Chapter Seventy Six

Chapter 76

The estate remained a hive of activity as morning stretched into a pale, sullen afternoon. Guards moved with calculated urgency, boots crunching against gravel paths and whispers filling the hallways. Jemima couldn't shake the weight of unease pressing down on her. The cryptic note found beneath the bench in the garden played on an endless loop in her mind.

“Tick tock, Valerians. Time is running out.”

Whoever had Ava was taunting them, daring them to make the next move.

Jemima walked briskly through the main hall, her mind racing. She needed answers, but every lead had run cold. The estate's security had failed, the guards had nothing to offer, and Marcus's growing anger wasn't helping matters. Even Jay, her anchor in all this chaos, seemed off—a quiet tension behind his eyes that he tried, but failed, to hide.

As she turned the corner toward the study, Dimitri intercepted her. His broad shoulders and imposing frame nearly blocked the hallway.

"Jemima," he said, his tone urgent. "We need to talk."

Her frustration flared. "Unless you've found Ava, I don't have time."

"It's about the note," Dimitri said, lowering his voice. His words halted her in her tracks.

"What about it?"

"I showed it to a few of my contacts," he said, glancing over his shoulder to ensure no one else was listening. "The handwriting—it matches something we've seen before."

Jemima's stomach twisted. "Go on."

"It's a signature style," Dimitri continued. "Precise, almost clinical. Whoever wrote that note is meticulous and deliberate. We've seen it in other cases—kidnappings, blackmail, assassinations." He paused, his gaze darkening as his voice trailed off on the word ‘assassination’ wanting the severity of the situation sinking in.

Jemima’s heart skipped a beat- she was… is an assassin.

“It's the work of someone tied to Alan Ross."

The name hit Jemima like a slap to the face.

Alan!

The man whose family had been a thorn in the Valerian side for years. Ruthless, calculating, and cunning, he had always been one step ahead, slipping through their fingers time and time again.

"Alan's behind this?" she asked, her voice a mix of disbelief and fury.

"It's a strong lead," Dimitri admitted. "But we need to confirm it before we act. Charging in blindly won't help Ava if indeed she is there."

Jemima shook, her mind already spinning with possibilities.

“I don’t think Alan is behind this. We had a chat. Jay and I did, with his father Jon.”

If Alan was involved, this wasn't just about Ava—it was about the entire Valerian family.

“That’s why we can’t know for sure, all we know is that it’s the Ross’s signature style from one of their most feared assassin.”


"Where's Marcus?" she asked, not fully comprehending the whole situation.

"In the training room, taking out his frustration on the punching bag," Dimitri said with a faint smirk. "You should talk to him before he wears himself out."

Jemima gave a curt nod and headed toward the training room.


The rhythmic thud of fists against leather filled the air as Jemima entered. Marcus stood shirtless in the center of the room, sweat dripping from his brow, his knuckles red and raw. The punching bag swung wildly under the force of his strikes.

"Marcus," Jemima called out, but he didn't stop.

"Marcus!" she said again, louder this time.

He finally paused, his chest heaving as he turned to face her. His eyes were bloodshot, a mix of exhaustion and barely contained rage.

"What do you want?" he snapped, grabbing a towel and wiping his face.

"We might have a lead," Jemima said, ignoring his tone.

His expression shifted immediately, the anger giving way to sharp focus. "What lead?"

"Dimitri thinks Alan is behind this," she said, watching his reaction carefully.

Marcus froze, the towel clenched tightly in his hands. "Alan?"

She nodded. "The handwriting on the note matches cases linked to the Ross’s assassinations. It's not definitive, but it's our best lead so far."

Marcus's jaw tightened. "If Alan's involved, this isn't just about Ava. He's sending a message. He's trying to undermine us."

"I know," Jemima said. "Which is why we need to tread carefully. We can't let him bait us into making a mistake."

"Carefully?" Marcus scoffed. "This is Ava we're talking about. If Alan has her, she doesn't have time for us to play it safe."

"Rushing in won't help her either," Jemima argued. "We need a plan, Marcus."

He glared at her for a long moment before throwing the towel aside. "Fine. What's the plan?"

By the time they regrouped with Jay, Vanessa, and Dimitri in the study, a tentative plan had begun to take shape. They would send out feelers to Alan's known associates, using their network to track his movements. Meanwhile, Dimitri would quietly investigate potential safe houses or properties Alan might be using to hold Ava.

Jemima sat at the head of the table, her fingers tapping against the polished wood as the others discussed logistics. Her mind, however, was elsewhere—fixated on the chilling smile she had seen in the mirror the night before.

She hadn't told anyone about it, not even Jay. How could she explain something so... impossible? Her reflection had moved independently of her. It had spoken to her. And now, more than ever, she couldn't shake the feeling that it wasn't just her imagination.

