The heavy theater doors slam open, their echo cutting through the cavernous emptiness.

  Alex strides in, her boots striking the polished floor with force. Anger pulses through her veins, sharp and unyielding, but when her gaze lands on him, her steps falter.

  Standing tall before the massive movie screen, he looks perfectly at ease, as if the entire theater belongs to him. His suit is pristine, every button gleaming under the dim lights. The fedora—ever present, ever tilted at that smug angle—rests atop his head, a silent declaration of arrogance.

  His posture is relaxed, but his eyes—those sharp, assessing eyes—miss nothing.

  Alex exhales, steadying herself. How stupid was she to have missed it? "You deceptive son of a bitch. Where is he?"

  Fedora tilts his head, a slow smirk creeping onto his lips. "You seem tense, Alexandria. Perhaps a glass of water?"

  She scoffs. "You’ve got nerve. I’ll give you that."

  "I’ve always been ambitious." He smooths a hand down his lapel, his movements practiced, deliberate. "And I’m fairly certain you won’t kill me. Not yet. You don’t know where the boy is."

  Her jaw tightens.

  "I could kill you," she says, her voice low and edged in steel, "and then find him myself."

  Fedora chuckles, shaking his head as if amused by a child’s tantrum. "Yes, but how long before he dies of hunger? Or asphyxiation?"

  A beat.

  Damn it. He’s right.

  Alex lets out a slow breath, rolling her shoulders back. The tension shifts, settling into something colder. More calculating. Her neck cracks left, then right. When she opens her eyes, her face is a blank slate.

  "What do you want?"

  Fedora steps forward, adjusting his cuffs with practiced elegance. "What you have, Alex. Youth. Immortality. Good knees."

  A short, humorless laugh escapes her. "You know, you could’ve just asked. The whole Germany angle was a bit much."

  He shrugs. "Better the Nazis be the ones caught with their pants down." He lets the words settle before adding, "And it worked, didn’t it? You didn’t even know it was me."

  Alex’s stomach twists, but her expression remains impassive.

  She remembers Germany. The sterile rooms. The restraints. The endless days strapped to a table while they drained her—bit by bit, drop by drop.

  She hadn’t known.

  She should have.

  A long silence stretches between them, thick with unspoken history.

  Then his voice drops, quieter now, but no less lethal. "I’m not going to die, Alex. I don’t want to. And you’re going to teach me how not to."

  Her frown deepens. "You’re asking for a miracle?"

  He smirks. "You do it every day. You did it for him."

  A vague gesture. For half a second, Alex’s eyes flicker upward—toward the rafters. But Akio isn’t there.

  Fedora steps closer. "The boy hasn’t aged a single day in twenty-eight years."

  His fingers brush the collar of her jacket, adjusting it like he has the right to touch her. If her brother weren’t locked away somewhere, she’d break his wrist for it.

  "Or is that just another coincidence?"

  Alex meets his gaze, unflinching. "There are things you don't understand.” She says, and Fedora rears back in disappointment. She trudges on. “Things a whole lot bigger than you and your silly quest to live forever."

  "Then make me understand."

  His voice sharpens. His hands lift to his hair, fingers tangling through it in frustration.

  The fedora slips from his head, landing on the floor.

  Alex watches it roll. Damn. She’d have to think of a new nickname for him now.

  Fedora drags in a slow breath. "I’ve tried everything." His voice is lower, controlled—but the danger thrums beneath the surface. "Matter of fact, I’m just shy of draining you of your blood where you stand."

  Alex raises an unimpressed brow.

  Desperation flickers across his face. He steps in fast, grabbing the front of her jacket.

  "Come on, Alex. I won’t harm a hair on the kid’s head. In two, three centuries, we could all be laughing about this."

  She blinks at him, utterly unimpressed. The sheer emotional whiplash in the last thirty seconds is almost debilitating.

  Then, calmly, she says, "I don’t know how to." And that wasn’t a lie.

  Akio was a warlock. And warlocks had the distinct advantage of an unnaturally extended lifespan—centuries, if they were careful. Unlike alchemists who dabbled in borrowed power, warlocks were born, not made. Only 12% of humans carried the bloodline, and of those, a mere 35% were even aware that the supernatural world existed beneath their noses.

