Chapter 12
2129words
En Route to Lucian Sinclair's Estate
Past Midnight
The roads were quiet now, washed clean by the lingering drizzle, and the black SUV sliced through the night like a thought no one dared speak aloud. Inside, silence hung over the three passengers—too full to feel empty, too stunned to break easily.
Ash drove with steady hands, eyes locked on the rain-slicked pavement ahead. Vex sat in the passenger seat, unusually still, elbow propped against the window, thumb tapping his knee in slow rhythm. In the back, Eli sat with his arms folded, hoodie up, brow furrowed as if trying to rewind time to the moment Raven collapsed.
Then Vex broke the quiet—soft, incredulous. “I still don’t get how Maxim let her go that far.”
Ash blinked, then glanced over. “Yeah,” he said quietly. “Me neither.”
“Black Harrow,” Vex muttered. “He raised her. Trained her, sure—but this? Kill orders. Disappearances. Whole years off the grid. That wasn’t just strategy. That was sacrifice.”
Ash gave a small shake of his head. “She was just a kid. A genius in a combat shell. But still a kid.”
Eli leaned forward between the seats. “Wait. Who are you talking about?”
Vex looked back at him. “Kristina.”
“His daughter?”
“Yeah,” Ash confirmed. “Kristina Alonzo. Maxim’s adoptive daughter.”
Eli blinked. “Kristina Alonzo?” His tone shifted—surprise fading into something closer to recognition. “Wait. The Kristina Alonzo?”
Ash narrowed his eyes. “Yes. Why? You know her?”
Eli nodded slowly. “No—not really. But Lucian told me about her once. Just pieces. Said he saw her at Maxim’s place years ago. Didn’t know who she really was, but…” He hesitated. “He remembered her.”
Vex was quiet now, listening.
“The first time he saw her,” Eli continued, “was when Maxim brought her home. Lucian said there was something about her eyes. Like she didn’t belong anywhere, but had seen too much to be lost.”
Ash glanced in the rearview. “And the second?”
“The second time…” Eli hesitated. “I’m not sure if I remember it exactly. But I think it was when Lucian went to Maxim, asking for a bodyguard. Maxim gave him Sebastian.” He paused, brow furrowing. “Kristina passed by them in the hallway. Lucian told me he tried to ask about her—how she was—but Maxim just said she was fine. Always off somewhere. Traveling, I think. Called it leisure.”
Ash gave a short, bitter laugh. “Leisure.”
Eli nodded slowly. “Lucian said he wanted to talk to her. But… she didn’t stop. Didn’t even look their way. He never saw her face. Just her eyes.” He paused, thoughtful. “At least, that’s how he remembered it. Same eyes from years before.”
Vex leaned back in his seat. “So he never knew.”
“No,” Eli said. “Not even a clue.”
Ash’s voice dropped, weighted. “And now… she’s bled for him. Twice.”
Lucian Sinclair’s Estate
The house was quiet—too quiet for three people still trying to make sense of everything they’d just learned. The storm had passed, but the tension hadn’t. Eli rounded the corner from Lucian’s bedroom, duffel bag slung over his shoulder, a towel draped over his arm. He paused when he saw Ash and Vex frozen in front of Raven’s door like a pair of thieves debating a break-in.
“…You guys gonna move or just admire the paint?” he asked.
Ash didn’t look at him. “I’m not sure if we should go in.”
Vex rubbed the back of his neck. “I was scared to stand outside her door when she was just Raven. How much more now that she’s Black Harrow.”
Eli blinked. “What the hell are you talking about?”
Ash gestured vaguely at the door. “You know how she gets about her space.”
“She’s got rules,” Vex added. “And her stuff? Off-limits. She’d notice if a breeze brushed against her desk. The woman is basically a sentient lie detector with OCD.”
Eli shifted the bag on his shoulder. “So… we’re just gonna stand here forever?”
Ash exchanged a look with Vex. “Maybe we just give her Lucian’s clothes. Put the bag outside the door. Let her take it from there.”
Eli stared. “You want her to wear Lucian’s clothes?”
