Page 26 of The Last Morgan

Upstairs, the bathroom filled with steam. Lucy lowered herself into the bath, muscles aching from days of tension. She closed her eyes, letting her body soak and her mind wander. The warmth seeped into her bones, and for a brief moment, everything was still.

But even here, her thoughts were racing. The box. The truth. The necklace. The weight of everything her parents had hidden… everything she had become.

She didn’t know what they were about to uncover

The morning sun lit up the estate like any other day, but inside, the air was heavy and charged. This wasn’t just another morning. This was the morning.

Lucy walked into the kitchen with slow, deliberate steps. Corey and Damien were already seated at the table, waiting for her like sentinels.

“Box or Jimmy?” Corey asked. Lucy paused, pouring herself a cup of coffee, the aroma grounding her.

“Let me eat,” she said calmly. “Then we talk to Jimmy.”

Breakfast couldn’t have gone any slower. Each bite was a delay tactic, her thoughts racing beneath a composed exterior. The men around her waited in a respectful silence, understanding that this wasn’t their moment. This was Lucy’s story. The chapter only she could write.

But something felt different today—like a weight was about to be lifted. Or maybe it was the realization that this weight was permanent, just shifting from unknown to understood.

She took her last sip of coffee and stood. “Fuck it,” she said, pushing her chair back. “Let’s go.”

Corey nodded at Damien, and the three of them made their way down to the basement—a room that had once been wine storage and now looked more like a covert detention center. The place had been retrofitted with soundproof walls, reinforced doors, and separated holding spaces.

“Where did you put the girl?” Lucy asked as they approached the corridor.

“She’s on the other side,” Corey said. “We kept them gagged and separated. She hasn’t seen Jimmy since we brought them in.”

“Good,” Lucy replied, her voice flat.

“Do you want to speak to her first?” Damien asked.

Lucy nodded.

Corey unlatched the lock and opened the heavy metal door. The red-headed receptionist sat on a small chair in the far corner, bound at the wrists and ankles, her mouth gagged but her eyes wide with anticipation and fear.

Lucy entered the room slowly, her presence deliberate and intimidating. She removed the gag with one swift pull.

“I don’t want to end your life here today,” Lucy said, her voice dangerously soft. “Not like this. But if you lie to me—or even hesitate—I will.”

The woman gulped. “You don’t understand. I wasn’t trying to hurt anyone—”

“Then talk,” Lucy snapped. “Now.”

The woman’s voice shook as she began.

“My name is Talia,” she said, glancing up nervously at Corey, who stood by the door like a looming shadow. “I was hired a year ago. Planted at Marpo. They... Jimmy and the others... have been waiting for you for a long time.”

Lucy raised an eyebrow. “And how did you get involved?”

Talia let out a shaky breath. “It started with money. Just money. I was drowning in debt and someone approached me—said I’d be paid double my salary to work at the bank and keep tabs on any unusual activity... especially if you came in.”

“So they knew I’d come,” Lucy said quietly.

“Yes. Jimmy said you’d eventually be back. That your return was inevitable. I was to report everything—what you asked for, what you wore, who you came with. Said the moment you requested a safety deposit box, I had to act.”

“And you helped him steal it,” Corey growled.

Talia nodded, crying now. “I distracted the manager. I unlocked the fire door. And I let Jimmy in. I thought—”

“You thought what?” Lucy interrupted. “That it was a game?”

“I thought it was just surveillance! That we were watching a powerful heiress, not... whatever this is.”

Lucy studied her for a moment. The tears, the shaking hands—none of it moved her.

“I was stupid,” Talia whispered. “I didn’t know they’d want you dead. I swear. I was in it for the money, that’s all.”

“Do you know what is in the box?”

“No,” she said quickly. “I wasn’t told anything beyond the objective.”

Lucy tilted her head slightly. “You sold yourself for money, then begged for mercy when the heat came.”

“I didn’t sign up to hurt anyone. I thought I was just reporting!”

“Well, understand this,” Lucy said coldly. “You’re going to disappear.”

Talia’s eyes widened. “What?”

“I’m not going to kill you. But you’re going to leave town. Tonight. And if I ever see you again—or even hear your name—I won’t be so generous.”

Corey stepped forward, grabbing the gag and replacing it. Talia didn’t resist. She had nothing left to say.

“Drop her off somewhere far,” Lucy said to Damien. “Make it clear she doesn’t get another chance.”

Damien nodded.

The basement felt colder than usual. Damp. Still. Lucy’s boots echoed off the concrete as she descended the steps, her heartbeat thudding with a rhythm she couldn’t ignore. Behind her, Corey and Barnaby followed in silence, their expressions taut.

