Location: Tavara – Damien's Private Estate, War Room (East Wing)
The room seemed to exhale as Damien's words sank in. Then we hit first. A statement, not a suggestion. It was the kind of declaration that changed timelines, moved armies, and rewrote alliances.
Logan placed the sealed files on the side table and turned to Damien. "We've isolated three possible leak points in the chain. One at the docks, one in the cyber-unit, and—" he hesitated, "—one from inside Ashford's unit."
Damien's jaw clenched. "Ashford won't like that."
"I know," Logan replied. "But if even one of his men is compromised, the Falcon Protocol might already be halfway to activation."
Nora stood up, her voice calm but loaded with fury. "What exactly is the Falcon Protocol? You both keep circling around it."
Damien exchanged a glance with Logan before speaking. "It was a contingency plan. Created in the early days of Tavara's industrial reconstruction—before your father's political reforms. It gave a select few the ability to override the national security framework in the event of a 'classified threat.'"
"Like a coup," Logan added.
Nora's face paled. "And my uncle knows about this?"
"He was one of the original architects," Damien confirmed. "But it was shelved—too risky, too absolute. The protocol gives whoever activates it unilateral control over Tavara's private and military sectors for forty-eight hours before parliament can review."
She took a sharp breath. "That's enough time to assassinate leaders, shut down media, move assets, disappear enemies."
Damien nodded grimly. "Exactly."
Silence fell again, broken only by the rain intensifying against the glass.
Logan's phone buzzed once. He checked the encrypted screen and his eyes narrowed. "They just moved. Harold's private plane filed a departure notice. Destination: Cascella."
Damien's eyes flared. "That's a dead zone. No extradition, no surveillance. He's going to meet someone."
"Or finalize something," Nora added, grabbing her coat.
Damien's voice dropped into that sharp, commanding register. "Logan—get me eyes on that airstrip. No engagement yet. Just track. Nora—"
"I'm going," she said without hesitation. "He's my blood. I need to see his face when I find out the truth."
Damien walked to her, fingers brushing her wrist gently. "If he sees you coming, he'll vanish. Let me go first. You follow after confirmation. No emotion. No warning."
She swallowed hard, nodding.
As Logan exited to coordinate the aerial surveillance, Damien reached for the drawer under his desk and pulled out a slim, black case. He opened it, revealing a silenced tactical pistol and a single USB drive.
Nora's eyes flicked to the drive. "What's that?"
"Insurance," he murmured. "Every monster leaves a footprint. This one leads straight to the man Harold is working with."
She looked at him. "Who?"
Damien's eyes were twin shards of fire. "Vincent Blaire."
Nora gasped. "That man was exiled ten years ago—declared a traitor."
"He's back," Damien said. "And this time, he's not hiding in the shadows."