Lucas kept casting sharp, restless glances at the dashboard, his chest tight with a heavy, driving anxiety as he waited for the tracker to go live. Mina was already safe, tucked away and escorted securely out of harm's way, but his mind refused to settle.
Then, the entire console flashed alive in a brilliant, piercing blue.
The tracker was live.
Elara had pressed the button. Just knowing that she was the one who triggered it brought a profound, striking realization crashing down on him—she didn't want to go back to her family. She was choosing this; she was choosing him.
A sharp chime echoed through the cabin, followed by a glowing notification across the display: “Emergency Signal: Elara.”
On the dashboard’s central display, a satellite feed zoomed in directly from orbit. The map shifted dynamically from a wide aerial view of the city down to a precise, pinpointed location, coordinates flashing rapidly in real time. The system rendered a sophisticated 3D projection of the street grid, complete with moving vehicles and pedestrians navigating the area.
Then, the optics sharpened: a scuffed black SUV van materialized on the dashboard screen.
Without a fraction of a second to lose, his fingers flew across his encrypted car console, instantly patching a direct, multi-party line straight to the inner council and his lead tactical commander.
"Listen to me," Lucas spoke, his voice dropping into a register so chillingly low and absolute it carried the weight of a death sentence. "There is a girl inside that van. I want her back whole, safe, and without a single scratch. Alive. Whatever happens to her will bring a punishment far more fatal to you and your entire team than death itself. Speak now if you understand."
In that split second, a haunting flash tore through his mind—the mangled metal and the blinding trauma of Kael’s old car accident. He would never, under any circumstance, permit that nightmare to repeat itself. Just the harrowing thought of Elara trapped in that state made his jaw tighten until the muscle ticked sharply, a cold, metallic taste hitting the back of his throat.
He slammed his foot down on the accelerator, rocketing the sports car forward.
Based on the 3D satellite feed, the van was steering toward an increasingly secluded route. He instantly forwarded the entire live tracking path to his tactical team, his mind calculating their endgame: they were undoubtedly planning to leverage a chopper or a private jet to transfer her directly to the Velmira central estate. If they managed that, pulling her back from her family’s stronghold would become nearly impossible. Every single second was a matter of survival.
Suddenly, his encrypted phone chimed—a call from his family, urgently asking if he had located Elara.
"Yes," he answered swiftly, his eyes never leaving the road.
"Got the tracker live. Elara activated it. We will handle it. I'll update you later." He terminated the call instantly.
Right after, a direct update crackled through from his team: “Boss, the target is in a black transit van heading north on Route 9, approaching the old shipping corridor. They are moving to a private air extraction.”
He couldn't bear to calculate how terrified the girl sitting in that dark metal box must be right now. Just the sharp ache of that thought drove him to press the accelerator deeper, pushing the car into an unyielding velocity.
Ten miles ahead, Route 9 narrowed into a two-lane concrete stretch flanked by rusted industrial yards.
The black transit van surged forward, its driver accelerating aggressively to make the tight turn toward the private airstrip. Inside, Elara sat curled in the dark, her heart hammering wildly against her ribs, praying silently to a god she wasn't even sure believed in her.
Suddenly, the van slammed its brakes with terrifying force.
Screeeech—!
The driver cursed loudly as a massive, unmarked commercial flatbed truck abruptly slid sideways across both lanes, cutting off their path entirely. Before the van could shift into reverse, two sleek, heavy-duty black SUVs whipped out from the access roads behind them, boxing the vehicle in with mathematical, flawless precision.
"What the hell is this? Ram it!" the front kidnapper yelled, frantically reaching for his door handle.
Before his fingers could even wrap around the latch, a low, rhythmic thump-thump-thump echoed sharp and clear against the pavement.
It wasn't gunfire. It was a pair of high-pressure pneumatic suppression darts, fired with ruthless, calculated accuracy from an unmarked tactical van parked fifty yards back. The darts struck the van's rear dual-tires at a precise downward angle, puncturing the heavy rubber with a controlled hiss rather than a deafening explosion.
The van didn't flip. It didn't careen dangerously out of control. Instead, the chassis simply settled heavily onto the grinding asphalt as the tires deflated in a measured, deliberate crawl, robbing the vehicle of its momentum until it ground to a complete, unceremonious halt.
"Stay down, or you're dead," a calm, chillingly professional voice crackled through a megaphone from the outside.
Before the dazed guards inside could even pull their weapons, the side doors of the transit van were violently ripped off their tracks by hydraulic pullers. Specialized tactical operatives swarmed the opening—moving not with wild shouting, but with the silent, terrifying efficiency of ghosts.
Elara squeezed her eyes shut tightly, bracing herself for the worst, fully expecting her father's brutal enforcers or a blinding crossfire.
Instead, a pair of warm, steady hands carefully sliced through the ropes binding her wrists, moving with an agonizing, profound gentleness that stood in stark contrast to the violence raging outside.
"Miss Velmira," a low, steady voice murmured, shielding her face from the harsh daylight as they lifted her delicately out of the cramped metal box.
"You're safe. Boss is on his way."