Jimmy sat where they had left him—shackled at the wrists and ankles, blood dried along the corner of his mouth where Lucy’s punch had left its mark. The bruise was already deepening, curling under his jaw like a shadow.

The bastard smirked as soon as he saw her.

“Round two already?” his voice hoarse. “Don’t tell me you missed me.”

Lucy didn’t answer. She approached slowly, eyes locked on his. She wasn’t here for his games.

“I don’t want your dramatics,” she said calmly. “I want answers.”

Jimmy’s grin widened. “You mean you don’t want me to monologue while tied to a chair like some cliché villain?”

Corey stepped forward, cracking his knuckles. “You’re lucky to be breathing.”

Lucy crouched down until she was eye-level with him. The air between them turned electric.

“Tell me what you were doing at the bank. Tell me what was in that box.”

Jimmy tilted his head. “Isn’t it obvious? It doesn’t belong to you.”

“It was registered under my name.” Lucy Responded.

“Yeah. And a fake name can be written in ink and gold, sweetheart. That doesn’t make it real.”

Lucy’s jaw tightened. “Stop talking in riddles.”

Jimmy leaned in as far as his restraints would allow. “Why do you think he wanted it so badly?”

“Who?”

“You know who.”

She paused, visibly shaken—but only for a moment.

“My father?”

Jimmy laughed, cold and ragged. “Please. That man... he stole what was ours.”

Lucy narrowed her eyes. “You’re trying to confuse me.”

“I’m trying to wake you up.” He licked his lips. “Look, I’m not here to give you the full sermon. But you’re standing on a throne made of lies, and every truth you’ve ever believed is about to crack. Lucy held her stare. “You’re reaching, Jimmy. Throwing mud, hoping something sticks.”

Jimmy’s gaze flickered. “You think your dad left you that box out of sentiment? You think it’s all just letters and heirlooms?”

“Shut up,” Corey snapped.

But Lucy raised a hand. “No. Let him dig his own grave.”

Jimmy grinned again, this one slower and darker. “You think I’m the monster, but I’m the messenger. The real monster... well, they’ve been in your house the whole time.”

Silence.

Lucy swallowed hard. “What do you mean?”

Jimmy leaned back, looking up at the ceiling with a haunted expression, suddenly he snapped his head toward her, eyes wild. “You think I don’t know what’s coming for me? They don’t leave loose ends.”

Corey stirred behind her, arms crossed tightly. “He’s unravelling.” he whispered.

“We were told to monitor you. To make sure you never got too close to the truth. Rebecca—She was about to expose that.”

Lucy’s face hardened. “That’s why you killed her.”

His eyes burned with something twisted. “She was about to betray us and the plan.”

“What plan?”

“I told you,” Jimmy shouted. “I don’t know all of it. We weren’t told much. Only this—if Lucy Morgan gets to it first, its over for us.”

She turned away, her breath shallow. Corey watched her carefully. “You okay?”

Lucy nodded. “How fucking hard did I hit the guy, he's making absolutely no sense.” Jimmy watched her turn and whispered just loud enough for her to hear, “Ask yourself this: if your father trusted you so much, why did he keep you in the dark?” “The dark about what?” Lucy shouted. Jimmy started laughing, it started growing louder.

Lucy froze, spine straightening.

She didn’t look back.

“Get him out of my sight,” she ordered. “Separate cell. No one talks to him but me.”

Damien moved forward without hesitation, hauling Jimmy upright. As he was dragged away, Jimmy kept laughing..

“You’re almost there, Lucy,” he called out. “Almost…”

Then the door slammed shut, leaving her in silence.

Corey stepped closer. “What now?”

Lucy swallowed. “Let’s go outside for some air.”

Corey didn’t hesitate. He could read her distress like one of Barnaby’s digital scans— He followed her out through the grand double doors at the front of the estate, the air biting and fresh against their skin.

Lucy paced the garden like a caged lion. Her fists clenched and unclenched by her sides, her breath coming in short, frustrated bursts.

“The fuck is going on, Corey?” she snapped, spinning to face him. “I thought this was just about money. Now I’m questioning everything.”

“It’s only natural,” Corey said firmly, stepping closer. “Look at everything you have been through; this game of cat and mouse has zero comparison.”

Her eyes flickering in the dim light of the garden lamps. “What if this whole life I’ve been chasing was just... a distraction from something darker?”

He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “Then we find the truth. That’s what we’ve always done. You want to open the box now? Or go back and beat more riddles out of Jimmy?”

Lucy groaned, dragging her hands down her face. “I need something. Anything. A moment to fucking breathe.”

