The steel door creaked open.
The three men inside turned fast, startled—then alarmed—as a team of armed operatives entered the chamber, weapons up, formation tight.
Celina's eyes widened. Relief and fear collided on her face.
One of the men yelled, "They're armed!" They drew their weapons and opened fire.
Gunshots thundered.
Miles and his team immediately took cover—sliding behind velvet couches and reinforced pillars.
"Secure the civilians!" Miles barked into the comms.
Two operatives sprinted under fire toward Becky and Rose—both still unconscious on the couch.
Rounds zipped past them, embedding into the furniture.
One by one, the operatives shielded the girls with their bodies, dragged them into cover. Breathing, pulse stable—safe for now.
But the worst came fast.
A desperate man grabbed Celina, yanking her up violently and pressing a gun to her temple.
Miles caught the movement, eyes narrowing. "Hold your fire!" he shouted.
Everything stopped.
Tension gripped the air.
Celina, terrified, locked eyes with Miles.
Her lips parted, trembling.
The man, panting hard, shouted: "Drop your weapons! Now! Or I swear—I'll shoot her!"
Two other men stood behind him, guns raised, watching nervously. Their confidence was already cracking.
Miles slowly stood, his weapon still lowered but ready.
"Don't do it," he said calmly. "You shoot her, and you won't be walking out of here."
"I said DROP THEM!" the man screamed, eyes bloodshot. "You think you can walk in here and take over?! You don't even know who we are!"
Another man muttered behind him, "She's Wraithbourne's kid. We can use her."
"Shut up!" the gunman snapped, tightening his hold on Celina. She whimpered, a quiet, broken sound.
Miles's expression didn't change.
No panic. No anger.
Only calculation.
The red-tinted room trembled with tension.
"Drop your guns!" Miles commanded, his voice edged with fury.
His team hesitated.
Miles raised his own weapon—and placed it on the ground.
The others followed.
Across the room, the three men tightened their hold on Celina, using her as a human shield. Sweat glistened on their brows, but they wore smug expressions, hiding behind a wall of false confidence.
They knew they were outgunned.
They just needed to escape.
"All we want is to leave," one of the men growled. "Do exactly what we say, and she lives."
Miles didn't respond. His jaw tightened.
The man barked again:"Hands up. Face the wall. All of you."
Miles didn't move.
But Celina—her voice thin, trembling—"Please…"
He turned slowly, resisting every instinct that screamed to strike.
The team followed his lead—calm, calculated submission. Their eyes locked onto their commander, trusting whatever came next.
The gunmen began to back out of the underground chamber—Celina still at gunpoint, walking between them. They moved slowly toward the exit corridor.
Miles and his team followed, silent shadows behind them.
"Stop following us!" one man snapped. "You want her dead? Huh? BACK OFF!"
Miles halted.
His voice dropped to a whisper in the comms.
"Viper, do you have a shot?"
There was a pause.
Then Victor's voice came through his earpiece, calm as ice:
"Boss, shot is clear. Left shoulder. Through the window."
Miles clenched his fists.
"Don't kill. Just disarm. Don't let her get hurt."
"Copy that."
The lead gunman noticed Miles's lips move.
"What are you whispering? HUH?! Move back, NOW!"
He raised his weapon higher—his finger tense on the trigger.
Then—
CRACK!
A sniper bullet shattered the window behind them—striking clean through the gunman's forearm.
He screamed in agony, the gun spinning out of his hand.
Celina dropped instinctively, hitting the floor with a gasp.
And Miles moved.
Like a shadow turned to fury.
He charged.
The second man raised his weapon—too late.
Miles kicked it clean from his grip, the gun clattering across the floor.
Before the man could blink, Miles slammed an elbow into his throat, sending him reeling—and then swept his legs, dropping him hard onto the marble tiles.
The third man fired wildly—two shots, both missing.
Miles closed the distance in two steps.
His hand snatched the barrel, twisted it sideways, then struck the man's ribs, driving a knee into his gut with bone-snapping force.
CRACK. He collapsed, wheezing.
The room went silent.
Three men on the floor, moaning in pain—disarmed, defeated, surrounded.
Miles's team swept in, weapons raised, surrounding them fully.
Miles looked down at the first man—the one who'd held Celina.
Fury burned in his eyes.
He knelt and delivered a heavy punch to the jaw, snapping the man's head back against the wall.
The man blinked dazedly—blood trailing from his split lip. His eyes finally focused on Miles's face in the dim red light.
And then—
Recognition. Terror.
His mouth fell open.
"Y-you're…" he whispered.
"You're Miles Sterling…?"
Miles stood still.
No expression. No anger. No pity.
Just cold silence.
He stepped closer to the wounded man now slumped against the wall—the supposed owner of the Paradise Club.
"Your game is over, Dan, your club will burn tonight"
Dan's eyes widened. His breath quickened. Blood trickled from the corner of his mouth.
