Blinding. Disjointed.
Images fractured like glass under pressure: trees, stone, water, a figure running, a sudden flare of light, then nothing.
He gritted his teeth, clenching his jaw until his molars ached.
The experiments had worked, yes. But they hadn’t made him one of them. They hadn’t given him the raw, seething potential of those born touched by the anomaly. No matter how many neural rewrites or sensory amplifiers they injected into his bloodstream, he wasstill… less.
A defective copy.
Less than Kiki. Less than Eric. Less than what he should have been.
The fire of frustration burned under his skin. He forced it down, breathing through it with icy precision.
Emotion was weakness. And he had no use for weakness.
Footsteps approached. Controlled. Hesitant.
Benoit lowered his hand and opened his eyes.
Andre.
The younger man halted a few feet away, shifting under Benoit’s stare like a dog waiting to be kicked. His gaze flicked up, then away again.
“Report,” Benoit said.
Andre cleared his throat. “I… I can’t find Lyle.”
Benoit tilted his head slightly. “Of course you can’t.”
Andre blinked. “Sir?”
“Lyle’s dead.”
The flat certainty in his tone made Andre flinch.
“But—”
“He disobeyed orders,” Benoit said coldly. “He engaged without permission. Whatever fate found him, he earned it.”
Andre’s face paled, and he took a cautious step back.
Benoit turned his gaze toward the tree line. Beyond the rising slope and dense foliage, hidden by elevation and security tech, sat Angel Vaziri’s fortress of a cabin. Somewhere inside, the Aeto brothers waited.
And Kiki.
His prize. His creation. His anomaly. She belonged to them. To him.
Not to Nikos Aeto. Not to fate. Not to herself.
A ripple of anticipation slid through him.
“Report on the defenses,” Benoit ordered.
Andre quickly regrouped. “The property’s saturated with long-range thermal sensors, motion-activated cameras, and trip wires disguised as brush markers. Vaziri’s ex-special ops. It’s a perimeter built for war, sir. Even approaching with stealth, they’ll see us coming.”
Benoit cupped his hands behind his back and surveyed the quiet woods. It didn’t matter. Subtlety had its place. This wasn’t it.
He glanced toward the mercenaries waiting along the narrow dirt road. Dozens of them in staggered clusters, checking gear, testing comms, adjusting weapons. Former military, former black ops, former assassins. Now his. Bought and paid for. Loyal to coin, not cause.
