Ragtag

Elliot frowned, setting his fork down with a soft clink. "This late? Didn't she know I was coming back today?"

Myra, sitting across the table, was quick to jump in. "Well, Mom told her the last time she came home, and we've been trying to reach her, but she won't pick up. I even reminded her at school today, and she said she knew you were coming."

Elliot's frown deepened, his brows knitting together in a way that made the atmosphere in the room turn heavy. His voice lowered, but the sharp edge was unmistakable. "The last time she came home? What do you mean by that, Myra?"

Myra froze, the casual confidence she had shown just moments ago dissipating in an instant. She swallowed, her voice faltering as she spoke. "Uh, I… S-she…"

She trailed off, avoiding her father's gaze, her fingers fidgeting with the napkin in her lap.

Elliot's eyes bore into her, his patience wearing thin. "Do you want me to repeat my question, Myra?" His voice was calm, but the warning was clear.

Myra glanced quickly toward Marianna, who was silent, her face a perfect mask of composure, though her eyes flashed with a warning of their own—Myra needed to handle this carefully. 

The lie had to be perfect. 

"I-I just meant," Myra stammered, "that she hasn't been around much lately, both at home and at school. She's been spending more time with her new friends, who are mostly guys, and, well, she's been staying out later than usual. Sometimes, she doesn't come home. She's also been failing in school…" Myra finished weakly, her voice trailing off as her father's expression darkened.

Elliot sat back in his chair, his jaw tightening. He looked from Myra to Marianna, as if trying to gauge whether they were telling him the truth.

"When did this start?"

Marianna took a sip of her wine, her voice calm as she answered. "A few weeks ago, right after you left for your business trip. We didn't think much of it at first, considering her age. We thought it was just a rebellious phase, but then it became more frequent."

Elliot's eyes narrowed as he processed the information. His gaze shifted back to Myra, who sat nervously, fidgeting under his scrutiny.

"So," he said, his voice dangerously quiet, "you're telling me that Ephyra has been staying out late, skipping school, and associating with unsavory people, yet neither of you thought to inform me? You let her continue this rotten behavior?"

Marianna leaned forward, her tone soothing as she attempted to ease the tension. "Darling, we didn't want to bother you while you were away. We believed we could handle it. We've tried speaking to her, but you know how stubborn she can be."

Elliot's jaw clenched, his fingers tightening around the stem of his wine glass. "Handle it? Clearly, you haven't handled anything."

Myra swallowed hard, her heart racing. She wasn't used to seeing her father so angry—not directed at her, at least. The mother and daughter exchanged a glance, their calm facade barely hiding the panic simmering beneath the surface.

Marianna reached out to touch Elliot's arm gently. "Let's not ruin your first night home with this, darling. We'll talk to her when she comes back. We can discipline her together."

Elliot glanced at his wife, his expression softening only slightly. "Fine," he muttered. "But when she gets home, we're going to have a serious conversation. I won't have this kind of behavior tolerated in my house."

Marianna nodded, relief washing over her. "Of course, dear."

The dinner continued in silence, the lighthearted atmosphere from earlier completely gone. Myra stared down at her plate, her appetite lost as dread gnawed at her insides. She could only hope that Ephyra wouldn't return tonight—or worse, that the call her mother was waiting for would never come.

As Elliot stood from the table, excusing himself for the night, Marianna exchanged a quick, worried glance with Myra. They both knew that if Ephyra walked through those doors, there would be no more lies to cover up the truth.

—

|An Hour And Half Earlier|

As soon as Jania was done with Lyle's orders, she went to the underground dungeon where her colleagues had taken the men from the earlier fight. She stepped out of the large elevator, which went back up as soon as she walked out of it.

The grand estate was a stark contrast to the cold, dimly lit dungeon beneath it. Jania, already accustomed to the cold, made her way down, her heels clicking on the stone steps. The air was damp, and the faint echo of her steps only heightened the eeriness.

When she reached the bottom, two guards stood at attention, flanking a large iron door. They stepped aside as she approached, allowing her entry.

Inside, the room was dimly lit, casting long shadows against the cold stone walls. The men who had been captured during the earlier fight were chained to the far wall, their expressions a mix of fear and defiance. The atmosphere was thick with tension, and the air carried a faint metallic scent of blood.

