The silence after the storm was the loudest.
Silas Ward lay in a reinforced underground cell, drugged but breathing. Not dead. Not even bloodied enough to mark victory.
Julian wanted to end it.
One bullet. One breath. Done.
But Aria had said no.
"Dead men don't confess," she'd told him. "And I want names. I want everything."
So they kept him alive.
For now.
—
The bunker smelled like antiseptic and smoke. Aria walked the hallways like a ghost with a pulse, bandages wrapped around her palm, blood beneath her fingernails. She hadn't slept since the ambush.
Julian found her staring at the surveillance feeds, eyes raw.
"You should rest," he said.
She didn't even look at him. "He'll talk."
"You don't know that."
"I do."
Julian studied her face. "You look like hell."
She let out a low, bitter laugh. "Good. That means he'll recognize me."
Julian stepped closer. "You got what you wanted, Aria. You beat him. So why do you still look like you lost?"
She finally turned.
"I didn't lose," she whispered. "But I'm not done, either."
—
They interrogated Silas on the third day.
Damon stayed behind the glass wall while Aria and Julian stepped into the steel room. Silas was shackled, sedated but smirking.
"Back so soon?" he rasped. "You two never could stay away."
Aria pulled out a photo.
The boy.
"You remember him?"
Silas smiled wider. "Of course. He cried just like you did. All those years ago. I see the resemblance now—maybe I should've carved a mark into his cheek too."
Julian slammed his fist into the table.
"Names," Aria said coldly. "Give me the names. Your allies. The ones embedded in my father's company. The ones still funding you."
Silas leaned forward. "You think I'm afraid of death?"
Aria leaned in closer.
"No," she said. "You're afraid of obscurity. You're afraid that when you die, no one will remember your name. No legacy. No fire. Just ash."
Silas's smile faltered.
"I will tear down everything you built," she continued, voice like ice slicing flesh. "Brick by brick. Blood by blood. And I'll make sure no one remembers you. Not even as a cautionary tale."
Silas's lips twitched.
Then he whispered a name.
"Maxwell Trent."
Julian stiffened.
Aria said nothing.
Because she'd already suspected it.
Maxwell Trent—the man who'd mentored her father. The one who sat on the global security board, who'd shaken Aria's hand just weeks ago at a conference. The one who sent her a note that read: You remind me of him.
And now she knew why.
Because he had helped destroy him.
—
Damon ran the trace. Cross-checked bank records, offshore transfers, flagged comms. It was all there. Trent had wired five million to a shell company the day before Aria's father died.
Evidence. Cold and clean.
"I'll take care of it," Julian said.
But Aria shook her head.
"No," she replied. "He's mine."
—
She flew to Berlin alone.
Julian watched her board the plane with eyes that burned.
"You don't trust me," he said.
"I trust you too much," she answered. "That's the problem."
He didn't ask what she meant.
Because they both knew.
If she trusted him any more, she'd break in half.
—
Maxwell Trent didn't run.
Didn't hide.
He opened the door to his luxury suite with a polite smile.
"Aria Harlow," he said. "Or is it Aria Black now?"
Her eyes were fire. "Neither."
"Ah. Just Aria, then."
She stepped inside.
Didn't wait for an invitation.
"Did you think I wouldn't find out?" she asked.
Trent poured two glasses of whiskey. "I assumed you'd be too busy chasing ghosts."
"You built those ghosts."
He smiled. "We all did. Your father included. You think he was clean? Think again."
"I don't care," she said coldly. "He was still mine."
Trent sat down, crossed his legs.
"You want a confession?"
"No. I want justice."
She raised the gun.
He didn't flinch.
"Go ahead," he said. "Pull the trigger. But know this—killing me won't stop what's coming."
"What is coming?"
His smile was slow and cruel.
"Your legacy. Just like your father's. Just like Silas's. You're no different, Aria. You'll bleed for power just like we all did."
She hesitated.
Only for a breath.
Then pulled the trigger.
Once.
Right through the knee.
Trent howled, crashing to the floor.
"You think I won't kill you?" she hissed, stepping over him.
He gasped through the pain. "No. I think you'll wait."
"Why?"
"Because I'm the last thread," he panted. "Pull me—and everything unravels. You won't have control anymore. You'll just have chaos."
She lowered the gun.
And smiled.
"I was born in chaos."
Then she walked out.
—
Back at the bunker, Julian was waiting.
She walked into the control room, dropped the bloodied documents onto the table.
"Trent sang," she said. "I've got names. Accounts. Locations."
Julian didn't answer.
He was staring at a screen.
A live feed.
Of Silas's cell.
Empty.
She froze.
"What the hell—?"
Damon burst in, breathless. "He's gone."
Julian's voice was ice. "How?"
"We don't know."
Alarms blared across the base.
Aria whispered, "No."
Because she knew.
This wasn't a prison break.
It was a distraction.
Trent. The documents. All of it.
A smokescreen.
And while they'd hunted one snake—
Another had slithered through the cracks.
—
That night, Aria stood alone in the control room, the screens flickering with warning lights.
Julian approached her, quiet.
"He had help," he said.
She nodded. "Someone inside."
They were silent for a long time.
Then he said, "When this ends, what do you want?"
Aria didn't answer.
Didn't know how.
Because part of her wanted freedom.
And part of her wanted him.
And both felt like cages.
But when she turned to him, eyes burning, Julian said the one thing she didn't expect.
"I don't want to survive this without you."
Her breath caught.
Because it wasn't a confession.
It was a vow.
And it terrified her more than any bullet ever could.