Chapter 26 - The Race
The fourth floor of the asylum erupted in a massive fireball, sending a shockwave that rattled our teeth and rained burning debris across the courtyard. The structural integrity of the old building failed instantly, the roof collapsing inward with a terrifying, apocalyptic groan.
We lay in the dirt, covered in a thick layer of dust, completely deafened by the blast.
I rolled over, coughing violently, and looked at Charles. He was covered in soot, but he was breathing. We had made it out with literally seconds to spare.
Grant pulled himself up, bleeding from a small cut on his forehead, his face pale with fury. "Arthur tried to bury us all."
"He failed," I said, wiping the dirt from my eyes. "But where is he?"
Charles grabbed my arm, his grip surprisingly strong for a man who had just survived captivity. "Arthur... he isn't trying to rebuild the empire in America anymore. The exposure from the Geneva files ruined his domestic control."
"Then what is his endgame?" I asked, a sick feeling settling in my stomach.
"He wants the ultimate insurance policy," Charles wheezed, struggling to speak. "He wants an heir he can mold entirely in his own image, away from federal oversight. He knows Mara took Leo to the cabin in upstate New York. He sent a mercenary team to stall her, but Arthur is going there himself to take the boy."
My blood turned to absolute ice. The cabin attack wasn't the main assault; it was a distraction.
"We need a helicopter," I shouted at Grant, sprinting toward the police cruisers. "Right now!"
Within ten minutes, Grant and I were strapped into the back of a state police tactical chopper, tearing through the night sky toward the upstate cabin. I held my phone tightly, desperately dialing Mara’s number over and over again, but the calls went straight to a dead signal.
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"ETA is fifteen minutes," the pilot shouted back over the roar of the rotors.
I stared out into the dark horizon, praying to a God I hadn't spoken to in years. Hold on, Mara. Please, just hold on.
