Chapter 47
2248words
Sinclair Dominion HQ | Sublevel 3
The hum of the monitors had become background noise, indistinguishable from the low pulse of the servers lining the far wall. The fluorescent lights overhead were still harsh, still cold, and still gave no hint that the sun had risen outside. But morning had arrived, even if no one in Sublevel 3 looked like they’d slept.
Sebastian rubbed his eyes and leaned forward again, eyes glued to the thin web of linked files on his screen. Across the room, Ash nursed his third cup of coffee, while Vex had collapsed onto a padded bench with a data pad still lit in one hand. No one was speaking. They were in the kind of silence that didn’t need words — the kind that came after nights of chasing threads that kept going nowhere.
Until one didn’t.
“Wait,” Sebastian muttered, sitting up straighter. “No… no, this is—damn it, this is something.”
Ash lifted his gaze. “You said that six hours ago.”
“No, this one’s different.” His voice sharpened. “Look.”
He tapped the screen and brought up a buried procurement log — a transfer ledger from 1995. At first glance, it was ordinary. Generic. But the listed payee name — Alton Biotech Ventures LLC — was crossed out, overwritten with a project title redacted in every other instance they’d found so far.
Except this one.
Project Codename: AURELIUS.
Ash stood, walking over. Vex stirred as well, sensing the shift in tone.
“I’ve seen that name,” Ash murmured. “Twice. In restricted folders flagged D-Helix-adjacent. But I could never open them.”
Sebastian nodded. “It’s the only direct cross between Quintis and Alton in the old Dominion archives. It predates the D-Helix collapse by two years. If Aurelius was a joint initiative…”
“Then D-Helix was the fallout,” Vex finished, now fully awake.
Ash leaned closer, scrolling with him. “Who buried it?”
Sebastian’s lips thinned. “Hard to say. The metadata’s scrambled, and access permissions rerouted through defunct shells. But whoever did it was Dominion-level. Maybe higher.”
The implication settled between them like a live wire.
Ash exhaled. “Lucian’s going to want this. All of it.”
Sebastian was already on his feet.
Late Morning
Lucian stood by the glass wall, silent, arms folded as the rest of the room fell into a low current of motion. Vex was already pulling coordinates, Ash narrowing filters, Sebastian double-checking timestamps — the rhythm of reaction, everyone moving. But Lucian didn’t move. Not yet.
It was Eli’s voice that finally cut through the ambient churn.
“Aurelius. That wasn’t public.”
He was staring at the file Sebastian had left open, eyes tracking the lines like they were already part of something he'd known.
Lucian turned toward him.
“You’ve heard it before.”
“Once,” Eli said. “Mid-90s. In passing.”
Kristina looked between them but said nothing.
Lucian gave the faintest nod — acknowledgment or warning, it wasn’t clear — then turned and walked out.
He didn’t take the elevator. He took the back stairwell instead, letting the cold steel and concrete ground the calculations stacking in his head. Names. Facilities. Coverups. Eli. Kristina. Thorne. Voss.
By the time he stepped into the high-clearance executive hall, he had already made the decision. No more waiting.
The elevator doors hissed open.
Kristina turned first. Then stopped cold.
Maxim Thorne stood in the corridor, unannounced and dressed in dark gray travelwear, the chill of Switzerland still clinging to his coat. His eyes swept the room — they lingered a beat too long on her, unreadable — then shifted toward the empty space Lucian had just vacated.
“Don’t all look so surprised,” Maxim said, voice even. “You didn’t really think I wouldn’t find out.”
“Papa?” Kristina stepped forward, a flicker of disbelief crossing her face. He gave her a nod — not cold, but restrained. As if unsure of his place here.
Dominion Briefing Deck
Moments Later
Lucian found Maxim alone by the window.
“Did Eli call you?” he asked without preamble.
Maxim didn’t turn around.
“Would it matter if he did?”
Lucian stepped closer.
“It would matter to me.”
A long silence settled between them. Outside the reinforced glass, the storm over California rolled across the distant hills, low clouds lit by security floodlights.
“You didn’t trust me,” Lucian said quietly. “Or Sinclair Dominion.”