"You don't know who's behind this," he spat, desperate. "He won't let you go. None of you. You've started something you don't understand."
Miles didn't blink. He tilted his head, just slightly.
"Is that so?"
He knelt down slowly, his gaze locked onto Dan's terrified eyes.
"Then tell me something…""Have you ever heard the name—Blackfield?"
Dan hesitated. Blinked. Confused.
"Black…field?"
He looked lost, genuinely clueless.
Miles laughed.
It wasn't humor—it was disbelief. Contempt. A short, hollow sound.
Dan flinched."Why are you laughing?" he barked. "They'll come for us. When they do, you'll see—this isn't over!"
Miles leaned closer. His voice dropped to a whisper, cold enough to freeze blood.
"Do you really think they care about you?"
Dan's lips parted, but no words came.
"They sent Blackfield assassins last night to do the job you couldn't.""You're already garbage to them."
He stood up, towering above the broken man.
"You'll vanish," he added darkly, "just like the others you sent to follow me and my family."
Dan's eyes widened with that final word. Family.
Too late to take it back. Too late to undo what had been started.
Miles turned to his team, voice sharp and steady.
"Take them into custody. Alive. We've got a lot to dig out of these rats."
Two team members stepped forward, dragging the bruised men to their feet, locking reinforced cuffs around their wrists.
Miles looked at Celina.
She stood frozen for a second—then rushed into his arms.
Tears streamed down her cheeks as she clung to him, trembling.
"I'm sorry, Miles…" she whispered, her voice breaking."You told us to stay away from the club… but we didn't listen.""If you hadn't come when you did… I don't even want to think what could've happened…"
Miles held her, firm and steady, his voice calm.
"It's fine," he said gently."It's over. You're safe now."
Then slowly—Celina seemed to realize the moment. Her breath caught, and her arms loosened.
She stepped back from the hug, eyes wide, cheeks flushed.Wiping at her tears quickly, she looked down, avoiding his gaze.
"M-My phone… it's still inside," she mumbled, trying to compose herself.
Miles exhaled softly, a flicker of amusement in his eyes—but his voice stayed even.
"Alright. Let's go get it.""Lead the way."
He followed her back into the quiet, dark corners of the underground room—his eyes still scanning every shadow, every inch of silence.
Because the battle was over…
But the night?
Not quite done.
As they walked back into the dim chamber, Celina staying close behind, Miles's eyes drifted to one of the walls—something about it felt… wrong.
He stepped closer.
Knocked on it.Thud.
Not hollow.But not solid either.
He ran his fingers along the edge—then paused. Something beneath the wallpaper—a faint indentation.
A button.
Click.
A low mechanical sound whispered through the silence.
A section of the wall slid outward—revealing a concealed locker door, seamlessly embedded.
Celina's eyes widened."Is that… a secret locker?"
Miles tapped his earpiece."Monica, send the techie down from the van. Now."
"On it, boss," her voice came back, crisp and fast.
Moments later, the tech expert hustled in, gear in hand. He crouched near the hidden door, scanning.
"Boss… this is a high-security lock. Heat signatures suggest it's cryogenic."
Miles raised an eyebrow."Cryogenic? Like a freezer? What are they doing—storing expensive alcohol?"
The techie shook his head."Could be… but this one's serious. Five-letter alphabetic code. One wrong attempt and whatever's inside? Gets vaporized."
Miles narrowed his eyes, staring at the keypad.
Then… he remembered.
"Q… T… R… R… M."
The letters Daniel's friend had murmured before dying.
He keyed them in.
Beep.
A hiss.The lock disengaged. A gust of freezing vapor spilled into the room.
They all stepped back slightly as the door creaked open.
Inside: dozens of glass vials, neatly aligned. Each glowing faintly with a strange luminescent fluid.
Celina stared."What is this… some kind of drug?"
Miles didn't answer. He didn't touch a thing.
Instead, he keyed his comm again."Send in a container. Secure. Cryogenic protocol. Handle with care—don't break anything."
A man arrived shortly after with a reinforced container, carefully placing the vials inside one by one.
"Send it straight to the lab," Miles ordered. "I want full analysis. No chances."
He turned to Celina, his voice gentler now."Let's get you home."
They walked out of the club, the night air colder now—not from the locker, but from what they'd just discovered.
Miles tapped his comm, sharp and firm:
"Mission successful. All teams withdraw. Repeat—move out of the club."
He turned to his second-in-command.
"Burn it down," he said without emotion."Turn Paradise Club into Hell."
"Yes, boss."
Just then, a sleek black car rolled up. One of the men stepped out, nodding.
"Boss, here's the car. Safe ride home. It was an honor working with you again."
"Likewise."
Becky and Rose, still unconscious, were gently loaded into the back seat.
Celina quietly took the front passenger seat, still processing everything.
Miles stood for a final second—watching the flames begin to rise inside the club behind him.
Then he got in.The door closed.
And the car drove away—as Paradise burned.