High above the Atlantic, a private jet cut through the clouds.
Mira sat by the window, her gaze fixed on the endless expanse of grey below. Her reflection stared back at her... tired eyes, tense jaw, fingers wrapped tightly around the pendant hanging from her neck.
The pendant Lucien had made for her.
Beside her, Renan flipped through a tablet, reading reports from the New York Association. Every few minutes, he glanced at her, concern etched into his features.
"Mira," he said quietly. "Are you sure you want to do this?"
She didn't look at him. "He's alive, Renan. Lucien is alive."
"I know, but..." He hesitated. "The Association says he's with a werewolf. That something doesn't add up. What if..."
"What if what?" Mira's voice was sharp. "What if he's dangerous? What if he's lying? What if he's one of them?"
Renan flinched. "I didn't say that."
Mira exhaled slowly, forcing herself to calm down. "I'm sorry. I just... I need to see him. I need to know what's going on. I have a feeling that... there is something more..."
Renan set the tablet aside. "And if this is connected to... to them?"
Mira's hand tightened around the pendant. The silver lion gleamed faintly in the cabin light.
"Then I'll find out the truth," she said. "Once and for all."
Renan didn't press further.
Mira closed her eyes, leaning her head against the cool glass.
And the memory came flooding back.
She was eight years old when her world ended.
Mira wasn't supposed to be awake.
It was late... well past midnight. But she couldn't sleep. Not with the voices downstairs. Papa's voice, low and serious. And strangers.
She slipped out of bed, her bare feet silent on the wooden floor. The hallway was dark, lit only by the faint glow of lamplight seeping up from below.
She crept to the top of the grand staircase and peeked through the banister.
Her father stood in the entry hall, dressed in his formal coat, his expression grave. Across from him were three men she didn't recognize. One of them... tall, grey-haired, with sharp eyes... held something in his hand. Something small, wrapped in cloth.
"Thomas, are you certain?" the man asked.
"I'm certain, Marcus," her father replied. His voice was steady, but Mira could hear the tension beneath it. "If they know I have it, they'll come. You must take it now. Before it's too late."
Marcus hesitated. "And what about you? Your family?"
"We'll be fine." Her father's jaw tightened. "The wards will hold. And if they don't..." He placed a hand on Marcus's shoulder. "Then you make sure this stays safe. No matter what."
Marcus nodded slowly. "I swear it."
Mira didn't understand what they were talking about. But something about the way her father spoke made her chest feel tight.
Then the window shattered.
Glass exploded inward in a burst of fire and shadow. Mira screamed.
A figure stepped through the broken frame... massive, towering, clad in black armor that seemed to drink the light. Its helm was crowned with jagged spikes, and its eyes... its eyes glowed pale blue, cold and merciless.
A Shadow Knight.
Her father shouted, pushing her mother behind him. The three strangers drew weapons... swords that glowed faintly with mana.
But it wasn't enough.
The Shadow Knight moved like death itself.
Its blade cut through the air with a sound like tearing silk. One of the strangers fell, blood spraying across the marble floor. The second tried to block, but the knight's gauntleted fist smashed through his guard, sending him crashing into the wall.
Marcus shouted something... a command, a spell... but the knight was already moving.
It lunged toward her father.
"No!" Her mother's scream echoed through the hall.
Thomas de Beaumont raised his hand, and light erupted from his palm... brilliant, blinding. The knight staggered back, hissing.
But it wasn't enough.
The knight's blade flashed.
Her father fell.
Mira's breath stopped.
She watched, frozen, as her father collapsed to his knees, blood pouring from the wound in his chest. In his hand, clutched tightly even as he fell, was something small and metallic.
A key.
The Shadow Knight reached for it.
And then Marcus moved.
He threw himself between the knight and her father, his sword blazing with silver light. The two clashed, sparks flying, the force of their strikes shaking the walls.
Mira's mother ran to her father, pulling him back, trying to stop the bleeding. But Mira could see it in her eyes.
It was too late.
The knight roared and lashed out. Marcus's coat tore, fire scorching the fabric. His sleeve burned away, revealing his arm.
And there, burned into his skin, was a mark.
The Jerusalem Cross.
Mira's breath caught.
Then, suddenly, the air behind the knight tore. A swirling black rift opened, pulsing with unstable energy.
The knight turned, its body flickering. It looked back at Marcus, at the key still clutched in her father's hand, and snarled.
But the rift was pulling it back.
With a final roar of frustration, the Shadow Knight vanished into the darkness.
The rift sealed.
