CHAPTER 167
Six hours later, I was still trapped in what had become an underground tomb, the detonation control chamber now sealed by tons of collapsed stone and twisted metal. But the most immediate problem wasn't the cave-in - it was the contractions that had been coming with increasing frequency since the stress of stopping Henry's destruction sequence.
Our daughter was coming, and she wasn't waiting for rescue.
"Skylar," Harry's voice crackled through the emergency radio Lucas had managed to get to me through a small gap in the rubble, "the Romanian engineers say they can reach you, but it's going to take at least twelve hours to clear the debris safely."
"I don't have twelve hours," I gasped between contractions. "This baby is coming now."
"How far apart are the contractions?"
"About three minutes. And getting stronger."
Through the radio, I could hear urgent conversations in multiple languages as medical personnel and rescue specialists tried to coordinate an impossible extraction. But the reality was simple - I was going to give birth alone in a collapsed basement while Henry's compound crumbled around me.
"Skylar," Jax's voice was tight with controlled panic, "we're going to talk you through this. Dr. Martinez is here, and she's delivered hundreds of babies. You're not alone."
"I know," I said, though the isolation felt absolute. "But I'm scared. What if something goes wrong? What if I can't do this?"
"You can do this," Lucas's voice was firm with conviction. "You've survived everything else life has thrown at you. A little thing like childbirth isn't going to stop you now."
Despite the pain and fear, I found myself laughing. "A little thing?"
"Okay, a big thing. But you're bigger than it is."
Another contraction hit, stronger than the others, and I had to bite down on my sleeve to keep from screaming. The control chamber was small, maybe eight feet by ten feet, with barely enough room for me to lie down on the cold stone floor.
"Dr. Martinez wants to know if you have anything clean to wrap the baby in," Harry's voice was carefully controlled.
I looked around the chamber, seeing nothing but electronic equipment and my own jacket. "Not really. But I'll manage."
"What about cutting the umbilical cord?"
"I've got my knife. It's not sterile, but it's sharp."
The absurdity of the situation hit me - giving birth in a collapsed castle with a combat knife as my only medical instrument. But as another contraction peaked, I realized that our daughter didn't care about the circumstances of her arrival. She was ready to meet the world, ready or not.
"I can see the head," I announced, feeling a mixture of terror and wonder as I guided my own delivery. "She's got dark hair."
"Just like her mother," Jax said, his voice thick with emotion.
"Keep pushing," Dr. Martinez's voice came through the radio, calm and professional. "When the next contraction comes, bear down and push as hard as you can."
I followed her instructions, drawing on every reserve of strength I'd built up through years of training and survival. But this was different from any physical challenge I'd ever faced - this was creating life instead of taking it, building instead of destroying.
"Shoulders are out," I gasped. "Almost there."
"One more push, Skylar. One more and she'll be here."
With a final surge of effort that left me exhausted but exhilarated, our daughter slipped into the world. She was tiny, perfect, and absolutely furious about being displaced from her warm, safe environment.
"She's here," I announced, lifting the crying baby to my chest. "She's beautiful and loud and completely perfect."
Through the radio, I could hear celebration and relief from the rescue teams outside. But in the quiet of the control chamber, it was just me and our daughter, sharing the first moments of her life in the ruins of Henry's empire.
"What are you going to name her?" Lucas asked softly.
I looked down at the baby in my arms, studying her tiny features and feeling the overwhelming love that came with holding your child for the first time. She was everything we'd fought to protect, everything we'd hoped to create together.
"Addison," I said. "After my mother. Addison Kane-Morrison-Mitchell."
"All our names?" Harry asked.
"She's all of ours. She deserves to carry all of our names."
As I used my knife to cut the umbilical cord and wrapped Addison in my jacket, I realized that this moment represented something more than just birth. It represented the complete transformation of the Mitchell family legacy from something evil into something beautiful.
"How long until you can get us out of here?" I asked, feeling exhaustion settling over me now that the immediate crisis was past.
"Six hours, maybe eight," Lucas replied. "But we've got medical equipment ready, clean blankets, everything you'll need."
"We'll be fine," I said, though I wasn't entirely sure that was true. Addison was small, possibly premature, and we were trapped in conditions that weren't exactly ideal for a newborn.
But she was alive, healthy, and absolutely determined to make her presence known to the world.
"Skylar," Harry's voice was gentle, "there's something else you need to know."
"What?"
"Henry didn't make it. Internal injuries from when you pinned him to the desk. He died about an hour ago."
I felt a complex mixture of emotions - relief that the threat was finally over, sadness for the waste of a human life, and something that might have been forgiveness for a man who'd spent his final moments saving his great-granddaughter.
"He stopped the detonation to save Addison," I said quietly.
"He stopped it to save you both."
As I held our daughter against my chest, listening to her breathe and feeling her tiny heart beating against mine, I realized that we'd achieved something I'd never thought possible.
We'd broken the cycle.
The Mitchell family legacy of violence and trafficking had ended with Henry's death, and it was being reborn with Addison's first breath.
But as rescue operations continued above us and my strength slowly faded from blood loss and exhaustion, I wondered if I'd live to see our daughter grow up in the world we'd fought so hard to create for her.
The thought of Addison growing up without knowing her mother was almost unbearable.
But the thought of her growing up free was worth any sacrifice.
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