Jania surveyed the room, her eyes narrowing as she assessed each of the prisoners. They were a ragtag group, none of them particularly remarkable at first glance. It was a pity they took the wrong job.

She approached one of the men, a large, muscular brute who had been the most resistant during the fight. His lip was split, and a bruise darkened one of his eyes, but he still glared at her with defiance.

"Start talking," Jania said calmly, her voice cutting through the silence like a blade. "Who hired you?"

The man spat blood onto the floor and sneered. "Go to hell."

Jania's expression didn't change. She had expected resistance. "Do you know me?"

"Fuck whoever—" Before he could finish speaking, he choked and gasped, fervently trying to get the cuffs off his hands and pry off the slender fingers tightening around his throat with each second.

"Uh-uh," Jania shook her head, her grip tightening. "I'm the one asking questions." Her voice remained calm, almost conversational, as if she weren't choking the life out of him.

The man's eyes widened in panic as he tugged at his chain, his bravado quickly evaporating under the weight of his impending suffocation. Jania leaned in closer, her lips near his ear, her tone cold and menacing.

"You should know, I don't have the patience for stubborn fools. So, you either start talking, or I'll make sure the last thing you see is my hand crushing your windpipe."

She released him abruptly, letting him collapse back against the wall, gasping for breath, his chest heaving. The other prisoners watched in silent horror, realizing now that this woman was far more dangerous than they had anticipated.

"I—I don't know his name," he finally choked out. "We were paid through a middleman. We were just supposed to... to kill the girl."

Jania's eyes narrowed. "Why?"

"I don't know," the man gasped, "All we were told... was that she needed to die... before she... reached the estate."

Jania stood up straight, adjusting the cuff of her sleeve, her eyes scanning the room. She knew better than to believe him fully, but his fear was genuine enough. Still, she wasn't going to let him off that easily.

"I'll ask one more time," she said, her voice soft but filled with a chilling promise. "Who hired you? Give me a name."

The man hesitated, eyes flicking to his fellow captives as if seeking some kind of solidarity. But none of them spoke, their faces pale with fear.

With a sigh, she reached into her coat and pulled out a slim, silver syringe, holding it up for the man to see. His eyes widened, and a flicker of fear crossed his face.

"This will make you talk," she said softly, stepping closer. "And trust me, you won't like it."

The man's bravado faltered, and he tugged at his chains, trying to pull away from her. "Wait, wait—"

But Jania wasn't interested in his pleas. She injected the serum into his neck with practiced precision, and within seconds, the man's body went rigid. His breathing quickened, and sweat began to bead on his forehead.

The man's jaw clenched as he fought against the effects of the serum, but his body betrayed him. His muscles twitched, and he let out a strained gasp.

Finally, he whispered, "Marcellus." His face contorted in pain as the serum continued to work its way through his system. "That's the name I heard from my boss when he was speaking to someone on the phone."

Jania nodded slowly, her suspicions confirmed. "Good." She turned on her heel and made her way to the door, her heels echoing once more in the cold chamber.

"Make sure they don't leave here alive," she instructed the guards without so much as a backward glance.

At the entrance, a man in a suit with striking Asian features and sleek, slicked-back dark hair was waiting for her, and when she reached him, he bowed slightly and fixed his glasses.

"What are your orders?"

"Find everything you can on the girl."

"More than a background check?"

"Yes," Jania replied, her tone sharp. "The Master would want to know everything, especially why someone like Marcellus would want her dead. Nothing is off-limits."

The man adjusted his glasses, scribbling notes into a sleek tablet. "Understood. And what about Marcellus?"

Jania paused, her expression darkening at the mention of the name. "Call Alessandro, tell him to gather his men and bring Marcellus here."

The man paused, displeasure flickering in his eyes at the mention of the name. "Alessandro?"

Jania glanced at him and smiled. She was one of the few who knew the history between Han and Alessandro.

She sighed and nodded. "Yes, Alessandro. Call him and tell him it's a direct order from the boss."

"Do I have to?"

"Yes, if you don't want to face the Master's wrath tomorrow."

Han gave a slow nod, his face betraying no further emotion. "Understood," he said, though there was a noticeable tightness in his tone.

Jania smirked, clearly enjoying the small discomfort she had caused. "Good. Now, I'm going to get some sleep before I pick up Doctor Liam from the airport. Make sure Marcellus is here by dawn."