  Unfortunately for Fedora, he was neither a warlock nor an... Alex. Which meant his little quest for immortality was, to put it lightly, an impossible dream.

  Fedora exhales through his nose, slow and measured, but frustration crackles beneath his composed facade. His fingers slip from her jacket as he rakes a hand through his hair.

  "That is not good news, Alexandria." His tone remains steady, but there’s an edge to it now. "I want good news."

  Alex meets his stare, her voice unwavering. "Fine. Take me."

  His head tilts.

  "Run whatever tests and mix up your concoctions," she continues, "but you let him go."

  A pause.

  Fedora studies her, eyes scanning every inch of her face for deception. Slowly, knowingly, he smiles.

  "You’d do that? You’d really let me cut you open?"

  Alex shrugs, ignoring the cold fear curling in her gut. "If you think you can, give it a shot."

  Fedora snaps his fingers.

  From the shadows, six men step forward—silent, massive, efficient.

  Alex chuckles under her breath. If they thought they’d been hidden, they were dead wrong.

  They close in.

  Alex exhales, lowering herself onto her knees, hands laced behind her head.

  One of them steps forward, securing cold metal cuffs around her wrists.

  Fedora strolls closer, his shoes clicking against the floor. He leans down, voice just above a whisper.

  "I do appreciate you making this easy."

  Alex meets his eyes. "Of course, I’ll need to see him before you start anything."

  Fedora clicks his tongue, lips pressing together. "That wasn’t part of the deal."

  Alex glances at the men surrounding her. "I could also kill off your marching band and wing it."

  A tense silence.

  Then—Fedora sighs.

  "Ten minutes," he relents. "And, of course, I’ll be there. Supervising the exchange."

  Alex shrugs. "Whatever floats your boat."

  His lips twitch into something close to amusement.

  Then, to his men, he commands, "Bag her. Put her in the truck. She rides with me."

  The jeweler squints through his eye loupe, turning the gem between gloved fingers. His brow furrows in deep concentration.

  Across from him, Alex leans forward, arms crossed, watching intently.

  Finally, the jeweler exhales and shakes his head. “I’ve never seen anything quite like it.”

  Alex tilts her head. “So… not a diamond?”

  “Nor any other gemstone I’ve ever come across.” He adjusts the light, and the gem’s blue hue shifts strangely—almost like something inside it is moving. “It’s almost like… liquid.”

  Alex hums, considering. “Is it valuable? Like, gun-to-your-head valuable?”

  A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

  The jeweler glances up sharply.

  She waves a dismissive hand. “Relax. It’s not stolen.”

  He snorts. “As jewelry? No. Any high-end dealer would laugh you out of the store. But as an unidentifiable, one-of-a-kind thing?” He sets the gem back into her palm, meeting her gaze. “Yeah. People would kill for it.”

  Alex pockets the necklace. “Good to know. Thanks for looking anyway.”

  “You’re welcome. Buying anything today?”

  Alex grins. “You know I don’t do jewelry.”

  The jeweler chuckles. “Yeah. You, Chris, and Akio—none of you ever had the taste for it. Lilian, though…” His smile softens. “She was my best customer. My favorite, too. God rest her soul.”

  Alex’s grin falters slightly.

  The jeweler studies her. “How’s Akio?”

  “He’s good.” Alex pats her jacket, searching for her ringing phone. “Just saw him, actually.”

  “Heard he’s a doctor now.”

  “Yeah, he actually is. The only sane one in the family.” She finally pulls out her phone, answers it. “Yeah?”

  A voice crackles on the other end.

  “Is this Alexandria Jordan?”

  Her grip tightens. “Who’s asking?”

  “This is St. Anthony’s Hospital. We have a Christopher Jordan admitted under your emergency contact. You need to come in.”

  Alex’s heart stutters, but her voice stays steady. “What happened?”

  “He was brought in from an accident. He’s stable, but you should get here as soon as possible.”

  She doesn’t ask for details or hesitate.

  She turns on her heel and moves fast, disappearing out the store, and into the fading afternoon.