Maxim finally turned. “I trusted what you were building. I didn’t trust who might try to tear it down — from the inside or above your head.”
Lucian’s gaze sharpened. “So you sent Eli to watch.”
“I sent Eli because I knew what was coming,” Maxim said. “And I knew he’d stay close to the right person, even if you wouldn’t.”
Lucian exhaled slowly, reading between the lines.
“You should’ve told me.”
Maxim’s voice didn’t flinch. “You wouldn’t have let him through the door.”
Lucian didn’t deny it. He just studied him.
“Not to spy. To stand guard — for her,” Maxim added. “For what I knew she’d walk into.”
Lucian’s expression didn’t break, but something behind his eyes shifted. A cold realization, maybe. Or something heavier.
Dominion Estate Archives | Remote Line Access
Early Afternoon
The encrypted terminal crackled faintly as the connection held. Then came the smooth, unhurried voice of Harold Sinclair.
“Grandfather,” Lucian said. “I need a favor.”
There was a pause — approval, curiosity, neither? Then:
“I need access to the 1989–1992 defense-aligned research logs. Black column. Anything tied to Alton. And a full tag trace on a codename: Aurelius.”
Harold’s voice was mild.
“That’s not light reading.”
“I assume you’re not making the request lightly.”
“I’m not.”
Harold went quiet for a beat. Then:
“You’ll have the clearance within the hour. But Lucian—”
“Whatever you’re pulling loose — be sure you’re ready to hold it.”
The line went dead. Lucian stood still for a moment, fingers resting lightly on the desk.
Then he moved — with purpose, with calm — and began issuing orders.
Sinclair Dominion HQ | Exit Stairwell
The Dominion building had fallen quiet. After the storm and the briefing, the noise had drained from the halls like water down a pipe — leaving only cold fluorescent lights and echoing silence.
Kristina sat on the steps of one of the emergency exit stairwells, past a propped-open steel door that no one used this late. The air was sharp with the scent of metal and dust. Concrete walls stretched upward, dimly lit by security bulbs in wire cages overhead.
She didn’t move when she heard footsteps.
Eli paused at the doorway, then stepped in without a word. He took the stairs slowly, not looking at her until he was seated on the step just below, one arm loosely resting on his knee. His presence was quieter than silence.
They didn’t speak.
A few minutes passed. The hum of the building’s electrical systems buzzed faintly behind the walls.
Kristina leaned forward, arms folded against her knees. She stared at the worn floor like she was trying to read between the cracks.
“We keep going.”
Eli didn’t look at her right away. When he did, it was calm — and certain.
“Yeah. We do.”
She didn’t lean on him. But she stayed.
And so did he.
In the hollow stairwell where no one watched, they sat side by side, not touching, not rushing — just breathing the same air, like they were holding the same silence.
Somewhere above, the stairwell door creaked shut. Neither of them stirred. But the echo stayed — as if someone had passed by, paused… and kept walking.
Sinclair Dominion HQ | Operations Floor
Late Afternoon
The glow from the wallcast fractured blue light across Ash’s face. He leaned closer, typing fast, eyes narrowed.
“Vex,” he called out, low. “You seeing this?”
Vex was already halfway across the room, coffee in hand, scanning his own interface. He didn’t answer immediately — just frowned, tracking the flicker on the screen.
A faint trace. Disconnected traffic. A packet that shouldn't exist anymore.
Ash exhaled. “That’s a dead node. One of the old ones. They pulled the servers from that grid two years ago — after the Quintis sweep.”
Vex muttered, “Unless someone’s waking up ghosts.”
They exchanged a look. No smile. No tension. Just shared certainty — whatever it was, it wasn’t random.
A few minutes later, Lucian stepped in, coat draped over one arm, mid-conversation with Sebastian. He stopped when he saw their faces.
“What is it?” he asked.
Ash straightened. “We’ve got activity. Eastern corridor — near one of the old lab rings flagged in the 1993 shutdown. Something small. Fragmented signal, like someone’s testing the lines.”
Sebastian’s jaw tightened.
“Maybe,” Vex said. “Or a breadcrumb.”
