Chapter 26 - The Lion's Den
The customs house stood like a dark monolith against the fog-drenched docks, its Victorian brickwork blackened by centuries of industrial soot.
Andrew sat in the passenger seat of the stolen sedan, his breathing shallow and rattling. Dr. Lin had spent the last two hours stitching his shoulder and pumping him full of coagulants and stimulants, but he was operating on pure adrenaline and sheer, stubborn spite.
"You shouldn't be walking," I said, gripping the steering wheel until my knuckles turned white.
In the back seat, Chloe was securely buckled in, wrapped in blankets, clutching an old stuffed bear Dr. Lin had found in the clinic. Her breathing had steadied after a temporary saline injection, but the clock was ticking down. The bleeding from her nose had stopped, but Dr. Lin warned that internal micro-hemorrhages would resume within eighteen hours without the enzyme.
"I walked away once," Andrew said, his voice a dry rasp. He didn't look at me; his eyes were fixed on the imposing iron gates of the customs vault. "When Victoria showed me the clinical reports four years ago... when she told me our daughter was born with a fatal genetic anomaly that would kill her by age three... I broke, Clara. I couldn't face the reality of losing her, so I buried myself in work, in mistresses, in alcohol. I let my mother handle everything because I was a coward."
"You were worse than a coward," I replied, my voice devoid of warmth. "You left me to bury an empty casket. You stood at the cemetery looking at your watch while I fell to my knees in the mud."
"I know," he said softly, a single tear cutting through the dried blood on his cheek. "And every second I draw breath from now until my heart stops will be spent trying to atone for that sin. Even if you shoot me the moment this is over."
"Don't give me ideas," I muttered, shifting the car into gear. "Let's go get the cure."
The basement of the customs house was cold, smelling of rotting wood and ocean tide. At the end of a long, vaulted brick corridor sat a heavy vault door made of cast iron and polished brass—relics of an era when maritime syndicates guarded their secrets with naval engineering.
On either side of the heavy lock sat two glass-paneled biometric scanners.
"Julian wasn't lying," Andrew murmured, stepping up to the left panel. He pressed his torn, bleeding palm against the cold glass.
A green laser swept across his skin.
*BIOMETRIC CONFIRMED: VANCE LINEAGE VERIFIED.*
I stepped up to the right panel. I hesitated for a fraction of a second, looking down at my own hand. For my entire life, I had thought I was the daughter of an honorable naval officer who died protecting his country. To acknowledge that the blood flowing through these veins belonged to a monster who experimented on his own flesh and blood made me want to rip the skin from my arms.
I pressed my palm to the glass.
*BIOMETRIC CONFIRMED: STERLING LINEAGE VERIFIED. DUAL-KEY AUTHORIZATION ACCEPTED.*
With a deep, groaning screech of ancient gears, the five-ton vault door swung outward.
Inside, illuminated by low-voltage emergency lighting, sat a stainless steel refrigeration unit surrounded by rows of digital servers. Inside the glass door of the unit, three pressurized ampoules of glowing blue liquid sat resting in custom titanium cradles.
*The Lazarus Enzyme.*
I rushed forward, my hands reaching for the latch.
"I wouldn't touch that just yet, daughter," a voice echoed from the shadows behind the refrigeration unit.
A tall figure stepped out into the light, dressed in a pristine charcoal military overcoat, adorned with three silver stars on the lapel. His silver hair was cropped close, his jaw set in stone, his eyes piercing and utterly devoid of warmth.
Jonathan Sterling.
Behind him stood six private security operatives, their assault rifles raised, laser sights painting crimson dots across Andrew’s chest and mine.
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"You really thought Julian Vance was smarter than me?" my father said, a mocking smile curling his lips. "Julian built this vault with my funds. Every wire, every sensor, every drop of that serum belongs to me."
***