  Alex moves fast, weaving through hospital corridors until she reaches the front desk. She barely stops before speaking.

  “Hi—sorry—excuse me. I’m here to see Chris Jordan?”

  The nurse, a young woman in her twenties, lazily chews gum, her eyes heavy with exhaustion. She barely looks up as she types into the computer.

  Seconds tick by.

  Ten.

  Fifteen.

  Alex checks her watch, foot tapping.

  Twenty.

  She drums her fingers on the desk. The nurse shoots her a sharp look. Alex stops.

  “Well?” she prompts, impatience creeping in.

  The nurse exhales. “You can’t see him.”

  Alex blinks. “I’m his emergency contact. I got the call.”

  “Yeah,” the nurse says flatly. “Still can’t see him.”

  Alex clenches her jaw. “And why—”

  The nurse pops her gum loudly.

  Alex exhales sharply, forcing patience. “—can’t I see him?”

  “Because he’s in surgery right now.”

  Alex stares. Then, her eye twitches. “You couldn’t have led with that?”

  The nurse shrugs, smirking. “Take a seat.”

  Before Alex can retort, she spots a doctor approaching and immediately heads toward him.

  Behind her, the nurse calls out, “Or walk away. I don’t care.” Then she pops in her earbuds and scrolls through her phone.

  Alex ignores her. “Excuse me—I’m Alex Jordan.”

  The doctor nods. “I know who you are. I called you.”

  Her stomach tightens. “How is he?”

  “He just underwent minor surgery,” the doctor explains. “He’s stable, sleeping it off. You’ll be able to see him soon.”

  Relief washes over her, but it’s fleeting. “What happened?”

  “As far as we can tell, he was in a car accident. A police officer found him in a military jeep and called for an ambulance.”

  Alex frowns. “A military jeep?”

  The doctor nods.

  “What about the driver?”

  “There was no driver.”

  Alex stares. “No—there was a driver. White guy, yay high, dressed like James Bond?”

  The doctor shakes his head. “No. Just Chris.”

  A strange knot forms in Alex’s stomach. She files it away for later.

  The doctor pulls her back. “You might want to grab his things. Change of clothes, maybe?”

  “I would’ve, but I wasn’t home when I got the call.”

  “Well, now’s your chance. He should be awake when you get back.”

  Alex nods. “Yeah. I’ll do that. Thanks, Doc.”

  The doctor gives her a small nod before walking away.

  Alex stands there a moment, thoughts swirling. A military jeep, instead of the stuffy vehicle from before. No Double O-Seven. All of a sudden Chris was in surgery.

