Part 1: The Safe House
The rain had followed them north. By dawn, the old glassworks on the hill—long abandoned, its roof half-collapsed—had become a sanctuary. Rafe's men moved through the wreckage with quiet precision, checking doors, laying tripwires. The air smelled of damp ash and rust. Bill arrived just as they finished. He crossed the threshold like a shadow, his coat dripping, his eyes scanning every corner before he spoke. "Any movement?" Rafe shook his head. "None. We've set sentries along the ridge road. If anyone follows, we'll see them first." "Good." Bill turned toward the narrow stairwell leading to the upper floor. "She awake?" "She hasn't slept." Rafe hesitated. "Boss… she's scared. Not of us—of what she's learning." Bill's expression didn't change. "She should be."Upstairs, Elara sat by a cracked window, wrapped in a wool blanket. The rain blurred the fields beyond, turning them into watercolor streaks of gray and green. She hadn't changed out of her torn dress; the blood on her sleeve had dried into a rust-colored stain. When she heard the door open, she didn't turn. "You set the valley on fire," she said quietly. Bill stepped inside, his boots leaving faint prints on the dusty floor. "They came for you." "Maybe they came for you." She faced him now, eyes sharp. "My father wouldn't—" "Your father ordered my family's ruin ten years ago." The words landed like a blade. "He built the factories. He took the labor. He starved the village to fill his warehouses. Don't tell me what he wouldn't do." Elara flinched. "I didn't know." "No one did. That was the point."Silence fell. Only the patter of rain filled the space between them. Elara's voice softened. "Why come back now? You could've stayed gone." Bill leaned against the window frame, watching the horizon. "Because this place still has a pulse. It just forgot how to fight." She studied him—his calm, his restraint, the faint tremor in his hand as he spoke. "You talk like a soldier." "I was," he said. "Until soldiers became property." He turned away, but she caught a glimpse of something beneath the steel: exhaustion, grief, something almost human. Later, when the storm eased, Rafe entered with a radio unit, his voice urgent. "Intercepted transmission from the southern checkpoint," he said. "The Council's mobilizing. Lucien's declared you a traitor. There's a bounty on both your heads—dead or alive." Elara froze. "Both?" Rafe nodded. "They think you switched sides." She looked to Bill, panic flickering across her face. "My father will kill me." Bill met her eyes, steady and unflinching. "He'll try. But he'll have to get through me first." Her breath caught—not from fear this time, but from the quiet certainty in his tone. That night, the power flickered out. Candles replaced the light. Elara couldn't sleep; every creak of the old glassworks felt like a footstep. When she finally rose, she found Bill outside, standing in the rain, his shirt soaked, hands gripping the railing. "You don't rest," she said softly. "Rest gets people killed." She stepped closer. "You really think you can fight the Council alone?" "I won't have to," he said, eyes on the horizon. "By the time they reach us, they'll already be fighting their own shadows." She didn't understand what he meant—but for the first time since the ambush, she believed him.A sudden crack split the night—a single gunshot from the trees. Rafe's voice roared from inside: "Breach on the west side!" Bill grabbed Elara's arm, pulling her toward the doorway. "Stay behind me." Through the downpour, a figure stepped into view—tall, cloaked, carrying a lantern that burned blue in the rain. The same serpent-and-rose insignia glowed faintly on the glass. The intruder's voice drifted across the courtyard: > "The Rose sends another message… this time, for both of you." Bill drew his weapon. The lantern shattered. The world went black.
End of Part 1.
Part 2: The Messenger of the Rose
The world dissolved into smoke and thunder. Bill's ears rang; the flash of blue burned afterimages into the dark. He pushed Elara behind the half-collapsed wall just as more gunfire tore through the doorway. "Stay down," he said. "I can't see—" He covered her mouth gently. "Quiet." A shadow moved through the smoke—silent, purposeful. Whoever it was, they weren't ordinary mercenaries. The intruder's steps were deliberate, the rhythm of someone trained to hunt. Rafe's shout came from below. "Two more by the river! They're flanking!" Bill drew the short pistol from his belt and waited until the next muzzle-flash marked the shooter's position. One precise shot answered it; the light went out. Then, silence again. Only the rain and the hiss of dying flames.Elara's hands trembled as she pressed them to her ears. "Why are they after us? Who are they?" Bill reloaded, his movements smooth and practiced. "The Rose doesn't waste ammunition. They came for a message, not a massacre." As if on cue, a small metallic clink hit the floorboards near the door—a silver coin, its face engraved with a serpent coiling through a rose. Etched beneath: 'For the Daughter.' Elara's breath hitched. "For me?" Bill's eyes narrowed. "You recognize it." She hesitated. "My father kept a box of them in his office… I thought they were collector's tokens." "They're contracts," Bill said quietly. "Each coin marks a debt owed to the Rose. Whoever holds it can demand payment—in blood or gold." They moved together toward the courtyard. The rain had eased, leaving mist curling around the broken pillars. A figure waited at the far end, hood pulled low, lantern light gone. Bill leveled his weapon. "You've got ten seconds to tell me why you're still breathing." The figure laughed softly—a woman's voice, lilting, confident "Because the War God doesn't shoot messengers." She tossed something through the air. Bill caught it: a folded card sealed in crimson wax. Elara stepped closer, whispering, "What does it say?" Bill broke the seal. Inside, written in delicate French script: > The Council's hands are not clean. The Rose remembers its promises. Protect the girl, and we will meet in Paris. There was no signature—only a symbol: a rose half-burned, petals turning to ash. Bill looked up, but the messenger was already gone, vanished into the fog as if swallowed by it.
