Chapter 17 - Inside St. Jude’s
The interior of the recovery center was deathly quiet. The soft hum of fluorescent lights overhead was the only sound echoing through the sterile white corridors.
Roman and Nora moved in tactical formation, clearing rooms one by one. The staff had been zip-tied and locked in the administrative breakroom—unharmed, but terrified.
“They’re in the east wing,” Nora whispered, reading a live floor-plan map on her tactical tablet. “Room 304. Tommy’s room.”
They crept down the hallway toward the double doors of the east wing.
Pacing outside Room 304 stood a tall, silver-haired man in an expensive tailored suit—Colonel Marcus Vance. He held a suppressed pistol casually in his right hand, looking less like a fugitive mercenary and more like an executive waiting for a late flight.
When he heard footsteps approaching down the hall, Vance turned slowly. His lips parted in a cold, mocking smile as he saw Nora and Roman step around the corner.
“Nora,” Vance said smoothly, switching effortlessly to English. “I always knew you’d crawl out of the woodwork if I put enough pressure on your weak spot.”
“Let my brother go, Marcus,” Nora said, her voice cutting like glass through the sterile corridor. “This was between you and me from the start.”
“It was never just between us, my dear,” Vance laughed softly, raising his pistol toward the door of Room 304. “You embarrassed an entire department. You leaked operational files to oversight committees that cost millions in defense contracts. You think a simple resignation clears that ledger?”
May you like
Roman stepped slightly in front of Nora, his weapon locked dead on Vance’s chest. “Your ledger is closed, Colonel. Put the gun down, or you won’t make it out of this hallway alive.”
Vance’s smile didn’t fade. He slowly turned his head toward the door handle of Room 304. “Maybe. But let’s see how fast your linguist can translate the sound of a silenced round hitting bone.”