  Something wasn't right.

  ~~~

  The door to the house swings open, and Alex steps inside, phone pressed to her ear.

  "Thank you so much. I owe you one," she says, ending the call.

  She runs a tired hand through her hair, tossing her phone and keys onto the couch with a resigned sigh.

  The living room is quiet, dimly lit, untouched—exactly as she left it. For a moment, she stands and looks around, a small part of her despising the silence. She heads upstairs.

  Chris’s room is just as she remembers—cream-colored walls, a touch of organized chaos, comfortable in its disorder.

  A small smile tugs at her lips as she crosses to the closet, pulling out a duffel bag. She tosses in a couple of t-shirts, freezing mid-motion when her impeccable hearing picks up voices from downstairs.

  Her head snaps toward the door, brows knitting in worry. She drops the clothes and moves.

  At the top of the stairs, she stops abruptly.

  Two men—one tall, controlled, predatory; the other bulkier, with a grotesque air—stand in her living room, methodically rifling through the place. Nod and Nelzux.

  Though she’s never seen them before, their synchronized movements and steely focus inform her they’re not burglars. They knew what they were looking for.

  "Can I help you?" Her voice cuts through the tension.

  Both men turn in eerie unison. The taller one, Nelzux, speaks first, his tone smooth yet edged with menace.

  "Where is the crystal?"

  Alex frowns. "Excuse me?"

  "I know you have it here," Nelzux replies, his voice eerily calm. "I can feel it."

  A flicker of unease twists in Alex’s chest, and she looks around for any help translating the gibberish. What the hell was he talking about?

  "Okay," She says slowly, "I’m going to call George. He knows better than to let random people in the house."

  She reaches for her phone—only to realize it’s missing. Her eyes dart to the couch, where she had tossed it along with her keys.

  She sighs. "Fuck."

  Nelzux’s eyes blaze red. In a split second, a surge of energy bursts from him.

  Alex barely reacts in time—hurling herself over the railing as an energy blast disintegrates the bannister at the spot where she stood. She crashes onto the floor below, rolling up to her feet just as shards of molten wood rain down.

  "That was Italian!" she snarls, sprinting for the kitchen as another blast rips through the space she just occupied.

  She dives behind the island as glass and ceramic explode all around her.

  "I am so not in the right headspace for this!" she snarls, voice low and determined. It’d been a little while since she’d fought, and could admit to being a bit rusty. In summary, she’ll probably need a moment to shake off the stiffness and enter into battle mode.

  Nod steps forward, grotesque tendrils snapping from his stomach, sweeping everything off the counters with savage precision.

  He looms, voice cold as steel. "Hand over the crystal, and I promise you a painless death.”

  Alex’s eyes narrow, and she glances desperately toward the garage door—a potential escape route that now seemed all the more perilous. Retreat wasn’t going to be easy.

  Snatching a discarded knife off the floor, she exhales sharply and pivots from her hiding place in one fluid motion, she hurls it—burying the blade deep in one of his tendrils. Nod bellows, reeling.

  She seizes the small opening and surges forward, planting a brutal kick to his chest. The impact sends him flying—his body crashes through the wall, splintering wood and brick.

  Nelzux whips towards her, and she raises her arms.

  With a surge of power, she wrenches the refrigerator door from its hinges. Clenching her fists, she whips through the air like a battering ram, its cold metal slams into Nelzux. He staggers, momentarily stunned by the unexpected assault.

  Her gaze snaps to the chandelier in the living room, and she clenches her fist in its direction. With a flex of power, she tears it free. The massive fixture floating into the kitchen for half a second before she hurls it—crystal and metal crashing down on Nelzux, burying him under a pile of wreckage.

  Amidst the chaos, discarded knives, forks, and sharp utensils launch from different parts of the kitchen—slamming into her attackers and impaling parts of Nod and Nelzux that haven’t already been battered by her other attacks, with pinpoint precision.

  The clatter of metal against tile echoes and she seizes the moment to dash for the garage door.

  Inside the melee, Nelzux endures the assault—knives and forks piercing his flesh, his rapid regeneration mending the wounds almost as soon as they appear.

  Nod, reels from the impact of the chandelier, snatches a fork from his own head with a snarl, he misses at his cut stitching closed and tosses the cutlery aside, anger flashing in his eyes.

  "Since when do humans possess such incredible powers?" Nod growls, irritation lacing his tone.

  "Get her!" Nelzux barks, and unleashes a surge of energy that melts the twisted chandelier from around him, his eyes blazing with fury.

  Alex crashes through the garage door, her breaths ragged as she lands against a sleek Audi. Desperately, she slaps her palm against the hood, willing electricity to surge through her fingertips.

  Faint blue sparks dance at her fingertips—a weak echo of her frankly dormant power—but they flicker out before she can channel them effectively.

