Chapter 223
The grip on my arms is bruising as Stan’s men shove me and the rest of the Nereid crew toward the waiting submersible. The ship is sleek, black, unmistakably Enigma’s—a stark contrast to our own vessel, which now sits eerily quiet in the open water.
My stomach clenches. Tai, Cora, Andreas, Silo, Arista—everyone is accounted for, but Wake is still limp, barely clinging to consciousness. I try to move toward him, but the guard holding me yanks me back.
"Keep your hands to yourself," the bastard sneers.
I grit my teeth, trying not to lash out when I'm completely outnumbered. Instead, I look to Wake, willing him to meet my gaze. His silver-green eyes are hazy, unfocused. He’s still feeling the effects of that damned pulse weapon. Every fiber of my being screams to get to him, to make sure he's okay. But I can’t. Not yet.
A familiar voice cuts through the murky water.
"Wouldn't want you getting any ideas, now," Stan drawls. He stands just ahead of us, hands clasped behind his back like he’s enjoying a casual afternoon stroll. "You’ll all get where you need to be in one piece—well, most of you, anyway." His smirk deepens.
I barely have time to process his words before a boom rips through the ocean.
I spin just in time to see the Nereid—our home, our safe haven—engulfed in a violent explosion. The ship crumples, torn apart by the detonation, its hull splitting as fire and debris scatter into the water. The shockwave sends a ripple through the sea, and I feel the impact in my bones.
Cora gasps. Tai curses. Arista and Silo struggle against their captors, but it’s no use.
We can do nothing but watch as the Nereid sinks into the depths.
I twist toward Stan, fury surging through me like a storm. "You—"
"Ah, ah," he cuts me off, wagging a finger. "Let’s not get dramatic. The ship was compromised. Can’t have loose ends floating around, now can we?"
I lunge, but my captor tightens his grip, shoving me forward into the waiting submersible. I have no choice but to follow, my heart hammering in my chest as we’re corralled inside like prisoners.
The interior is cold, clinical—walls lined with flickering screens displaying Enigma’s unmistakable insignia. The hum of machinery vibrates under my feet. I glance at Wake again. He’s still out of it, his breathing slow, his body unnaturally still.
Stay with me, Wake. Please.
The submersible jolts as it begins its descent. We move fast, diving deeper than I expected. My brows knit in confusion. Enigma has a known facility on the island’s surface, but we’re not going there.
No, we’re going beneath it.
Minutes stretch into an eternity before we finally slow. Then, a massive structure comes into view.
A facility unlike anything I’ve ever seen - not the Marble, not the submerged cavern…a mix of both. Sleek and organic, alien and human.
The twisting architecture, the almost pulsing patterns in the metal—it reminds me of something I’ve seen recently.
The Enkian war subs.
A shudder runs down my spine. This place—whatever it is—has been built with Enkian influence. And not the kind that belongs to Wake or Khale.
Something much, much worse.
The sub glides into a docking bay, the hatch hissing open. We’re shoved out into the facility, surrounded by guards in high-tech combat suits. The air is thick with something sterile and artificial, the lighting dim and eerie.
I barely get my bearings before Stan turns to his men. "Take them to holding," he orders. Then his eyes flick to me. "Not her."
Cora steps forward, immediately on edge. "She stays with us."
Stan tuts, waving a finger. "Sorry, Professor, but we have special accommodations for our dear Phoebe."
Before I can protest, I’m yanked away, dragged in the opposite direction. I twist, trying to get one last look at Wake, but his head is slumped forward. He’s still not moving.
I struggle harder. "Let me see him!"
Stan just laughs. "Oh, don’t worry. I’ll make sure you have a nice little distraction."
The guards shove me through a set of thick, reinforced doors. The moment I step inside, they slam shut behind me.
I’m in a small, sterile room—cold, metal walls, a single table and chair. It looks like every interrogation room I’ve ever seen in a movie.
Stan strides in leisurely, taking his time before sitting across from me.
Then, he pulls out a tablet and taps the screen.
My breath catches as a recording begins to play.
The screen flickers to life, and suddenly, I’m staring at something I thought I’d never have to see again.
My old research team.
The deck of our ship.
The storm that had crashed over us that night.
I watch, frozen, as past-me stands near the railing, surrounded by my classmates—their excited, nervous chatter filling the speakers. I see the cameras positioned to capture the momentous occasion. The moment we changed everything.
The moment we ruined everything.
A lump rises in my throat as I see it again—Wake, thrashing in that tank, his eyes wild with panic. The way Stan and the others crowded around, forcing the lid shut. The sharp crack of breaking glass.
Then—
Chaos.
Screams. Blood. Wake moving so fast he’s barely a blur. My classmates falling, one by one.
The footage is raw, unfiltered. No edits. No cuts.
Just the cold, brutal truth.
I can’t tear my eyes away.
I have to. But I can’t.
Stan leans back, watching me carefully. "Hell of a night, wasn’t it?" His voice is mockingly sympathetic.
I swallow hard, my fingers curling into fists.
He leans forward, resting his elbows on the table. "You know, I always wondered—how much of it was him?" He tilts his head toward the screen, where Wake is still cutting through my former team like a storm of death. "And how much of it was you?"
I don’t take the bait. I won’t.
But he sees the flicker of pain in my face anyway.
He taps the screen, pausing the footage on the exact moment I made eye contact with Wake that night—before everything went to hell.
"You could have stopped it," Stan muses. "Could have warned them. Hell, you could have walked away. But you didn’t." He clicks his tongue. "I wonder what that says about you."
I glare at him, my nails digging into my palms so hard it hurts. "Screw you."
Stan chuckles, shaking his head. "See, that’s the thing, Phoebe. You still don’t get it, do you?" He leans in, his eyes gleaming. "You think you’re some kind of hero? That you’re here to save him? To save any of them?" He laughs, low and dark.
"You’re not a hero, Phoebe. You’re just another piece on the board."
I refuse to give him a reaction.
He smirks. "But don’t worry. You won’t have to wonder much longer. Soon, you’ll see exactly what we’ve been building toward."
I grit my teeth. "What does that mean?"
Stan just smiles.
The door behind him hisses open.
"Looks like your time’s up," he says. "But don’t worry—we’ll talk again real soon."
Then, before I can say another word, the guards grab me again and drag me from the room.
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