Vex gave a half-shrug. “They’re oversized. Comfortable. Might make her feel safe?”
Eli raised an eyebrow. “And what happens if she finds out you went rogue and skipped her wardrobe protocol?”
Ash sighed. “She won’t kill anyone.”
Vex hesitated. “…Probably.”
Ash nudged him. “She won’t, Vex.”
He mumbled, “Not if we don’t touch anything.”
Eli rolled his eyes. “You two are ridiculous.”
Ash hesitated. “It’s less risky than rummaging through her closet.”
Vex nodded slowly. “Yeah. Let’s not wake up to death glares and poison tea.”
Eli stared at them. “You seriously want her to wear Lucian’s hoodie?”
Ash shrugged. “It’s clean.”
Eli narrowed his eyes. “She’ll kill him.”
Vex held up a finger. “Correction: she can’t. First rule—”
“—no hurting the boss,” Ash finished, nodding firmly. “It’s in the handbook.”
“She wrote the handbook,” Vex muttered, as if that made it scarier.
Eli exhaled hard. “Fine. But if she wakes up in Lucian’s shirt and murders someone, I’m not the one explaining that.”
Ash smirked. “He might not mind.”
Eli gave them both a look. “You two need therapy.”
Vex raised his hands. “I need hazard pay.”
Eli turned away with a muttered, “Unbelievable,” leaving the two still cautiously eyeing the door like it might open and judge them.
It was Ash who finally sighed and stood. “We should go back to Lucian’s room. Get her a change of clothes.”
Vex looked up, frowning. “She’s in a hospital gown. Isn’t that enough?”
“She’s going to hate it,” Ash muttered. “You want her waking up feeling like a patient?”
That was enough to get Vex on his feet too. “Fair.”
The two headed down the hallway, Eli trailing behind them, arms still crossed. They reached Lucian’s private suite a few minutes later—quiet now, the stormlight still casting long shadows across the polished floor.
Inside, they moved with deliberate awkwardness—three soldiers rifling through neatly folded clothes like they were disarming a bomb.
“Black,” Vex said, pulling out a shirt from the closet. “She always wears black.”
“Yeah, but maybe something soft,” Eli muttered, holding up a dark gray one. “She’s recovering, not going back into the field.”
Ash shot them both a look. “You think she’s going to wear gray? She’ll wake up, see herself in the mirror, and put a bullet through this thing.”
Vex cracked a grin. “So black it is.”
Eli rolled his eyes but didn’t argue.
They packed a few other things—practical pieces. Simple. Familiar. And then, without needing to say it, they locked the room behind them and headed back toward the ward.
En Route to Sinclair Dominion Hospital
The SUV hummed quietly as it rolled through the city, rain still misting along the edges of the windshield. Ash drove again—hands steady, eyes fixed ahead—while Vex leaned his elbow against the window, fingers absently tapping the rhythm of a song only he knew. Eli sat in the backseat, quieter than usual, his arms folded over the duffel bag.
It took a few minutes of silence before he spoke.
“…She ever talk about it?” Eli asked, voice low. “Any of it?”
Ash didn’t look back. “No.”
Vex shook his head. “Never.”
Eli leaned forward between the seats. “Not even to you two?”
Ash exhaled through his nose, lips pressed tight. “We knew what she could do. What she was. But not how it started. Not what it cost.”
“She doesn’t tell stories,” Vex added. “She leaves scars.”
Eli leaned back again, brow furrowed. “She seems… different now.”
“Yeah.” Ash’s voice was quiet. “She is.”
“More human,” Vex said. “Which makes all this scarier.”
Eli frowned. “You mean weaker?”
“No,” Ash said flatly. “I mean dangerous in a new way. Because now she has something to lose.”
The car turned onto the access road toward Sinclair Dominion Hospital. The lights from the private wing glowed faintly in the distance, cutting through the storm-drenched night like beacons.
“She used to be all edge,” Vex said. “Cold. Calculating. Untouchable. Now?” He glanced at Eli. “Now she jumps in front of bullets. She bleeds for someone. That’s not protocol. That’s personal.”