She glanced across the path and spotted one of the Black Doves standing silently by a pillar, a cigarette glowing between his fingers like a tiny, defiant torch. He was tall, striking, wrapped in dark tactical gear, but it was the way he smoked that caught her eye. “Doesn’t that reduce stress?” Lucy muttered to herself before stomping toward him.

Corey blinked. “Wait—are you serious?”

“Deadly,” she said.

She marched up to the Dove and extended a hand. “Can I get one of those?”

He looked at her for a moment, his eyes unreadable in the moonlight. “You don’t smoke.”

“Desperate times,” Lucy said with a shrug. “I’ve had enough of an identity crisis for one day. I just need to relax.”

He chuckled dryly, then handed her a cigarette and lit it with a small flick of his metal lighter. “Name’s Ethan.”

“Lucy,” she said, holding the cigarette like it was a live grenade.

“I know,” he replied coolly.

“How is he?” Ethan asked after a pause.

“Stable... for now,” Lucy said. “Go see him if you want. He’s probably pretending to be asleep just to avoid me nagging.”

Ethan gave a small nod, tossed his cigarette to the gravel, and crushed it beneath his boot before turning and disappearing into the house.

Lucy looked at the cigarette. “Alright, lungs, don’t fail me now.”

She took a long drag.

And immediately doubled over, coughing like she’d just swallowed a hedgehog. Her eyes watered, her nose burned, and she flailed slightly, waving the cigarette like it had personally betrayed her.

Corey burst out laughing.

“Yo—what was that?!” he wheezed, gripping his stomach.

Lucy held up a finger as she tried to recover. “I was... being cool.”

“You’re the most disappointing badass I’ve ever met,” he said, wiping tears from his eyes.

She glared at him, then flicked the cigarette into a flowerpot. “Yeah, well... that was awful. Don’t let me do that again.”

They stood in silence for a few moments, the tension slowly bleeding out into the open air.

“I’m scared, Corey,” Lucy admitted finally, her voice soft.

“I know,” he replied. “But you don’t have to be. Not with us behind you.”

She looked up at the sky, then back toward the mansion. Somewhere inside was a box with answers. Somewhere inside was Byron, recovering from almost dying. Somewhere inside, Jimmy was waiting—chained, smug and dangerous.

And somewhere buried deeper still, was the truth about everything.

Lucy inhaled deeply—this time just the crisp, unfiltered air—and nodded.

“Let’s finish this.”

The house was quiet when Lucy and Corey stepped inside. The weight of the day hung over them like fog—thick, heavy, and unshakable. Every step deeper into the hallway made Lucy's stomach churn. This was it. No more running. No more questions that could wait. The box was here. The answers were here.

Barnaby was already pacing the foyer, his tablet clutched under his arm and two different colored socks betraying his rushed morning.

"Is it time?" he asked, barely able to contain the twitch of anticipation in his fingers.

Lucy nodded slowly, “It’s time.”

Corey shut the door behind them with a solid click, and the sound echoed through the stillness of the house like a starting gun. They made their way into the main living room—chosen for its size, space, and most importantly, privacy. Thick curtains were drawn. The air felt dense.

The box sat on the coffee table like a relic. Black. Heavy. It looked even more ominous now than it had in the moments they'd stolen it back. No one had dared to touch it since it arrived. It demanded reverence. Lucy stood in front of it for a moment, just breathing.

"Let’s not crowd her," Corey murmured, pulling Barnaby gently to the side.

But Lucy waved them forward. “No, you’ve all come this far. Stay.”

They gathered, a triangle of silent allies, Lucy reached out and placed her hands on the latch.

It clicked open with a reluctant sigh. She lifted the lid slowly, revealing a deep velvet lining.

Inside was a burned photograph—edges frayed, the image itself half lost to time and heat. Lucy’s heart dropped as she picked it up, recognizing her own infant face... and someone behind her in a white lab coat, his face obscured by smoke damage. The image sent a shiver racing down her spine.

“What the hell is this?” she whispered, more to herself than anyone.

Barnaby leaned closer but didn’t speak. He didn’t need to.

Beneath the photo was a small plastic card. A government-issued ID—its edges cracked, the ink slightly faded. The name had long since been burned away, but two words remained clearly intact:

SUBJECT: MOR-01

“What does it mean?” Corey asked, breaking the silence.

She set the ID down beside the photograph and reached back into the box.

She pulled out a sleek silver object the size of a coin, but thinner and glowing faintly blue at its edges. A digital key. Thumbprint locked.

Barnaby gently took it from her hands, flipping it between his fingers like a magician with a card. “Encrypted. Not military, not standard tech. This is... specialized. Custom made.”

