Chapter 41: The Shadows Take Them

The halls of the royal residence were eerily silent, save for the faint sound of footsteps and muffled sobs. Blood pooled on the floors, painting the once-pristine marble with dark, viscous stains. The bodies of guards lay scattered across the corridors, their weapons clutched in lifeless hands. The air was thick with the acrid scent of gunpowder and death.

Gray's consciousness flickered as she was dragged through the halls by two masked men. Blood seeped from the gunshot wound in her abdomen, staining her clothes and leaving a trail on the floor. Her vision blurred, but her mind raced, piecing together fragments of the chaos she'd fought through moments earlier.

She had failed to protect Mireille.

The princess, terrified and trembling, had been taken from her room despite Gray's desperate orders to stay hidden. Gray had fought tooth and nail to stop them, her weakened body moving on pure willpower, but the numbers were too great. A sharp blow to her temple had sent her to her knees, and the world had dimmed to black.

Now, as she was hauled away, she could hear Mireille's muffled cries behind her. Gray's heart clenched. She tried to twist her head to see the young princess, but a harsh shove forced her forward.

"Stay still, or you'll regret it," growled one of the men, his voice cold and threatening.

Gray's lips twitched into a defiant smirk despite the pain. "You should've killed me when you had the chance."

Her captor sneered but said nothing.

In her hidden quarters, Queen Amara clutched the phone with trembling hands, her usually composed demeanor shattered. Her voice was firm, but the undercurrent of panic was unmistakable as she spoke to King Gregor.

"They have Gray and Mireille," she said, her words cutting through the silence like a blade. "The guards are dead. I… I couldn't stop them."

Gregor's voice, calm but furious, came through the line. "Hold on, Amara. We're on our way."

Amara's fingers tightened around the phone as she gave him every detail she could manage. Her gaze flicked to the passage door she had used to escape moments before. Her heart ached with guilt for leaving Gray behind and failing to reach Mireille on time, even though she knew it was what Gray had wanted.

"Hurry!" she whispered, her voice breaking.

Minutes later, the main doors of the palace burst open as King Gregor, Prince Lucian, and the Phantom members except Dale and Axel, who was in the hospital, stormed inside. They were greeted by a scene of utter carnage.

The ground floor was a battlefield. Bodies of guards and intruders alike were strewn across the foyer. The walls were riddled with bullet holes, and shattered glass crunched beneath their boots as they moved cautiously through the devastation. Blood smeared the walls and floors, evidence of the desperate struggle that had taken place.

"Dear gods," Lucian murmured, his jaw tightening as he surveyed the scene. "What happened here?"

"They took Gray and Mireille," Amara's voice came from the top of the staircase. She appeared pale and shaken but unbroken, standing tall despite the chaos around her.

The group ascended the stairs to meet her, their steps quick and purposeful. But as they reached the second floor, they stopped short, the sight before them forcing them to pause.

The upper level was a slaughterhouse.

Dozens of enemy bodies littered the halls, each one felled with precision. Bullet wounds marked their foreheads and throats—clear signs of Gray's deadly skill. The floor was slick with blood, and the acrid scent of gunfire was suffocating.

"Reaper," Gavin muttered under his breath, awe and disbelief coloring his voice. "She took them out like this, all alone?"

"Doesn't matter," Blake snapped, his face grim. "She's gone now. We need to focus."

Lira knelt beside one of the bodies, noting the clean entry and exit wounds. "She held her ground for as long as she could," she said, her voice tinged with admiration. "But they overwhelmed her."

The group split up to search for survivors. Rhys and Zane, who had remained behind to guard the Queen during the attack, were the first to find the remaining guards. Most were dead, their bodies riddled with bullets, but a few still clung to life.

"We need medics here now," Rhys barked orders after he found a survivors, his voice sharp. "Send every available unit."

Zane moved to help stabilize one of the wounded, his hands steady despite the gruesome injuries. The guards who were conscious enough to speak described the attackers as a highly trained unit, their movements precise and ruthless.

"They knew exactly where to go," one guard rasped, his voice weak. "It was… coordinated. They wanted the princess… and the doctor."

Rhys's jaw clenched. "Doctor?" he echoed, anger simmering beneath his calm exterior. "Gray."

The guard nodded faintly before his eyes fluttered closed.

By the time the group reconvened in the conference room, the tension was palpable. Amara sat stiffly in a chair, her hands folded tightly in her lap. Despite her outward calm, her eyes betrayed her inner turmoil.

"They were after Mireille," she said, her voice low. "But Gray… she fought so hard to protect us. She bought me time to call for help and get Mireille. And now—"

"We'll get them back," Gregor interrupted, his voice firm. "Both of them."

Amara's eyes flicked to the King, searching for reassurance. "Gray can take it, she's strong and was a trained soldier," she said quietly. "But Mireille…"

The room fell silent. The thought of the young princess in enemy hands was a heavy weight on all their hearts.

Lucian stepped forward, his expression hard. "We need to move now. Whoever did this won't stop here."

Gregor nodded. "Agreed. Lira, Gavin, Blake—start tracking their movements. Find out how they infiltrated the palace. We need answers, and we need them fast. Rhys and Zane, returned to the hospital. Dale will rush here if he learns it. Tell him but I'm giving you strict order to make him stay in the hospital. He won't be of help in his current condition"

The Phantom members nodded, their faces grim as they left to begin their investigation.

As the group dispersed, Amara remained seated, her gaze distant. She thought of Gray—her strength, her resilience, her unwavering loyalty. Despite everything, Amara refused to believe Gray would fall easily.

"You'll come back to us," she whispered, her hands trembling. "You always do. You and my Mireille"

In her heart, she clung to the hope that Gray's intellect and strength would keep her alive long enough for them to find her. But as the night wore on, and the blood-stained halls grew colder, that hope felt increasingly fragile.