The Lincoln glided to a stop in front of a massive, baroque-style fountain. Water cascaded over marble statues, the sound heavy and rhythmic.

A valet in white gloves pulled Justice's door open. She stepped out, her cheap canvas shoes hitting the pristine cobblestones.

Derek and Meredith scrambled out of the other side. The anger on their faces vanished, instantly replaced by sickeningly sweet, subservient smiles.

A butler in a tailored suit bowed slightly and led them up the wide marble steps. They entered a foyer with ceilings so high it made the air feel thin. Priceless oil paintings stared down from the walls.

Standing on the landing of the sweeping grand staircase was Eleonora Aguirre.

She leaned heavily on a silver-handled cane. Her white hair was pulled back into a severe knot. Her eyes, sharp as shattered glass, swept over the group.

They skipped Derek entirely. They locked onto Justice.

Eleonora's knuckles turned white around the silver handle of her cane. She descended the stairs slowly, the cane clicking against the marble.

Derek stepped forward, extending his hand, his smile stretching his cheeks tight. "Mrs. Aguirre, it is an honor-"

Eleonora walked right past him. The draft of her movement made Derek flinch.

She stopped inches from Justice. She studied Justice's face, her eyes tracing the line of her jaw, the shape of her eyes.

"Come with me," Eleonora commanded. Her voice was raspy, carrying the weight of absolute authority. "Only you."

Derek swallowed hard, his Adam's apple bobbing. He grabbed Meredith's arm and pulled her back, nodding frantically.

Justice followed Eleonora down a long, dimly lit corridor. The air grew colder.

They stopped in front of a heavy steel door. A red laser swept across Eleonora's eye. The door hissed open, breaking the seal.

They stepped into a massive medical suite. It looked like a top-tier ICU, sterile and bright. Machines beeped in a steady, monotonous rhythm.

Justice walked toward the bed in the center of the room.

Auguste Aguirre lay under a thin white sheet. His face was sculpted, flawless, and pale. An oxygen mask covered his nose and mouth. His chest rose and fell with mechanical precision.

Justice stopped at the side of the bed. Her eyes flicked to the monitors.

Heart rate: 60. Blood pressure: 110/70. Brain waves: slow, steady theta waves.

To anyone else, it was the chart of a man in a deep coma. But Justice's eyes narrowed. The intervals between the heartbeats were too perfect. The respiratory rate had a micro-stutter every fourth breath-a conscious attempt to mimic a ventilator's rhythm.

He was faking it.

Justice looked down at Auguste's face. She took a half-step forward.

Her canvas shoe swung out and slammed hard into the metal caster wheel of the hospital bed.

The heavy clank echoed in the sterile room.

Justice stared intently at Auguste's face. His eyelids remained perfectly still, but her trained eyes caught it-the pupils beneath the thin skin of his closed lids underwent a microscopic contraction, a pure, uncontrollable physiological reaction to the sudden acoustic shock. Justice's stomach tightened with dark amusement. The billionaire was playing dead.

She reached out. Her cold fingers brushed against the back of Auguste's hand, which rested on top of the sheet.

As her skin made contact, Justice shifted her thumb. She found the web of muscle between his thumb and index finger-the Hegu acupoint. She pressed her nail in, applying a highly calculated, agonizing pressure.

A jolt of pure nerve pain shot up Auguste's arm. He was exceptionally disciplined, but biology was biology. Instead of a violent jerk, the subcutaneous muscle tissue near the acupoint underwent a rapid, almost invisible micro-spasm. It didn't lift his finger, but the subtle, rigid vibration against her thumb was undeniable.

Behind them, Eleonora dropped her cane. It hit the floor with a deafening clatter.

Eleonora gasped, her hands flying to her chest. She was shaking violently.

The attending doctor rushed forward, his eyes glued to the monitor. "Neurological reflex," the doctor breathed out, his voice trembling. "He reacted to touch."

Eleonora lunged forward. She grabbed Justice's hand, her fingers digging into Justice's skin. Tears spilled over her wrinkled cheeks.

"You," Eleonora sobbed, her chest heaving. "You are the miracle. You brought him back."

Under the sheet, Auguste's jaw muscles locked so tight his teeth ached. He wanted to strangle the woman standing over him.

Justice looked at Eleonora's tear-stained face, then down at the man pretending to be a corpse.