“Can you open it?” Lucy asked.

“I’ll try,” Barnaby murmured, already losing himself in it.

Lucy barely heard him. Her gaze had fallen back to the box. There was one last compartment at the bottom. She pulled it open with shaking fingers, revealing a folded piece of aged paper. Yellowed. Sealed with wax. Her father’s seal.

A letter.

She stared at it for a long moment, as if afraid it might vanish.

No one spoke.

She backed away slowly, her movements almost robotic, and crossed to the armchair by the fireplace. There, under the dim light of the chandelier, she sat down.

And for the first time in what felt like years, Lucy Morgan allowed herself to cry.

Then, with trembling hands, she broke the seal.

Lucy sat quietly in the armchair by the fireplace, the letter trembling in her hand. The others had backed away, giving her space, though every eye in the room was fixed on her. Even Barnaby, who was normally fidgeting or mumbling tech jargon under his breath, stood still. Watching.

She swallowed hard, the seal on the letter still intact. Her fingers brushed over the wax impression—the old Morgan crest, slightly smudged but unmistakable.

With a slow, shaky breath, she cracked the seal and unfolded the yellow paper.

The air around her seemed too thin as she began to read.

Dear Lucy,

If you’re reading this, then I have not—we have not—done our job properly.

I wanted to be there with you, to help guide you, to watch you grow and explore who you really are.

The truth is, we don’t exactly know what you are. We only know we suppressed it, with what we were given, if it isn’t obvious by now...I am truly sorry to say it to you like this, but we are not your biological parents.

Inside the box is a digital device. It holds everything—the memories, the answers, the truth you deserve.

I love you.

I can only imagine how hard that must be to read.

My brother, your uncle—he doesn’t know. He’s never known that you weren’t truly ours. But the wealth, the legacy, the entire Morgan name… it was always meant for you.

I was a biological researcher before I became your father. Your mother and I loved it. Traveling the world. Collecting specimens. Learning.

Until we found a rare and strange one. Something different. Something we’d never encountered.

Our research led us to a hidden village. Deep in Alaska, of all places. Remote and hard to reach. It took us weeks to gain their trust—weeks before they finally let us in.

They looked like everyday people, Lucy. Spoke softly. Moved with grace. But they were so advanced. They could do things we could only ever imagine in our wildest dreams. We took samples of their blood, with their blessing. We were giddy with discovery. But we were also reckless with keeping it a secret.

The military, the private contractors that funded our research facility—moved in.

They took the village.

When we found out, we went back. But we were too late.

Everyone was dead. Slaughtered.

Except for one.

You.

You were hidden, placed beside chests full of gold and ancient artifacts.

We took you. We took everything.

We ran. Changed our names. Disappeared. Became The Morgans.

They thought we ran with samples, but we had already destroyed those. What they didn't know was the real reason we ran and that was because we had you.

You, Lucy, are the last of your kind.

We don’t know exactly what you are. But we know this: your mind, your potential, your power—it had to be suppressed.

You were doing things. Things no child should be able to do.

When you’re ready, use the digital key. It will unlock your full potential, its VR adapted.

It will have everything you need and more to start your journey, into figuring out who you are.

Just know this:

We love you, Lucy.

You are our daughter.

I’m so sorry.

—Dad.

The letter slipped from her fingers and drifted to the floor like a dead leaf.

No one dared speak.

Lucy sat frozen in her chair, eyes wide and unblinking. She didn’t sob. She didn’t move. The tears simply poured, streaking her face in thick silence.

Then, suddenly, she gasped—sharp and full of panic.

“What the fuck am I?” she screamed, her voice cracked, raw, and terrifying.

She launched the letter across the room. It fluttered through the air before hitting Corey in the chest. He caught it, stunned.

“I—” he started, but Lucy wasn’t listening.

Her hands clutched her temples, as if she could squeeze the truth out of her skull.

“I thought this was about money,” she whispered. “Revenge. My family. But this—this is some next-level... alien experiment shit!”

Barnaby took a cautious step forward. “Lucy...”

But before anyone could say more, her breath started to shorten. Her chest rose and fell rapidly. Her limbs shook.

Corey rushed to her side. “Hey, hey, look at me. Just breathe. Just sit and calm—”

She collapsed into his arms.

“Shit!” he shouted, holding her up. “Barnaby, get some water—now!”

Byron came thundering into the room from the hallway. “What happened?!”

“She passed out—get her on the couch!”

Together, they lowered her to the cushions, Corey brushing her hair from her forehead. Her skin was cold with sweat, her breaths shallow but steady.

