The silence in the car was deafening.
Zara's breath came in shallow gasps, her knuckles white as she clutched the seatbelt. The trees blurred past, but her mind stayed behind with Jaxon.
"He stayed to fight them," she whispered.
Ms. Quinn glanced at her, lips tight. "He bought you time. That's what matters."
"No." Zara shook her head, heart hammering. "He could've run. He wanted me to run."
"Because he knew they'd go easier on him than you," Quinn muttered. "He's Victor's son."
Zara stared at the dashboard. "That doesn't mean he's safe."
"No. It means he's a bargaining chip."
They reached the safehouse just outside the city an old bookstore that doubled as an underground tech hub. Inside, old novels lined the walls, and hidden cameras blinked quietly from every corner.
Zara barely noticed.
She sat at the back table, hands shaking as she reopened the files Theo had left.
She had to do something. Sitting still felt like drowning.
Ms. Quinn handed her a burner phone. "If he's alive, we'll find him."
"If?" Zara's voice cracked.
"I said if because I don't lie to my people. And right now, Zara? You're one of mine."
That simple truth hit harder than expected.
Hours passed.
The Foundry went dark. The @UnmaskTheFoundry account was taken down, the post scrubbed from almost every platform.
But not before someone downloaded it. Someone reposted. Then another. Then a dozen more.
The movement Zara started had grown teeth.
And still no word from Jaxon.
That night, while the city slept, Zara found an email in her inbox. Unmarked. No sender.
Subject line:
"You want him back? Come alone."
Attached was a grainy photo.
Jaxon. Tied to a chair. Blood on his lip. His eyes still full of fire.
Zara's stomach dropped.
They had him.