This man had hunted me for years. Had twisted my daughter’s very existence into a commodity. Had killed hundreds just to force me out of hiding. Had looked at Sophia and seen only dollar signs and genetic markers.
My hand found Langston’s weapon where it had fallen. The metal was cold against my palm, heavier than I expected. I picked it up, my fingers finding the grip, and pointed it at Langston’s chest.
“Ethan,” I said quietly. “Stop.”
He looked up at me, something wild in his eyes that I recognized. The same look I’d seen in the mirror at Hope’s Embrace when I’d realized what that place really was. When I’d understood there was no reasoning with zealots, no negotiating with people who’d already decided you were theirs to control.
Slowly, Ethan released Langston’s throat and stood, stepping back. Langston coughed, sucking in air, one hand pressed to his bruised neck.
“Give me the gun, Evelyn,” Ethan said, his voice surprisingly gentle despite the rage still pulsing beneath it. “I’m okay now.”
Before Ethan could respond, my earpiece crackled violently, making me flinch. Panicked voices erupted through the static.
“—under attack!” It was Nolan’s voice, breathless and strained. “Multiple hostiles at the rally point! Alistair’s been hit!”
“The mind-control symptoms aren’t reliable,” another voice said. Dutch. “Anyone can be under control. Mrs. Longfield is one of them.”
My heart seized. “Sophia,” I whispered.
Ethan pressed his finger to his own earpiece. “Rally point, report. Maverick? What’s your sitrep?”
“They’ve got a black SUV!” The transmission crackled, breaking up on Nolan’s voice. “Heading north on the access road with—“ Static consumed the rest, but I didn’t need to hear it to understand.
They had my daughter.
I lunged at Langston, pressing the gun against his temple. “Where is she? What have you done with my daughter?”
His eyes widened, genuine confusion flickering across his face. “What are you talking about? My team shouldn’t be there yet.”
“Don’t lie to me!” I pushed the barrel harder against his skin.
“I’m not lying,” he hissed, wincing. “My operatives were under strict orders to bring Emma to me directly. They haven’t reported in.”
Something in his expression made me believe him – not trust, never trust – but the flash of anger in his eyes wasn’t directed at me.
“Then who has her?” I demanded.
Langston’s jaw clenched. “Fucking Kovacs lied to me.”
“Kovacs?” Ethan asked sharply.
“Helena Kovacs. Innovixus.” Langston’s composure cracked further. “She’s trying to cut me out, take Emma for herself.”
My finger twitched against the trigger. “Why? Why would they want my daughter?”
“Because she’s perfect,” Langston snarled. “The first viable genetic prototype. Worth billions to whoever controls her development.”
The tunnel seemed to close in around me. Prototype. Development. The words echoed in my head like gunshots.
Genetic prototype. My ears were ringing, the world going distant as the implications crashed over me.
“What did you do to her?” I whispered, my voice breaking. “What did you do to our daughter?”
Langston’s eyes narrowed, calculation replacing his momentary confusion. “She was never supposed to be ordinary, Evelyn. You were merely the vessel.”
“The vessel,” I repeated, bile rising in my throat. The gun trembled in my hand, but I kept it pressed against his temple. “Explain. Now.”
“Those fertility treatments you received?” A cold smile crossed his face. “Specialized gene therapy. Targeted DNA modifications. Emma was engineered from conception to be receptive to neural enhancement. The perfect foundation for the next generation of human evolution.”
