

Behind him, Celeste Thorne leaned on a marble pillar, arms crossed.

"He remembers," she said flatly.

Alaric didn't answer.

"He and the girl. They were children then. Now they're ghosts walking back into the fire."

Alaric finally spoke. "Ghosts don't kill kings."

Celeste's lips curved. "These ones might."

She touched the necklace on her collarbone—the Virell crest, now passed down as an heirloom of conquest.

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That night, across Lancaster, the wind changed direction.

Memories surfaced like bodies from a dark river.

The past wasn't just alive.

It was armed.