“She just needs to rest,” Barnaby said, handing over a bottle of water. “It’s shock. Nothing more. Her body couldn’t keep up with what her brain was trying to process.”

Corey nodded slowly, his eyes never leaving her. “We need to give her time.”

Barnaby picked up the letter from where it had fallen. He stared at it, eyes scanning the last line again and again.

“She’s not who we thought she was,” he whispered. “She’s... something else entirely.”

They all looked down at her—this young woman who had just discovered her entire life had been a lie.

And none of them—not even Corey—knew what she would do when she woke up.

Lucy lay unconscious, her breath shallow, cheeks damp with tears. Her chest rose and fell in uneven rhythm as her body twisted and turned. Corey sat on the chair beside her, propping her head gently on his lap, stroking her hair as he tried to soothe her. Her skin was clammy, her forehead burning. Whatever she was dreaming about—it wasn’t peaceful.

She whimpered, then moaned, and finally let out a low sob. Her body jerked, like she'd been hit by a wave of energy. Corey held her closer. “Come on, Lucy… wake up,” he whispered.

Byron staggered toward Barnaby. “Give me the letter.”

Barnaby handed him the crumpled parchment with shaking hands. Byron read it quickly, jaw tightening with every line.

Before Corey could say anything, Byron lowered himself carefully beside Lucy. To help her up.

“You’ll tear your stitches, Byron.” Corey said

“Just help her stand, I’ll take it from there.” Byron grimaced

Together, they helped Lucy sit upright. Her eyes fluttered open slowly, hazy and lost. Byron knelt before her, reaching up to cup her cheeks. “I love you,” he said quietly, with raw sincerity.

She needed a moment to pull herself together, the gravity of what she had just heard was weighing her down. After a few moments Lucy wiped her face and gathered her thoughts. “Okay,” she said shakily, “Let me stop… fuck it.” Her voice cracked slightly as the adrenaline kicked in. “Let’s go talk to Jimmy again.”

“Don’t let him know what we know,” Corey warned.

Lucy gave him a wry look. “Of course not,” she said, voice flat. “I am not stupid?”

They descended into the basement, its air thick with tension. Jimmy was seated in the far corner, hands bound, and his jaw still bruised from Lucy’s last encounter with him. His eyes lit up when he saw her enter—but not with joy. With a twinge of panic.

“So,” Lucy said, arms folded, her tone cold, “We opened the box.”

Jimmy's lips parted slightly. “What… was in it?”

“A letter from my dad. A bank card. Some diamonds,” Lucy said flatly. “Is that what all this was about? Money?”

Jimmy’s head rolled back and he laughed—unhinged, bitter. “Is that what they left you?” He leaned forward, chains rattling. “You sure you checked the box properly?”

“What else could be in it, Jimmy?”

His mouth twisted. “It can’t be just that. That box—” he paused, looking to the side, “—we searched years for it. My life… my life has been nothing but shadows and trails, hunting it. You’re telling me it was just keepsakes?”

Lucy took a slow step forward. “Tell me what you were really looking for. And I might let you walk out of here.”

Jimmy’s eyes flicked to Corey, then back to Lucy. He was shaking slightly.

“It was samples,” he said hoarsely. “Biological ones. From a civilization… something rare. We were supposed to find evidence. Genetic material. Blood that could… do things. I’ve said too much already.”

“Who told you this?” Byron asked, his voice sharp from the corner where he sat.

Jimmy’s face turned pale. “If I tell you, I’m dead. He’s listening. He always is.”

Byron leaned forward. “Then you might as well spill. You’re fucked either way.”

Jimmy paused. “Will you protect me?”

Lucy gave him a sweet smile that didn’t touch her eyes. “Of course, Jimmy. I’ll protect you.”

He sighed in relief, swallowing hard. “It’s your uncle.”

Corey stiffened. “What?”

“I was part of the elimination team,” Jimmy said, voice shaky. “We went to a village— One your parents discovered. We killed them. All of them. But something went wrong. Their bodies turned to mist, we realized to late, whatever we were trying to get… it died with them.”

He looked up, frantic now. “So your dad ran. He took whatever was left. We assumed he had the real samples, or data, something. That’s why your uncle got close. Took over the business. Waited for you to come back and open the right door.”

Lucy shook her head. “But I didn’t find anything.”

“Then maybe you weren’t looking hard enough,” Jimmy snapped. “Maybe you still haven’t.”

Lucy’s eyes turned steel. “Just keep your promise,” Jimmy said, leaning back smugly.

Without warning, Lucy turned to Corey and grabbed his gun before he could react.

“Lucy—” he started.

Bang.

Jimmy slumped forward, a clean hole in his forehead.