Justice flipped her hand over and squeezed Eleonora's trembling fingers.

"I'm here now," Justice said softly.

As Eleonora composed herself, dabbing at her eyes with a lace handkerchief, a young footman appeared in the corridor behind them.

In his hands, he carried a faded, canvas backpack—the same one that had been retrieved from the trunk of Derek's Lincoln by the estate's security team.

It was standard protocol; all luggage was to be inspected and delivered to guest quarters. The footman caught the butler's eye and gave a slight nod, indicating the item was clean and had been scanned, before carrying it silently toward the guest wing.

Eleonora wiped her wet cheeks with the back of her hand. She kept a tight grip on Justice's wrist and pulled her away from the medical suite.

They walked deeper into the estate. The sterile smell of the hospital faded, replaced by the heavy scent of old paper and cedarwood.

Eleonora stopped in front of a heavy oak door. She pushed it open and pulled Justice inside.

It was a massive private study. Bookshelves stretched up to the vaulted ceiling. Eleonora turned the deadbolt, the metal lock sliding into place with a heavy thud. The silence in the room was absolute.

Eleonora walked behind a massive mahogany desk. She reached up and pulled a framed oil painting away from the wall. Behind it was a steel wall safe.

She spun the dial. The mechanical clicks echoed in the quiet room. She pulled the heavy steel door open and reached inside.

Her hands trembled as she pulled out a worn, velvet-wrapped wooden box.

Eleonora placed the box on the desk. She peeled back the velvet and pushed the box toward Justice.

Justice looked down. Inside the box rested a rolled piece of yellowed parchment.

"This marriage is not a business deal," Eleonora said. Her voice was thick with emotion. "Derek Barnes thinks he sold you. He knows nothing."

Eleonora took a deep breath. "Twenty years ago, your mother, Seraphina, and I made a blood pact."

Justice's chest tightened. The air in her lungs felt suddenly cold. Her mother's name. This was the only reason she had allowed Derek to drag her back to New York.

Eleonora unrolled the parchment. The paper was brittle, covered in strange, jagged symbols and a paragraph of English text.

"The prophecy," Eleonora whispered, tracing the English words. "It states that when the Aguirre bloodline faces extinction, only the blood of Seraphina can bring salvation."

Justice's eyes dropped to the jagged symbols bordering the text.

Her heart skipped a beat.

The English text was completely authentic, a binding relic of her mother's desperate past. But Justice's attention drifted to the margins. Scrawled faintly along the edge, disguised as decorative bordering, was a highly specific, chaotic cipher. It was the exact cipher her deadbeat master, Corwin Shepherd, used to leave her grocery lists in the mountains.

Justice's eyes darted across the tiny symbols, her brain automatically translating the code.

Dear disciple. This is the inescapable fate your mother carved out for you. The prophecy is real, and the blood pact is binding. Embrace your destiny. P. S. Master is out of money for video games. Since you're marrying a billionaire, wire me half your dowry. Good luck.

Justice's teeth ground together. A hot spike of irritation shot through her stomach. Her fingers curled into fists at her sides, the knuckles popping in the quiet room. She felt a profound sense of solemn destiny regarding her mother, immediately undercut by the overwhelming urge to fly back to the mountains and burn Corwin's cabin to the ground.

But her face remained a mask of cold awe. She didn't let a single muscle in her face twitch.

Eleonora reached across the desk and grabbed Justice's hands.

"Please," Eleonora begged, her voice breaking. "Do not hate this family because of your father's greed. If you stay by Auguste's side, the entire Aguirre empire will protect you."

Justice forced her breathing to slow down. The sheer weight of the genuine prophecy anchored her. If Corwin had tracked down this sacred document just to leave a pathetic ransom note on it, it meant her mother's legacy in this estate was exactly where she needed to be.

Justice looked up. She met Eleonora's desperate eyes and gave a slow, firm nod.

"I will stay," Justice said. Her voice was quiet, steady. "I am his fiancée."

Eleonora let out a choked sob. She pulled Justice across the desk into a tight, crushing hug.

Ten minutes later, Eleonora led Justice to the guest wing. She opened the door to a sprawling, luxurious suite and left Justice to rest.

Justice stepped inside. She ignored the silk sheets and the crystal chandelier. Her eyes landed on the faded, canvas backpack that had been placed neatly at the foot of the four-poster bed—the Aguirre security team was nothing if not efficient.