Silence fell.
Marcus stood there, breathing hard, his sword still raised. His coat was in tatters, his arm exposed.
The mark gleamed in the dim light.
Then he turned and ran... not toward her father, but toward the door. The other surviving member of his group followed.
"Wait!" Mira's mother screamed. "Help us! Please!"
But they didn't stop.
They fled into the night.
Mira watched them go, her small hands gripping the banister so tightly her knuckles turned white.
They left.
They left her father to die.
She stumbled down the stairs, her legs shaking. Her father lay on the floor, eyes closed, the key still in his hand.
"Papa?" she whispered.
He didn't answer.
She heard a sound behind her... a soft, broken sob.
She turned.
Her mother knelt in the corner of the hall, cradling something in her arms.
Mira's little brother.
His eyes were closed. His face was pale.
He wasn't breathing.
Mira's legs gave out. She collapsed to the floor, tears streaming down her face.
And in that moment, staring at her mother's grief-stricken face, at her father's still body, at the mark burned into Marcus's fleeing arm...
She understood.
They did this.
The men with the mark.
They killed her family.
Mira's eyes snapped open.
The jet hummed around her, steady and calm. But her heart was pounding, her breath shallow.
Renan was staring at her, concern etched into his face. "Mira? Are you okay?"
She nodded slowly, wiping her eyes. "I'm fine."
But she wasn't.
She never was, not since that night.
Back in the interrogation room, Lucien sat rigid, his hands clenched into fists.
Marcus stood across from him, his expression heavy with old grief.
"That's what she saw," Marcus said quietly. "Her father dying. Her family slaughtered. And me... fleeing."
"You left them," Lucien said, his voice tight. "You let them die."
"No." Marcus's voice was firm. "I tried to save them. But the Shadow Knight was too strong. And when it vanished..." He paused. "I saw one of its servants fleeing through the back entrance. I pursued."
Lucien's eyes narrowed. "A servant?"
"Yes. The knight didn't come alone. It sent ahead a human agent... someone corrupted, bound to its will. They were trying to steal the key while we were distracted." Marcus's jaw tightened. "I chased him. I had to. If the key fell into their hands..."
"But Mira didn't see that," Lucien said.
"No." Marcus's voice was quiet. "She only saw me run. And when she looked down... she saw the mark on my arm."
Lucien closed his eyes, pain and fury warring in his chest.
"She was eight years old," Marcus continued. "She watched her father die. Her mother. Her brother. And then she saw men with the Templar's mark flee into the night." He exhaled slowly. "Of course she thought we did it."
Osman spoke, his voice low. "And you never told her the truth?"
"How could I?" Marcus's voice cracked slightly. "If I approached her, if she knew The Order still existed, she'd become a target. The Shadow Knights would come for her. For the key her father protected with his life."
Lucien's hands shook. "Does she have it? The other half?"
"I don't know," Marcus admitted. "Thomas was holding it when he died. If she took it... if she's kept it all these years..." He looked at Lucien. "Then she's in more danger than she realizes."
Lucien stood abruptly. "I have to tell her. She has to know the truth."
"She won't believe you," Marcus said.
"Then I'll make her believe." Lucien's voice was steel. "She deserves to know. After everything she's suffered, she deserves the truth."
Osman rose as well. "Lucien's right. If she's carrying the key, and the Shadow Knights know..."
"They do," Marcus said grimly. "Why else would one of them risk leaving the Dome? They're searching for it. And if they find her..."
He didn't finish.
He didn't have to.
Lucien's jaw set. "Where is she now?"
Marcus pulled out his phone and checked. His expression shifted.
"She's here," he said. "In New York. Her plane lands in less than an hour."
Lucien's breath caught. "She's coming?"
"She heard you were alive." Marcus met his gaze. "And she's coming to find you."
For a long moment, Lucien said nothing.
Then he turned toward the door.
"Then I'll meet her," he said. "And I'll tell her everything."
Marcus stepped forward. "Lucien. Wait."
Lucien stopped, looking back.
Marcus's expression was grave. "The Shadow Knight that attacked that night... the one with the pale blue eye."
Lucien's jaw tightened. "What about him?"
"He's one of the Twelve," Marcus said. "And he's still searching for the key. If he knows Mira has it..." He paused. "He'll come for her again."
Lucien's did not hesitate...
"Then I'll be ready," he said quietly.
Marcus held his gaze for a long moment, then nodded.
"Good. Because this time... you won't be fighting alone."
Somewhere, high above the city, Mira's plane began its descent.