Eli went quiet for a moment, fingers tightening around the straps of the bag.
“…She scared the hell out of me,” he admitted. “Still does.”
Ash smirked faintly. “Good. That means your instincts still work.”
They pulled into the underground entrance and slowed to a stop.
No one moved immediately.
Then Ash said, quieter this time, “You wanted to know more about her? Here’s the first rule: whatever you think you know… it’s probably just the part she lets you see.”
Sinclair Dominion Hospital | Private Wing | Raven’s Room
Back at the hospital, Lucian changed quickly, grateful for the clean clothes his grandfather had brought earlier. The dress shirt was crisp, slightly too starched, but dry—a small mercy. He buttoned it in silence, the bathroom light humming above him, casting stark shadows across the white tile. His body ached in strange places—leftover tension, emotional weight. But it was nothing compared to what waited outside the door.
When he stepped back into the room, the storm outside had quieted to a thin drizzle. Inside, everything else was still.
Maxim sat at Raven’s bedside, sleeves rolled up, a small towel in one hand. He moved with surprising gentleness, dabbing the corner of her mouth, then tracing the cloth across her bruised knuckles. The basin beside him steamed faintly, the scent of clean cotton sharp in the air.
Lucian paused at the threshold. For a moment, it was like watching something too private—like seeing a language he didn’t know how to speak.
“You said something earlier,” Lucian said at last. “That she’s family.”
Maxim didn’t look up right away. He wrung out the towel, folded it in his hands, then finally met Lucian’s gaze. His voice was quiet, but steady.
“I meant it.”
Maxim’s fingers lingered at the edge of the basin, the towel resting in his palm. He looked down at Raven and for a moment, his expression unraveled. Just enough.
“She’s family,” he said again, softer now. “Because she’s mine.”
Lucian’s brows furrowed, confusion flashing across his face.
“She’s not just Raven,” Maxim continued, eyes still on her sleeping form. “Her name is Kristina. Kristina Alonzo.”
He didn’t drop the truth like a bomb. He laid it down carefully, reverently. Like something fragile.
Lucian didn’t speak. Couldn’t.
He knew the name. Kristina.
Maxim had spoken it once, not long ago—measured, careful. The girl he had saved from the crash. The girl Lucian had asked about more than once over the years, only to be brushed off with the same answer: she was away, traveling, private. Unreachable. Untouchable.
He never expected it to be Raven.
But now, that name wouldn’t leave him. It looped behind his eyes, colliding with the memory of that girl from years ago—barely older than ten, peeking past Maxim’s coat sleeve. He’d only seen her twice, maybe three times, never spoken more than a word. She’d looked like a shadow then. Fragile. Uncertain. And then she was gone.
That girl couldn’t be Black Harrow.
That girl couldn’t be Raven.
Lucian’s jaw locked. He didn’t sit. Didn’t breathe. His whole body tense with the weight of it. The pieces refused to stay separate now. The girl he never got the chance to know, the agent who defied death without blinking, the ghost whose name carried blood—they were the same.
And she had bled for him.
He felt the ache deep in his chest. Not just shock. Not just guilt.
Because now that he finally saw her—truly saw her—he realized how much he’d already missed.
Maxim spoke gently, but with that unwavering edge only a soldier could maintain. “She wasn’t meant to carry all this. Not the name. Not the role. Not alone. But she chose it. Every part of it.”
Lucian swallowed hard, but his voice didn’t come.
Maxim finally looked up. “You wanted the truth. This is it. Raven is Black Harrow. And Black Harrow is Kristina—my daughter in all the ways that count.”
The silence that followed wasn’t empty. It was heavy—shifting, alive with everything neither of them could say.
Lucian didn’t answer.
He just stared at her.
And for the first time in seventeen years, he didn’t know who he was looking at.
Not Raven. Not Black Harrow.
Not entirely.
Just the girl he never had the chance to know—now lying still before him, wearing the weight of three lives he barely understood.
He had spent years searching for answers. And now that he had them, all he could do was grieve the question he never got to ask.
—To be continued.