She crossed the room, dropped onto the edge of the velvet sofa, and pulled the backpack toward her. She unzipped the hidden bottom compartment and pulled out a battered, matte-black laptop.

Justice sat on the edge of the velvet sofa. She ran her thumb over the cold metal casing of the laptop. Her eyes narrowed, sharp and dangerous.

Justice walked to the heavy bedroom door and twisted the brass lock. It clicked shut. She moved to the windows and yanked the thick blackout curtains closed, plunging the room into darkness.

She sat cross-legged on the floor, resting the laptop on her knees. She pressed the power button.

The screen flared to life, casting a harsh blue glow across her face. It didn't load a standard operating system. It booted straight into a black terminal window.

Justice's fingers hit the keyboard. They moved in a blur, the keys clacking in rapid-fire bursts. She typed a sixty-four-character alphanumeric string-a self-destructing password.

Three seconds later, the screen flashed white.

Before entering the global network, she ran a localized script. Her fingers danced across the keys, bypassing the Barnes family's pathetic firewall in less than four seconds. She pulled up the confidential financial reports, estate deeds, and the Barnes family trust. A cold smirk touched her lips as she rapidly cross-referenced the data. Emery Covington. Zero Barnes blood. Zero equity. A mere squatter living on Meredith's allowance. Justice downloaded the unredacted files into a hidden partition; leverage was always useful.

She bypassed six layers of global proxies and logged into the highest-tier bounty board on the Dark Web under the alias 'L'.

The moment her status turned green, the private message icon in the top right corner began flashing violently. The notification ping echoed sharply in the silent room.

Justice clicked the top pinned bounty. The sender's IP was buried under heavy encryption.

The title read: Urgent: Seeking 'Savior' for neurological restoration.

Justice scrolled down. The bounty was set at fifty million US dollars. Attached to the file was a high-resolution scan of a patient's brainwaves.

Justice stared at the jagged lines of the EEG scan. The corner of her mouth twitched upward into a cold sneer.

It was the exact same brainwave pattern she had just seen on the monitor downstairs. It was Auguste Aguirre's chart.

Justice didn't hesitate. She moved her cursor to the rejection button and clicked it.

A text box popped up asking for a reason. Justice typed quickly: Not interested in waking people who are pretending to sleep.

She hit send. She immediately ran a wipe protocol, erasing her digital footprint, and slammed the laptop shut. She shoved it back into the hidden compartment of her bag.

Three floors down, buried deep beneath the estate in a windowless, climate-controlled server room, Silas Croft sat staring at a wall of monitors.

Silas wore a headset. He was Auguste's absolute shadow, the head of the Aguirre intelligence network.

Suddenly, a sharp burst of static crackled in his left earpiece.

Silas stiffened. He grabbed a pen and a legal pad. The static came again-short and long bursts of electrical interference.

It was a direct feed from a pressure sensor hidden beneath the mattress in the medical suite. Auguste was tapping his finger against the mattress. Morse code.

Silas translated the taps as they came in.

Investigate Justice Watkins. Highest clearance.

Silas frowned. His stomach churned with confusion. Why was the boss suddenly targeting the uneducated girl Derek Barnes just dropped off?

But Silas didn't question orders. He spun his chair to the main terminal. He typed in his biometric passcode and accessed the global intelligence database.

He typed in Justice's name, her Social Security Number, and the address in the Rust Belt. He hit enter.

The progress bar filled instantly. Justice's file popped up on the screen.

Silas scrolled through it. His frown deepened.

The file was pristine, but in a way that defied all modern logic. She supposedly lived in the same Rust Belt town for the last ten years, yet the municipal database showed absolutely nothing. No utility bills registered in her or her guardian's name. No library records. No medical history, not even a single prescribed aspirin. She existed purely as a name in a local public school's attendance ledger-a complete ghost in the system.

A cold sweat broke out on the back of Silas's neck. His instincts screamed that this file was a manufactured ghost. A perfect cover story.

Silas highlighted the entire file. He encrypted it into a secure packet and added a red-flag note: Target profile artificially sanitized.

He routed the packet to an offline server that only Auguste could access once he officially "woke up."

Silas pressed a button on his console, sending a single, microscopic vibration back to the mattress sensor.

In the medical suite, Auguste felt the faint buzz against his spine. The muscles in his jaw relaxed slightly. The hunt had begun.