Chapter 4 - The First Blood in the Marble Hall
The mansion’s grand foyer was usually filled with warm light and the quiet ticking of an antique grandfather clock. Tonight, it smelled of ozone, copper, and fresh blood.
Marcus moved down the curved staircase first, his weapon leading the way, sweeping the shadows with tactical precision. I followed closely behind, keeping Grace’s hand locked tightly in my left while my right hand held my Sig Sauer. Evelyn walked right beside Grace, her batons loose and ready at her sides.
“Clear,” Marcus whispered, reaching the bottom of the stairs.
Suddenly, the overhead emergency light directly above Marcus flickered and went black.
“Trap!” Evelyn yelled.
A heavy garrote wire dropped from the vaulted ceiling above, wrapping around Marcus’s neck before he could fire. He choked out a gasp, his rifle clattering against the marble floor as he clawed desperately at the steel cord dragging him upward into the darkness.
“Marcus!” I shouted, raising my gun.
“Don’t shoot into the shadows, Vincent!” Evelyn grabbed my shoulder, shoving me and Grace behind a marble pillar just as a hail of silenced submachine gun fire chewed through the spot where we had been standing. Shards of marble exploded into the air like shrapnel.
Through the dim red glow, two figures dropped silently from the ceiling rafters, clad in matte-black tactical gear with their faces hidden behind dark visors. They moved with unnatural speed, closing in on Marcus’s dangling, lifeless body to retrieve their gear.
“Grace,” Evelyn whispered, her voice barely audible over the hum of the backup generator. “Remember what we practiced in the dark.”
Grace took a slow, deep breath. Her blind eyes stared straight ahead, but her body was coiled like a spring.
The first intruder turned toward our pillar, his weapon raised, scanning the room for targets. He didn’t see the twelve-year-old girl stepping out from behind the stone.
Grace didn't hesitate. Following the sound of his breathing and the slight rustle of his nylon gear, she closed the distance in three silent strides. She slid low beneath his raised barrel, swept her leg behind his knee with vicious precision, and drove her elbow upward into the base of his visor with a sickening crunch.
The man collapsed instantly, his weapon clattering across the floor.
Before the second intruder could pivot to fire, Evelyn moved like smoke. She closed the gap, crossed her steel baton across the man’s throat, and leveraged him down to the floor with a bone-jarring slam that knocked the wind out of him. With a swift secondary strike, she rendered him unconscious.
The foyer fell silent again, save for the ragged breathing of the dead and dying.
I stared at my daughter, my mind struggling to reconcile the terrified little girl I had sheltered for twelve years with the cold, efficient combatant standing before me over an unconscious assassin.
“You okay, sweetie?” I asked, my voice shaking slightly as I knelt beside her.
May you like
Grace nodded, wiping a streak of sweat and soot from her forehead. Her hands were steady. “I heard his pulse quicken before he turned the corner, Dad. I just waited for the right note.”
Evelyn stood up, kicking the fallen assassin’s weapon away into the shadows. She looked at me with an unreadable expression. “That was just the advance scout team, Vincent. Rostov sent a message. And he knows where we are.”