"Jem?" Jay's voice pulled her back to the present.

She looked up to find him watching her, concern etched into his features.

"Are you okay?" he asked quietly.

"I'm fine," she lied, forcing a small smile. "Just tired."

Jay didn't look convinced, but he let it go.

That night, Jemima found herself back in the garden. The air was crisp and cold, the stars hidden behind a thick layer of clouds. She wandered her mind a chaotic mess of worry, frustration, and fear.

As she reached the fountain, she stopped and stared at her reflection in the water. The surface was still, the faint glow of the moon casting a silvery sheen over it.

“You already know,” the voice from the night before echoed in her mind.

She clenched her fists, her nails digging into her palms. "What do I know?" she whispered aloud, her voice trembling. "What are you trying to tell me?"

The water rippled suddenly, as though disturbed by an unseen force. Jemima stepped back, her heart pounding.

And then she saw it.

Her reflection stared back at her, but it wasn't quite right. The eyes were darker, the smile cruel and mocking.

"You're running out of time," it said, its voice a distorted echo of her own.

Jemima stumbled backward, her breath coming in short, shallow gasps. "What are you?"

The reflection's smile widened. "You already know," it repeated, before the water stilled once more, leaving only her terrified face staring back at her.

The next morning, Jemima didn't mention the incident at the fountain. She buried it deep, focusing instead on the search for Ava.

Dimitri's network had come through, providing a possible location tied to Alan Ross—a secluded warehouse on the outskirts of the city. It wasn't much, but it was a start.

The team gathered in the armory, preparing for what could very well be a trap. Marcus checked his weapons with grim determination, while Vanessa and Dimitri reviewed the layout of the warehouse.

Jemima stood off to the side, her fingers tracing the handle of the pistol holstered at her side. Jay approached her, his expression serious.

"You sure you're up for this?" he asked.

She met his gaze, her jaw set. "I'm not sitting this out."

He nodded, though his worry was evident. "Stick close to me, okay?"

"Always," she said softly.

The warehouse loomed ahead, its rusted exterior bathed in the harsh glow of floodlights. The team approached cautiously, splitting into two groups to cover more ground.

Jemima's heart pounded as she and Jay moved silently through the shadows, their weapons drawn. The air was thick with tension, every creak of the building sending her nerves on edge.

They reached a side door and paused, listening for any signs of movement inside. Jay nodded, and Jemima stepped back as he carefully pushed the door open.

The interior was dark and cavernous, the faint hum of machinery echoing through the space. They moved quietly, their footsteps barely audible against the concrete floor.

"Over here," Jay whispered, gesturing toward a staircase leading to an upper level.

Jemima followed him up the stairs, her grip tightening on her pistol. At the top, they found a series of small rooms, their doors hanging open.

As they checked each one, Jemima's unease grew. The rooms were empty, save for a few scattered pieces of furniture and debris.

"Jem—" Jay started to say, but he was cut off by the sudden sound of footsteps behind them.

They spun around, weapons raised, just as a figure emerged from the shadows.

It was Alan.

"Well, well," he said, his voice smooth and mocking. "What a pleasant surprise."

Jemima's blood boiled at the sight of him, but she forced herself to remain calm.

"Where is she?" she demanded.

Alan smirked. "Now, now, Jemima. Let's not be hasty. This is a delicate game we're playing, after all."

"Where is Ava?" she repeated, her voice trembling with rage.

Alan's smile faltered. "What are you talking about?"

Before she could respond, the sound of gunfire erupted from below. Jemima's heart leaped as she realized the others were under attack.

Alan took advantage of her distraction, slipping away into the shadows.

"Damn it!" Jemima cursed, starting after him, but Jay grabbed her arm.

"We need to help the others," he said urgently.

Reluctantly, she nodded, and they hurried back down the stairs.

The warehouse had descended into chaos. Marcus, Vanessa, and Dimitri were pinned down behind a stack of crates, exchanging fire with a group of armed men.

Jemima and Jay joined the fray, their weapons blazing as they fought their way to the others.

"Where's Alan?" Marcus shouted over the noise.

"He got away," Jemima admitted, her frustration evident.

Marcus swore under his breath, but there was no time to dwell on it. The fight raged on, the air thick with smoke and the acrid smell of gunpowder.

Despite their efforts, the enemy forces were relentless, and it quickly became clear that they were outnumbered.

"We need to fall back!" Dimitri shouted.

Reluctantly, the team retreated, covering each other as they made their way out of the warehouse.

As they regrouped outside, Jemima's heart sank. Not only had they failed to find Ava, but Alan had slipped through their fingers once again.

But as she looked around at her team, battered but alive, she knew one thing for certain- they wouldn't stop until they brought Ava home.

Even if it meant going to war.