Chapter 875
The warehouse was cavernous, lit by a single floodlight hanging from a chain. In the center, perched on a stack of shipping crates, was Caleb.
“You came,” he called out, his voice bouncing off the walls. “I told her you were stupidly brave.”
“Where is she?” Skye shouted. “Where is Victoria?”
Caleb jumped down, landing silently in the puddles on the floor. He was holding a long, serrated hunting knife, flipping it lazily in his hand, the blade gleaming dully beneath the harsh light.
“She doesn’t want to see you yet,” Caleb smiled. “She wants to watch you bleed first.”
He whistled.
From the shadows, mercenaries materialized. They wore no insignia, but their gear was military-grade — the Mastermind’s private cleanup crew.
“Now!” Skye screamed.
Glass shattered from the skylights above. Alistair and Felix rappelled down, gunfire erupting before their boots hit the ground. The warehouse turned into a chaotic strobe of muzzle flashes.
Skye dove behind a forklift. Caleb ignored the soldiers entirely. He sprinted straight for her, his eyes locked on her like a predator closing on prey.
𝘐n𝗌𝘁а𝗻𝘁 𝖺c𝖼еѕ𝘴 𝗈n gа𝘭ո𝘰vе𝘭𝗌.c𝗈𝘮
He vaulted over the forklift. Skye scrambled back, but her feet slipped on the wet concrete.
Caleb lunged, the knife flashing downward.
“No!” Alistair slammed into him from the side. Both men crashed into a pile of empty oil drums in a tangle of limbs and steel.
What followed was no tactical exchange — it was pure, unrestrained violence. Caleb was fast and feral, slashing at Alistair’s face and missing by an inch. Alistair countered with a brutal knee to the gut.
“Where is she?” Alistair roared, slamming Caleb’s head against a drum. “Where is my aunt?”
“Rotting!” Caleb laughed, blood streaming freely from his nose. “Just like you will!”
With a sudden, eel-like twist, Caleb wrenched himself free of Alistair’s grip. Instead of pressing the fight, he rolled toward Skye.
Skye raised the gun Alistair had given her, but Caleb was already too close. He didn’t try to drive the blade deep — he simply drew it across her upper arm in one fluid, vicious arc.
“Skye!” Alistair screamed. He raised his weapon and fired.
The bullet caught Caleb in the shoulder. Caleb grunted, spun with the impact, and ran hard toward the open bay doors at the back of the warehouse. He dove into the dark water without hesitation and disappeared beneath the black waves.
Alistair was at Skye’s side in an instant, his hands moving frantically over her. “Let me see.”
“I’m fine,” Skye said, breathless, clutching her arm. “He just cut me. It’s not deep.”
Julian ran over with a med-kit and pulled back her torn sleeve.
“The wound,” Julian said, his voice dropping an octave. “Look at the edges.”
Skye looked. The blood wasn’t flowing freely — it was thick, sluggish, and turning a disturbing shade of purple-black.
“What is that?” Alistair demanded.
“The blade was coated,” Julian said, swabbing the wound quickly. “It’s a coagulant neurotoxin. It doesn’t kill instantly. It turns the blood to sludge, shutting down the organs one by one.”