The island was quiet at dawn, the storm having passed with the violence of a memory. Rainwater still dripped from the slanted roof, and the thick, humid air clung to the skin like a second layer.
Sienna stood at the edge of the concrete balcony, arms crossed tightly, eyes fixed on the darkening line of clouds above the sea. Beneath her calm, her mind ran hot.
Jenna.
The image of her moving through the surveillance footage still burned in Sienna's thoughts. She hadn't told Silas yet. Not because she doubted him—but because she didn't doubt Jenna. Not anymore.
At least not enough.
She was still deciding what to do when the sound of gravel crunching behind her made her turn.
Silas.
He looked exhausted. His usually composed features were clouded with something colder. Not distrust. Not quite.
But close.
"We need to talk," he said, voice tight.
Sienna said nothing, watching him carefully.
He stepped forward and held up a small black case. A biometric reader. The same kind they'd seen used by K's operatives.
"You recognize this?" he asked.
"Yes," she answered.
"This was found outside the generator room. Where someone tried to override the security grid last night." His gaze locked on hers. "Your fingerprints are on it."
Her heart slowed.
"I didn't override anything."
"No," he said. "But the device was calibrated to your biometric profile. Specifically—to mimic my retinal scan."
Sienna's jaw clenched. "You think I tried again?"
"I think," he said slowly, "that someone wants me to think you did."
Silence stretched between them.
She reached out, took the reader from his hands, and twisted it open. Inside the casing, etched into the metal plate, was a tiny symbol. A stylized "N" shaped like a blade.
"Nan family tech," she said. "Jenna was here last night."
Silas didn't move, but his eyes sharpened. "Why didn't you tell me?"
"I needed to be sure of what you believed—before I told you what I saw."
His voice cracked like dry wood. "So we're testing each other now."
She snapped the case shut. "No. We're surviving. Which means sometimes, trusting has to wait one second longer than lying."
He didn't answer.
So she walked past him, calmly, into the control room of the bunker, where the surveillance network waited.
She pulled up the security feed from three hours prior. The time stamp showed 3:14 AM. A heat signature had been logged outside the generator chamber. The camera feed was scrambled—but not destroyed.
She tapped into the buffer, rerouted through the system, and slowly—frame by frame—the footage came into view.
It was Jenna.
But she wasn't alone.
Behind her, barely visible, stood a man with no face. Or rather—a face covered in a bronze half-mask.
Sienna froze. "K."
Silas leaned closer. "They were here together?"
The footage showed Jenna handing him the vial. K turned it in his gloved fingers, nodded once, then disappeared from the camera's frame. Jenna lingered only a second longer.
She looked directly into the camera.
And smiled.
Two hours later, the island helicopter returned.
Sienna sat in the back, strapped in, her face unreadable. Across from her, Silas stared out the window, arms folded tightly.
They hadn't spoken since the footage.
Something fragile had broken between them.
But not beyond repair.
Not yet.
The moment they landed back in the city, Sienna stepped out and was immediately intercepted by a courier—anonymous, face covered.
He handed her a velvet box, bowed silently, and walked away.
She opened it.
Inside: a card and a surgical scalpel.
The card read: "For the eye you should have taken. Consider this a second chance."
No name.
No symbol.
But the meaning was crystal clear.
Sienna returned to their safehouse apartment that evening with the box unopened in her bag. Silas was already inside, seated at the kitchen table, examining a strip of blood sample readings.
"I tested both vials," he said, not looking up. "The one Jenna stole—and the one you used in the scanner trap."
She dropped her bag onto the table.
"They're identical," he continued. "Except for one marker—radiation-active protein signatures. Which only appear in one type of subject."
Sienna said nothing.
Silas raised his eyes. "You."
The world quieted.
The hum of the refrigerator.
The tick of the clock.
And between them: every unsaid word from the past seventy-two hours.
He stood.
"You're not just immune to K's experiments," he said. "You're the key to reversing them."
She didn't flinch. "So what happens now?"
Silas crossed the space slowly. Not with anger—but awe.
"I think K doesn't want to kill you," he said softly. "He wants to use you."
"Then let's make him regret that," she replied.
He nodded once.
But before either could speak again, the windows exploded inward—glass shards ripping through the air as a grenade rolled across the hardwood.
Smoke. Shouting. Heat.
Silas grabbed her, shielding her body with his own as men in black tactical gear stormed the room.
Not Sterling men.
Not K's men.
New players.
New war.