The ozone smell of gunpowder hung heavy over the stale scent of maple syrup and burnt coffee. Outside, the wail of distant sirens began to bleed through the humid morning air, but inside, the silence between Olivia Parker and Ethan Caradonna felt absolute.

Smoke billowed through the vaulted ceilings of Caradonna Manor as Olivia and Ethan sprinted up the sweeping marble staircase. Below them, masked operatives clad in matte-black tactical gear swarmed the grand foyer, their assault rifles sweeping the room with ruthless efficiency.

"They're using thermal imaging!" Olivia hissed, ducking behind a carved stone pillar as a volley of bullets chipped away the masonry inches from her head. "They can see our body heat through the corners!"

Ethan didn't hesitate. He grabbed a fire extinguisher from the wall bracket, smashed its valve against the stone floor, and unleashed a massive, blinding cloud of white chemical fog across the upper landing.

"Move!" he shouted, grabbing her hand.

Through the dense, choking white haze, two armed operatives lunged from the shadows, their weapons raised. Ethan spun, raising his rifle with lightning speed, and fired twice. Both men dropped instantly, neutralizing the threat before they could squeeze their triggers.

Suddenly, a massive explosion rocked the eastern wing of the mansion. The shockwave blew out a wall of stained glass, sending glittering shards raining down like deadly diamonds.

"They're trying to flush us toward the helipad," Ethan realized, his jaw tightening into a hard line of absolute fury. "Viktor isn't trying to assassinate us anymore. He's blowing the estate sky-high to eliminate all witnesses."

"Then we don't run to the helipad," Olivia said, her eyes locked onto a heavy, reinforced security door at the end of the corridor—a door marked with the private crest of the Caradonna family archives. "Where is the panic room mainframe?"

Ethan looked at her, surprised by the cold, tactical brilliance flashing in her eyes. "Directly beneath the archive vault. But the biometric locks require my mother's registry code—a code that hasn't been active in twenty-five years."

"Your mother coded me into the ledger," Olivia said, stepping forward and pulling the silver locket from beneath her tactical jumpsuit. She pressed the embossed silver rose against the scanner panel beside the massive steel door.

BEEP. ACCESS GRANTED. WELCOME, ELENA CARADONNA II.