Chapter 20 : In the wake of fire
The night had slowly faded, giving way to a pale, washed-out dawn.
In the quiet hospital corridor, Yuri's footsteps echoed faintly. His clothes were stained with dried blood; his eyes were red with exhaustion and worry. He held his phone to his ear, his voice low but steady.
"Yeah, Eloïse… They're alive. Hansi is in critical condition, but the doctors are optimistic. Ken too—he got hit in the leg, but he'll be fine."
A silence. A soft exhale from the other side.
"Come quickly. I think… they both need you."
Yuri hung up.
He glanced at the two rooms facing each other, then let himself slide down the wall, releasing a heavy breath.
It had been a long time since he last felt this helpless—
and he hated that feeling more than anything.
---
A few hours later, the neon lights flickered as Eloïse rushed in, breathless, rain still dripping from her coat.
She asked for Hansi's room, her voice cracking.
When she entered, the girl lay pale and motionless on the hospital bed, wires and tubes clinging to her like fragile threads keeping her tied to life.
The soft, steady beeping of the heart monitor filled the room with an almost eerie rhythm.
Eloïse approached, placing her hand on Hansi's.
There was warmth—weak, but there.
Tears welled instantly.
"My God… Hansi… What did they do to you…"
A nurse rested a gentle hand on her shoulder.
"She's strong, your friend. She's fighting."
Eloïse nodded, unable to speak.
She stayed there, watching Hansi breathe, as if her gaze alone could keep her anchored to this world.
When fatigue finally caught up with her, she stood, hesitant, and asked where she could find Ayato Montclair.
---
In the hallway, she stopped in front of a half-open door.
Through the glass, she saw Ken — still trapped in Ayato's body — lying on the bed, a bandage around his leg, staring blankly at the ceiling.
Seeing him alive, wounded but breathing, stirred something inside her — something she couldn't name: fear, relief… maybe both.
But he saw her instantly.
"Come in, Eloïse," he said softly. "I saw you."
She startled slightly, then pushed the door open.
"I… just wanted to check on you," she whispered.
"Sit down," he replied gently.
She sat on the edge of the bed.
Silence settled between them, broken only by the hum of the ventilation and the steady pulsing of the monitor.
Ken finally spoke:
"It was an ambush. We still don't know who ordered the attack, but… they knew exactly where we'd be."
He paused, his gaze drifting away.
"Hansi took the bullet meant for me."
Eloïse's heart clenched.
She wanted to say something comforting, but no words seemed right.
"You couldn't have done anything," she breathed.
"Maybe. Or maybe I'm just losing people again because of me."
She reached for his arm, trying to catch his gaze.
"You haven't lost anything. Not yet. You're alive, Ken. As long as you breathe, you can still change the course of things."
He finally looked at her.
And for a split second, she thought she saw gratitude flicker in his eyes—
a quiet, fragile kind of light.
But deep inside, Ken knew something else:
there would be no peace
as long as the name Montclair tasted like blood in his mouth.
---
The next day, the OIMEN council hall was bathed in a cold, golden glow.
Seven chairs. Seven unmoving silhouettes around the oval table.
The wind whispered against the curtains, barely masking the tense breaths in the room.
Bill Montclair entered silently, followed by his son, Grey, whose face was carved from stone.
Bill's features bore fatigue and grief, yet his eyes shone with an iron determination.
"Gentlemen," he said, his voice low and heavy. "We have a problem to settle."
He dropped a file on the table, sliding it toward the center.
The members exchanged uneasy glances.
"My son, Grey Montclair, attacked his nephew Ayato without authorization."
A hushed murmur rippled through the chamber.
Grey stood abruptly.
"That brat killed my son, Father! You expect me to sit quietly?"
"It was self-defense!" Bill snapped. "You attacked a Montclair, and you nearly killed Hansi and Yuri in the process!"
Silence fell again, thick enough to choke on.
Grey lifted his chin.
"I claim a duel. The ancient right. Eye for an eye."
The members turned to Bill, waiting.
The patriarch crossed his arms, his gaze cold and piercing.
"You'll have your duel, Grey. But not before the attack against Ezekiel Torne."
Another murmur.
Tension tightened the air.
"If you want to prove you still deserve to live," Bill continued, "then survive this war. After that, you can have your duel."
Grey clenched his fists, jaw tight.
"Two days, then. And on that day, Father… I'll take the head of the one who took my son."
Bill closed his eyes briefly, hiding his grief behind the mask of a leader.
"If you survive, Grey. If you survive."
---
Meanwhile, miles away, in a dim house lit only by an oil lamp, Ezekiel Torne was having dinner with Enzo and Annie.
The atmosphere was suffocating.
Plates were half-finished.
The clink of cutlery rang loud in the heavy quiet.
Annie was the first to speak.
"Ezekiel… what are you planning? You know they won't just let this go."
Ezekiel lifted his gaze.
Calm. Determined.
Unshakeable.
"Don't worry, Auntie. Everything is going according to plan."
Enzo slammed his knife on the table.
"According to plan?! Was it part of your plan to let Bill Montclair live?! Your mercy is going to get all of us killed!"
Ezekiel's hands tightened, though his voice remained steady.
"I couldn't kill my grandfather in front of my mother."
"Then you should've closed your eyes!" Enzo shot back. "You don't get it… He's coming for us now — for her, for you, for me!"
A thick, painful silence fell.
Annie covered her mouth, tears forming.
"You're my family… Don't let vengeance ruin what's left of us," she whispered.
But neither man was listening anymore.
War had already been declared.
---
Two days later.
OIMEN armored vehicles moved through the night, headlights slicing through the fog.
Inside the convoy, faces were grim; weapons loaded; hearts pounding.
Bill Montclair sat in the front, staring at the road with a hardened, haunted gaze.
This was no mission.
This wasn't justice.
This was a vendetta —
a war between the blood he carried
and the blood he betrayed.
In the dark, Bill whispered to himself:
"Forgive me, Marie…
There's no turning back now."