  "Come on, come on—” she mutters, rubbing her hands together in a desperate attempt at static friction.

  A tentacle lashes out, slamming her into the metal door, Nod emerging with a snarl. The impact rattles her bones.

  Alex growls and wrenches the slimy appendage in her grip, twisting it and its owner against a side wall with bone-crushing force. Seizing the moment, she dashes forward and slams Nod against a gleaming Mercedes. His skull cracks the

  windshield.

  Then she sees them—glowing gemstones embedded in his brows.

  Her eyes narrow when a distorted memory sparks—she had seen those before.

  Her breath catches. "Where did you get that?”

  Nod seizes the opportunity, taking advantage of her momentary lapse. He flips them over, pinning her against the car with crushing force.

  His massive fist clamps around her throat like a vice, and he tilts his head, studying her with a mix of curiosity and menace.

  "What are you?" he demands, voice a dark rumble.

  Alex grits her teeth. Summoning every ounce of strength, she pries his grip from her neck. For a charged moment, they lock eyes—Nod, startled by her strength, and Alex, steeled by determination.

  The tension shatters when Nod, headbutts her into the Mercedes, abruptly ending their grapple session.

  Unbearable pain explodes behind her eyes, her hand flying up to wipe away what she realizes to her growing horror is blood from her broken but quickly healing nose.

  Who the fuck were these people?!

  Nelzux steps into the fray, his gaze intensifying as he watches Alex push herself up from the floor. Panting, she gestures, hands flailing. "Time out. We can talk about this."

  "You are not human." Nod accuses.

  Alex’s eyes flash with incredulity at the hypocrisy of it all.

  "As opposed to you being the Tooth Fairy?" she retorts, voice dripping with disdain.

  Nelzux circles her warily, eyes fixed. "We just want the crystal."

  "What crystal?!" Alex snaps, frustration and exhaustion battling in her tone. Clearly, she has no idea what they're after.

  Nelzux’s gaze hardens. "You are a terrible liar. I can feel its energy—faint but undeniable—radiating from you."

  Alex stares at him like he’s grown a second head. Then again he probably could. "What in God's name are you talking about?" she demands.

  Nelzux’s patience snaps.

  Alex reacts on instinct—ripping the garage door free and hurls it forward. Suspended by her will, the door slams into the upcoming blast. The explosion detonates midair, shockwaves knocking her off her feet and hurling her out of the garage.

  She crashes onto the cold driveway outside, breath heaving.

  Pain sears through her, but her regenerative power works swiftly, knitting cuts and scrapes almost before she can register the impact.

  “God," she mutters through grit teeth, eyes scrunched shutbin the frustration of it all.

  She had no idea what she was fighting for, but she was losing. Badly.

  Before she can gather herself into a respectable heap Chris’s 1966 E-Type Jaguar hurtles into view.

  With razor-sharp reflexes, Alex rolls aside just as the car smashes into the pavement where she once lay. The impact shatters metal and glass in a deafening crash.

  “Oh dear God, No, no, no, no!” Her heart lurches as she surveys the mangled wreckage.

  Frustration boils over. If these guys didn’t kill her, Chris definitely would once he saw his pride and joy was now a heaping wreck.

  “Why in God's name would you do that?!” She growls, glaring at her assailants.

  The night sky crackles with distant thunder, echoing the storm raging within her. Nod shifts uneasily; Nelzux’s eyes dart from the roiling clouds back to Alex, unsettled by her rising power.

  Alex’s gaze darkens. Tiny, white-hot bolts of lightning streak through her eyes—power surging wildly. Her fists clench, energy pulsing through her veins.

  A grenade whizzes past her head.

  Spinning wildly, it lands squarely in front of Nod and Nelzux. They stare at it baffled for a moment, then it explodes, knocking them both back into the garage with bone-crushing force.

  A car screeches to a halt behind Alex. The passenger door flies open, revealing Henry, eyes wide with urgency.

  "Get in," he commands, his voice slicing through the chaos as he glances over her at the hole where the garage door should be.

  Alex blinks, vision spinning. "Henry?"

  Before she can process further, her attackers begin to stir—piles of splintered wood and debris shifting as they recover from the blast.

  "That grenade’s not gonna hold them for long," Henry warns, his tone grim as he surveys the scene.

  Without a moment’s hesitation, Alex scrambles into the car. Tires screech as the vehicle pulls a tight U-turn, hurtling into the night with desperate speed.

  Back in the rubble of the garage, Nelzux is the first to rise—his burned skin sizzling as it heals over almost instantly.

  Nod follows, his dislocated arm snapping back into place with a sickening crack. They stand in silent acknowledgment, watching the car vanish into the darkness.

  Nod cracks his neck. "That was no human.” he murmurs, his voice low and contemplative. "I would wager she was of our kind—except I sensed no gemstones."

  Nelzux’s expression hardens, eyes narrowing with grim determination. "Whatever she is… she’s an obstacle."

  He pauses, voice dropping to a cold whisper, "And the crystal remains our sole focus."