Rafe arrived, limping slightly, his men fanning out to secure the perimeter. "You get eyes on her?" "She's gone," Bill said. "What's the play now, boss?" Bill folded the card and slipped it into his coat. "We move east before dawn. The Council wants us dead, and the Rose wants an audience." Elara frowned. "You're actually going to them?" Bill met her gaze. "If someone's writing our names in blood, I want to know why." Later, when the others slept, Elara sat alone by the broken window. The silver coin lay in her palm, cold and heavy. Outside, the horizon glowed faintly with the lights of distant Paris—the city she'd thought she knew. She turned the coin over and whispered to herself, "What have you done, Father?" Behind her, Bill watched silently from the doorway, the message still burning in his mind. > Protect the girl, and we will meet in Paris. He wasn't sure if it was a warning or a command. From far down the valley came the faint hum of engines—dozens of them. A convoy moving fast. Rafe burst in, eyes wide. "They've found us again. Council troops—at least twenty vehicles." Bill grabbed his coat, chambered a round, and met Elara's eyes. "Looks like we're out of time."
End of Part 2.
Part 3: "The Escape to Paris."
The sound of engines crawled up the valley like thunder rolling through a gorge. From the upper floor of the glassworks, Bill watched headlights sweep across the trees — a moving wall of light and steel. "Council patrol," Rafe said from beside him. "Too many for a stand-up fight." Bill's jaw tightened. "Then we don't stand." The Withdrawal Within minutes the crew was in motion. Rafe's men stripped the safe house of anything that could trace them—maps burned, shell casings swept into sacks. Bill moved through the wreckage with silent precision, checking each exit twice. He found Elara by the stairwell, clutching the small silver coin. Her eyes searched his face. "Will we make it?" He paused. "If you follow my voice and don't look back." She nodded once. "Good." He pressed a compact radio into her hand. "Channel three. If we get separated, don't call until you hear gunfire stop." She looked at the device as if it were a lifeline. "What happens if it doesn't?" "Then you keep running." Into the Rain They slipped out through the rear passage just as the first trucks reached the main road. The forest swallowed them—dark, wet, and cold. Rafe led the way with a dim red lamp, its light barely cutting through the fog. Behind them, the valley erupted with shouts. Bill kept his pace steady, listening. Every distant crack told him exactly where the patrols were, how many seconds they had. His mind mapped the terrain like a chessboard. At the river crossing, a flare burst overhead. "Go!" he hissed. The group scattered, wading through knee-deep water. The current was bitter and strong. Elara stumbled; Bill caught her wrist, pulling her upright. "Don't fight the water," he said quietly. "Let it move you." When they reached the far bank, engines roared closer. A spotlight swept across the trees. "Rafe!" Bill shouted. From somewhere uphill came the answering growl of their hidden transport — an armored utility truck. The back doors swung open.
"In!" Rafe yelled' The Chas. The truck shot forward, tires slipping on the wet road. Behind them, the Council convoy gave chase. Muzzle flashes sparked in the night. Elara clung to the seat beside Bill, every turn throwing her sideways. "They're gaining!" Bill grabbed the comm. "Rafe, the bridge?" "Three klicks ahead. If we reach it first, we can drop it behind us." "Then push the engine." The truck lurched faster, the sound of pursuit growing louder, sharper. Through the windshield, lightning forked across the clouds, revealing the outline of the old suspension bridge spanning the ravine. Rafe's voice was grim. "We cross or we die, boss." Bill looked to Elara. "Hold on." The Bridge Bullets struck the metal rails as they sped across. The bridge groaned, ancient cables swaying. When they reached the far side, Bill grabbed the detonator wired to the undercarriage. "Now," he said. Rafe hit the switch. A burst of light split the sky, and the bridge behind them collapsed in a roar of twisting steel. The pursuing trucks screeched to a halt, the first two plunging into the dark. Silence followed—only the rain and the slowing heartbeat of the engine. Elara exhaled shakily. "We made it." Bill didn't answer. His eyes were on the road ahead—black fields, broken fences, and in the distance, a faint orange glow on the horizon.Rafe slowed the truck. "Boss, you seeing that?" Beyond the rain, the skyline of Paris emerged—its towers ghostlike under the storm clouds. But one light stood out: a tall building near the river, its rooftop burning with a crimson emblem—the half-burned rose. Bill's voice was low. "They know we're coming." Elara stared at the symbol, the reflection flickering in her eyes "What is that place?" "Their house," he said. "And our next battlefield." Thunder rolled again, closer this time, as the truck descended into the dark toward the sleeping city.
End of Chapter 2,