“You dumb bitch,” Lucy muttered. “You killed my parents, my brothers… and thought I’d protect you?”

She tossed the gun back to Corey without looking. “Let’s find my uncle,” she said, voice calm, cold.

Lucy reached the dining room and dropped herself into the main chair. She stared down at the polished surface like it held the answers to all the chaos in her head. Her heartbeat thumped in her ears.

“We need to find my uncle,” she said aloud, more to herself than anyone. Her voice was hoarse, but sharp. “I knew something was off. The moment he moved his family out of here and into a hotel—he was running.”

Barnaby, now stood in the doorway, clutching his tablet. He blinked, then spoke cautiously.

“You want me to track him?”

“Yes.” Lucy’s eyes flicked up. “Find the hotel he checked them into. Name. Location. Room numbers if possible. I want them all brought here.”

Barnaby nodded, fingers already dancing across his screen. “Give me a second... okay, they’re staying at The Ashfield Grand. A completely different state! High security. I’m guessing your aunt didn’t book it.”

“Of course not,” Lucy sneered. “He did. He’s trying to make sure we don’t connect him to what just happened.”

She turned into the hallway, shouting over her shoulder. “Get the Doves.”

Two of them were already on standby, one of them was Ethan, his jet-black hair still damp from the rain earlier. They stepped forward without question.

“Go to The Ashfield Grand. Bring my uncle and every single member of that family here. I don’t care if you have to carry them kicking and screaming. Do not hurt the kids or Lillian, if she resists—sedate her. I want them here by this evening.”

The Doves didn’t blink. Ethan gave a brief nod and disappeared like a phantom with his partner.

“Lucy…” Byron approached from behind her. His voice was quieter now, cautious. “You okay?”

She looked up at him with bloodshot eyes. “Do I look okay?”

“No,” he admitted.

“Good. I’d be worried if I did.”

He knelt beside her chair, resting one hand on the side of her leg, she leaned into his presence like a weary soldier leaning against a wall for support.

“I didn’t know Jimmy would break like that,” she whispered. “I didn’t know I’d... shoot him.”

“You did what you had to,” Byron said softly. “It wasn’t murder. It was justice.”

“Feels the same.” She exhaled sharply and stood up again, pacing now. “There’s still more. There’s always more. Barnaby?”

He perked up from behind his screen. “Yeah?”

“The VR system thing. It’s next.”

Barnaby’s lips twisted into a grin, excited and solemn all at once. “I’ve already been fiddling with it. It’s not your average drive—whatever’s inside is protected by several layers of encryption and some kind of biological verification.”

“DNA?” Lucy asked.

He nodded. “Yeah. Yours.”

“And the headset?”

“I’m going to need to build one,” he admitted. “A VR headset modified to read the drive’s internal data and react with your bio-signature. I can’t even guarantee what it will show, but it’s not just a video file. It’s... interactive. Something that requires a user interface.”

“How long?” she ask’s

“Depends how fast I get the parts,” Barnaby muttered. “I’ll go to the tech depot in the city. Grab what I need. Should be back by tonight, and have it working by tomorrow morning, if all goes well.”

Lucy gave a small nod. “Good. Do it. We need to know the truth. All of it.”

She turned back to the window, watching as the rain started to fall again. Byron stepped closer behind her.

“You really want to see what’s in there?” he asked.

“I don’t think I have a choice,” she said. “This is the last piece of information Byron. After this... we know everything. No more theories. No more guesswork.

Just the truth.”

“And then what?”

Lucy’s eyes lingered on the droplets sliding down the glass. “Then... we deal with it.” she said.

From across the room, Corey stepped in, still wiping his hands on a towel from cleaning up downstairs.

“Barnaby,” he said, voice raised. “Take someone with you when you leave. No solo trips.”

“I’m not an idiot,” Barnaby shot back, stuffing his gear into a sling bag. “I already told Damian to prep the car.”

Lucy ignored them, still fixated on the world outside.

After a long silence, she turned around. “When my uncle gets here, we don’t give him a warm welcome.”

Byron smiled faintly. “You want cold?”

“I want ice.” she smirked.

The gravel crunched beneath the Tyers, the sound sharp in the silence. “They’re here,” she murmured.

The front door flew open without a knock. Lillian stormed in first, face flushed with frustration. Her husband followed behind her, stone-faced and silent, his eyes immediately locked onto Lucy’s. Their teenage son trailed behind, glancing around anxiously. But it was their daughter who caught Lucy’s attention most.

The girl wandered in last, slow and unbothered, a bubblegum pop echoing as she chewed lazily. She didn’t even glance at the adults.

