The city looked different now.
Lights still burned. Traffic still hummed. But everything felt colder—like the veil had finally been pulled back, revealing the clockwork beneath the illusion.
Alexander parked the motorcycle inside one of Elias's safehouses, hidden beneath an abandoned textile factory. Isabella climbed off, silent, clutching the drive like a lifeline.
"We're not safe here long," Alexander said. "Voss won't stop now."
"No," Isabella murmured. "He'll escalate. He always does."
Elias appeared from a steel door, wiping his oil-stained hands on a rag. "You weren't followed. For now. But Renwick letting you walk? That's a message."
"I know," Isabella replied. "I just don't understand what it means."
Elias gestured toward a terminal. "Then let's find out."
The Drive's Secret
They plugged in the flash drive.
Encrypted. Layered with protective firewalls.
But Elias, ever the genius, cracked it with methodical precision.
A video file loaded first.
CLASSIFIED: KINGSCRIPT INITIATION – SUBJECT: ISABELLA VEYNE
The footage showed her—years younger—sitting in a glass room. Electrodes on her temples. A man pacing behind mirrored glass.
Lucien Voss.
"She's perfect," his voice echoed. "High empathy. Tactical acuity. Bloodline direct. If nurtured properly, she could be the bridge between the old world and the next."
Alexander's jaw clenched. Isabella sat still, stone-faced.
"That's why he never killed me," she whispered. "I was designed to be his successor."
"No," Alexander said fiercely. "He doesn't own you, Isabella."
Her eyes burned. "Then we prove it."
She pulled up a second folder on the drive—PROJECT: THRONESHARD.
Inside were coordinates. One location pulsing red on the map: a derelict island facility off the coast of Croatia.
"Voss's lab," Elias muttered. "Where they broke minds. Made monsters."
Isabella met Alexander's eyes. "We go there."
The Storm Approaches
Far away, in a tower lined with glass and gold, Lucien Voss watched the footage of Isabella discovering her legacy.
He smiled faintly and turned to Renwick, who stood in the corner like a shadow stitched from nightmares.
"She's almost ready," Voss said.
Renwick nodded. "And the others?"
"They'll follow her," Voss said. "Or fall before her."
He raised a glass.
"To the Queen who never asked to wear a crown."
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