The vault door sealed with a metallic scream that swallowed the world.
Down here in the CCV bunker, no aides, no detail, no witnesses. Just Elias Ward, President of the United States, and the woman he'd married who used to be someone else entirely.
Nadia stood under the harsh lights like she was waiting for a bullet instead of a conversation. Her eyes were wide open, the only part of her that still looked alive.
Elias didn't sit. Couldn't. His lungs felt stapled shut.
"Tell me who the man in the Moscow photograph is," he said, voice low, dangerous. "You told me Irina Kotova burned. You told me your unit was ashes. You never once mentioned him."
Nadia's jaw flexed. "You're not asking for a name, Elias."
"Then give me the whole ugly truth before Viper feeds it to me poisoned."
She exhaled like it hurt. Walked to the steel table, palms flat on the cold surface as if she needed it to stay upright.
"Fourteen years ago," she started. "My last job for the Directorate. That man was my handler. The one I told you died in the safehouse fire."
Elias felt his throat close. "The one who was supposed to be terminated with extreme prejudice."
"He was supposed to be," she said. "That was the order. My extraction was timed to his death. Only he lit the match himself. He faked it. Walked out of the flames and straight into Viper's arms."
Elias stared at her. "You're telling me your handler—the ghost you buried—built Viper from the inside?"
"He didn't just build it," she whispered. "He designed the part that still has my fingerprints on it."
The silence was brutal.
Elias turned away, pacing because standing still felt like drowning. "You should've told me the day I swore the oath."
"I'm telling you now."
"Now is fourteen years too late."
Nadia's voice cracked—just once. "He's not part of Viper, Elias. He is Viper. One of the original architects. And tonight they showed me that picture to remind me who still pulls my strings."
Elias spun back. "And are we divided now, Nadia?"
"I'm standing here bleeding the truth," she said, stepping closer. "That's not division."
He searched her face—the face he'd kissed a thousand mornings—and saw Moscow looking back at him.
"You still protected me by lying," he said, softer, raw. "You decided I couldn't handle—"
"I decided our children deserved to live," she cut in, fierce. "That's what I decided every single day I kept this buried."
A low chime sliced the air. The wall monitors flared red.
UNAUTHORIZED ENCRYPTED SIGNAL SOURCE: UNKNOWN
Then a single line crawled across the screen in perfect English:
He remembers us.
Nadia went statue-still.
Elias felt his heart slam against bone. "Who remembers us?"
The text vanished, replaced by another line, slower, deliberate:
The boy was never yours to find.
Every drop of blood in Elias's body turned to ice.
"Nadia." His voice was barely a growl. "What the hell does that mean?"
She stared at the screen like it was a loaded gun. "It's him. My handler. He just punched through the most secure channel on the continent to say hello."
The lights flickered. The air system hissed like the bunker itself was inhaling.
"Tell me," Elias said. Deadly quiet. "All of it. Right now."
Nadia turned to him. no longer his wife, but the operative who once burned identities like matches.
"Lucas wasn't a random survivor, Elias." Her voice shook, but she didn't look away. "He was the mission. Viper's child-recruitment program. They took kids from war zones, broke them, rebuilt them. Lucas was one of them. I pulled him out of a facility that wasn't supposed to exist. He was hurt, terrified… but he remembered enough to run."
Elias couldn't breathe.
"I brought him home," she whispered. "I told you he was an orphan. I told you the records were destroyed. I lied so they'd never come looking."
Another line bled onto the screen, slow and mocking:
We want him back.
Elias stared at the words until they burned.
Upstairs, their fourteen-year-old son was asleep, dreaming normal nightmares.
Down here, the past just reached through fourteen years of lies and wrapped its fingers around the boy's throat.
Nadia's voice was barely sound. "They never stopped hunting him. And tonight they told us the clock just ran out."
The bunker lights dimmed, as if the building itself was bracing for what came next.