“Is Barnaby here?” she asked, her voice light, almost bored.

Lucy offered a slight smile. “No, he’s not.” Sarah rolled her eyes and sighed. “Figures. I’ll be in my room then.” And with that, she strolled off upstairs, unconcerned, leaving a heavy silence in her wake.

Lillian told her son to go to his room and shut the door behind him, then returned to the living room and sat stiffly on the edge of the couch. Her husband remained standing by the door, hands in his pockets, eyes never leaving Lucy. He said nothing. Didn’t blink. Just stared.

“What’s going on?” Lillian asked, her voice tight with worry. “Can someone please tell me what’s happening?”

“Calm down, Lillian,” Lucy said evenly.

“Don’t tell me to calm down,” she snapped. “You drag us here, we walked into… this atmosphere, and you won’t even explain?”

“She doesn’t know, does she?” Lucy said quietly, her gaze still locked on her uncle.

His lips curled into a smirk. “She hasn’t got a clue.”

“A clue about what?” Lillian turned between them, voice rising. “What’s going on?”

“Get her out of here,” Lucy said, stepping forward.

“I think not,” Lillian replied sharply, refusing to move. She crossed her legs, folded her arms, and sat back as if daring Lucy to try.

Lucy held her stare for a moment, then gave a nod. “Fine. Stay.”

She turned toward her uncle, her voice dropping.

“I know everything now. About Jimmy. About the people you sent after me. Why?”

He remained silent, jaw tight, eyes unflinching.

“Who’s Jimmy?” Lillian asked, clearly confused.

Lucy turned to her. “Since your husband’s refusing to speak, I’ll tell you. Jimmy was one of the men sent after me. To follow me. Trap me and kill me, if needed. All hired. All traced back… to him.”

Lillian stared at Lucy, then at her husband. “That’s not true. That can’t be true. Tell her you had nothing to do with this.”

The man didn’t move. His silence stretched like a shadow.

Lillian stood and slapped him hard across the face. “SPEAK!”

His eyes flicked toward her. Then finally, he spoke.

“I was in charge of a high-security facility. Top-level. Research-based. Your father—my brother—he stole from us. He stole something… irreplaceable. The biggest find in history. Then he vanished. I searched for years, and when I finally found him… well he didn't want to cooperate.”

Lillian gasped. “He never told me any of this…”

“I didn’t mean for it to happen that way,” Richard continued. “But once the others got involved, I was out of my depth.”

“But you didn’t stop there,” Lucy said, her voice trembling with fury. “You let them come after me. You didn’t stop them. You didn’t warn me. And they shot Byron.”

Her uncle smirked again, like it was all beneath him. “The sample is important to me. I knew you’d lead the way to it.”

Lucy’s fists clenched. “Is that all I am to you? A tracker for your lost prize?”

“This is what matters,” he said coolly. “Always has.”

“Well,” Lucy said, stepping closer, “there was no sample.”

His face twitched, the first crack in his fa?ade. “What did you say?”

“I said,” she repeated, louder this time, “the box had more gems in it. No samples. Nothing. You killed our family for nothing.”

She turned to Corey. “I can’t kill him. But please—call Carter.”

As Corey moved out of the room, Lucy looked back at Lillian, her expression softer but wary.

“I’m sorry this is happening to you. I know this isn’t your fault. But you need to decide where you stand.”

Lillian stared at her husband for a long time, then turned back to Lucy. “I didn’t know, Lucy. I swear, I didn’t. I knew he kept things from me, but I thought it was just government work. Not… this.”

“You knew something wasn’t right,” Lucy said gently. “You just didn’t want to see it.”

“I was afraid,” Lillian whispered. “Afraid of what asking questions might cost. Afraid of what he might do. But I never would’ve let this happen to you. If I’d known…”

“I believe you,” Lucy said. “And I meant what I said. If you still want to be part of this family, I’ll protect you and I’ll keep you safe.”

Tears streamed down Lillian’s cheeks. “I do. I want to stay. I want to make it right.”

Behind her, her husband finally spoke again. “Lillian—”

But she didn’t turn around. She walked upstairs, slow but sure, and slammed her bedroom door shut.

Lucy exhaled. The room was still now. Quiet.

“Now,” she said softly, “we wait for Carter.”

The driveway stretched out like a silver ribbon beneath the rising morning mist. Lieutenant Carter gripped the steering wheel tightly, his mind a chaotic whirl of thoughts as he guided the vehicle slowly toward the mansion.

Could this finally be over?

The question gnawed at him, stubborn and relentless. Every lead, every heartbreak, every dead end over the years had dragged him further into this mess. But today — today felt different.