Lucian didn’t hesitate. His voice was cool steel.
“Prep a team. I want eyes on it within the hour.”
He looked once toward the stairwell, like he could still feel the weight of Kristina and Eli down there — and knew what this might pull them all back into.
Outside the Dominion tower, the storm had begun to lift — but the sky hadn’t cleared.
Something was coming.
Sinclair Dominion HQ | Office of the CEO | Ensuite Bedroom
Late Evening
The lights were off, save for a dim lamp near the bed. Shadows clung to the walls, soft and still. Outside the glass, the city was a dark stretch of blinking reds and fogged neon.
They’d all been staying in the Dominion building since returning from their assignments two days ago — Lucian and Kristina in the private suite attached to his office, the others tucked away in temporary quarters elsewhere on the executive floor. It hadn’t been planned. It had just... happened. No one had left.
Kristina lay on her side, one hand tucked under the pillow. Lucian sat beside her, propped up against the headboard in silence. The weight of the day still hung in the room — not heavy, but close. Familiar.
There was a stillness between them that wasn’t uncomfortable. Just full. As if the air itself knew how much had been left unsaid.
He watched her for a while. Then quietly asked,
“What do you feel, now that you know the truth about him?”
Kristina blinked slowly, not turning to look at him just yet.
“About Eli?”
A small nod from Lucian.
She exhaled.
“Relieved. I thought I was going crazy, remembering someone who might not have existed. But it was him.” She paused, her voice softer. “He was kind. Thoughtful. When we were kids, he was the only one who noticed me. The only one who ever talked to me.”
A faint smile curved her lips. “Even then, he made me feel like I mattered.”
Lucian looked away for a moment, then back.
“He likes you.”
Kristina gave a short, surprised laugh, like she thought he was joking.
“I know.” She shifted slightly on the pillow. “He used to follow me around. Always tried to talk to me. I think he even got in trouble for it once.”
Lucian didn’t smile. He reached out and gently turned her to face him.
His voice was lower this time, firmer — not annoyed, not bitter. Just honest.
“Kristina. He likes you.”
It landed differently now.
Kristina’s expression changed. Her breath caught as the realization settled into her.
Lucian didn’t look away.
“I wasn’t supposed to tell you. I thought maybe he'd find a way to do it himself. But I don’t think he ever will. Because of me.”
His eyes were steady, but the line trembled just beneath the surface.
Her eyes widened. But he continued.
“He’s been holding those feelings since you were nine — even after you vanished. Through everything. Still. I confronted him about it days ago. He didn’t deny it. But he said it didn’t matter. That he wasn’t here for that.”
“But it does matter. I’ve seen the way he looks at you. The way he stops himself.”
Kristina didn’t speak. Her throat tightened.
Lucian reached for her hand, his voice quieter now.
“You deserve to know. Not just what he’s hiding… but what he’s never had the courage to say.”
The silence between them stretched. But it wasn’t empty.
Kristina’s lips parted, but no words came out at first. Then quietly:
“…Does it bother you?”
Lucian looked at her. “What?”
“That he loves me,” she said. “That you see it.”
A long breath left him, not quite a sigh. He didn’t answer right away.
“I’d be lying if I said it didn’t… affect me,” he said finally. “He’s not just some distant stranger. He’s here. In the same halls. On the same missions. With you.”
His hand tightened around hers just slightly. “And part of me—yes. Part of me feels… threatened. Not because I don’t trust you. But because I love you.”
That last part sat unflinching in the dark.
She blinked once, then again, her eyes suddenly hot. “Lucian…” she whispered, her voice catching on the edge of something she couldn’t yet name.
He reached up gently, brushing his fingers against her cheek — not to wipe away the tears, but to ground her.
He gently shook his head. “You don’t have to say anything back. I didn’t say it to hear it returned.”
Kristina felt the words settle — not as pressure, but as shelter. The kind you didn’t ask for, but needed anyway.
Then Kristina looked at him, eyes shimmering but steady, and said softly:
“But I heard you.”
Love isn't always spoken first. Sometimes it’s seen. Sometimes it’s feared.
—To be continued.