He eased the car to a stop near the front steps. Standing there, waiting with a grim expression, was Corey.

Carter opened the door and climbed out. "Hey, Corey," he said, forcing a rough smile. "How’s it going?"

Corey let out a sharp breath, running a hand through his hair. "Brother… if only you knew."

They stood in a heavy silence for a moment before Corey quickly, roughly, brought Carter up to speed — the confrontation, the confessions, the devastation that hung over the house like a funeral shroud.

Without another word, Carter followed Corey through the grand entrance. Inside, the mansion was still, the air thick with tension.

Then he saw her.

Lucy stood by the large front window, arms wrapped around herself, staring blankly into the grey morning. There was a distant, almost haunted look on her face, as if she were somewhere far beyond the walls around her.

Carter stepped closer, his boots barely making a sound on the hardwood floor. When he was behind her, he spoke softly.

"Hey."

Lucy turned slowly, her eyes meeting his — and in that moment, the dam broke. Tears welled up, brimming until they spilled down her cheeks. Carter's chest tightened at the sight. Without hesitation, he wrapped his arms around her, pulling her into a firm, protective hug.

"After all this time, Carter," she whispered against his chest, her voice trembling, "we figured out who killed my family."

Carter said nothing, only tightened his arms around her. Some things didn't need words.

For a long moment, they stood there, Lucy's silent tears soaking into his jacket, the weight of years of grief lifting — just slightly — from her shoulders. This side of her story was closing. A gaping wound beginning, finally, to scar over.

Lucy eventually pulled back, wiping her face with the sleeve of her sweater.

"I still have a lot to figure out," she said quietly, her voice steadier now. "Like who I really am. I’ll explain everything properly another day. Maybe after you book my uncle."

Carter gave a small, understanding nod. "Whenever you're ready."

Without another word, he turned to where Richard — Lucy's uncle — was being held. Two of Carter’s men were already waiting to take him into custody. As Carter approached, Richard straightened slightly, defiance flickering in his cold eyes.

"This isn’t done, Lucy!" Richard shouted as they began to haul him away. "I know — they know — there’s still a sample out there! We will find it!"

Lucy lifted her head and stared at him, her gaze sharp and burning.

And for the briefest moment — so quick that no one else seemed to notice — a faint purple shimmer flashed through her irises.

Richard saw it. He froze, his face draining of all color.

Muttering under his breath, he stumbled over his words. "It can’t be..."

Carter's men shoved him toward the car, and soon he was gone, the front door swinging closed behind them with a hollow thud.

Lucy stood still for a moment longer, then turned to Corey.

"Keep me updated on Barnaby’s progress with the machine," she said. "I want to be ready... when it’s time."

Corey nodded firmly. "You got it."

Satisfied, Lucy turned away. Her eyes swept the room until they found Byron — sitting stubbornly on a chair near the fireplace, clearly too weak to be there but too proud to admit it.

She crossed the room quickly.

"You need to be in bed," she scolded gently, placing a hand on his shoulder. "There’s no reason for you to be hanging around down here."

Byron smiled up at her, exhaustion and affection written plainly on his face. Without argument, he let her help him up, leaning heavily against her as she guided him back toward his bedroom.

Once he was tucked into the bed, Lucy disappeared into the kitchen. The house felt strangely alive with small sounds — the hum of the fridge, the low creak of the old floorboards — a quiet that felt sacred after the storm of confrontation.

She rummaged through the kitchen and found what she needed: Cooking food was always comforting. Thick slices of buttered toast, scrambled eggs cooked to soft perfection, grilled sausages glistening with juices, and a small bowl of fresh strawberries.

Balancing the tray carefully, she returned to Byron’s room.

"Room service," she said with a playful smile, setting the tray down on the bedside table.

Byron chuckled weakly as she perched beside him, tearing the toast into pieces and offering them to him one by one, making exaggerated "airplane" noises like he was a stubborn child refusing to eat.

"Open up," she teased, nudging a piece of toast toward his mouth.

Byron laughed, a sound that filled the room with unexpected warmth. He let her feed him bits of food, savoring each bite, not because he was hungry — but because it was her.

Once they finished eating, Lucy slipped under the covers beside him, curling up carefully against his chest. Byron wrapped an arm around her, drawing her closer.

She let out a long, shuddering sigh.

"Will you still want me," she whispered, "after I find out who… or what… I really am?"

Byron tightened his hold on her without hesitation.

"You are Lucy" he said softly, pressing his forehead to hers. "I’m already attached to you."

Lucy smiled at him, a real, genuine smile. And for the first time in a long time, she allowed herself to believe that maybe — just maybe — everything was going to be okay.