The Phantom glided smoothly over the city roads, the ambient hum of its engine barely audible inside the cocooned silence of the cabin. Alex leaned back into the leather upholstery, the tension of the day still coiled tightly within his chest. He rested his head against the window, watching the blur of streetlights flicker by like the ticking seconds of a time bomb.
For a few moments, no one spoke.
Then, Noah cleared his throat and glanced at Alex through the rearview mirror. "Sir, should we call NASA? We can cancel the whole trip. Make sure it never leaves the ground."
Alex didn't answer immediately. He exhaled slowly, then leaned forward slightly. "No. Let them go. Let them enjoy their moment. I'm not interested in ruining a show—they'll be seeing a new act soon enough."
Noah nodded, the ghost of a smile playing at his lips. "Understood."
Alex sat back. "We're going back to the base. I want to see my father. William. The rest can wait. The trip from Howard to Kennedy takes about twelve hours without traffic, so there's time."
Emma's voice came from beside Noah, her presence calm but alert. "You sure, Alex? We can have their entire itinerary rerouted. Hell, even traffic will be against them. They won't even know why."
"No," Alex said. "If I interfere now, I'm just stooping to their level. This month off is a gift. Time to think. Time to act. They'll understand soon enough."
He wasn't angry because Deenal was some influential figure or major player—far from it. Deenal was barely a spec on the radar, a background extra pretending to be part of the main cast. He hadn't pulled strings or used connections. He was simply irrelevant.
But that was exactly why Alex wouldn't ignore it.
Not because it posed any threat—but because it was irritating. Annoying enough to be addressed. It wasn't about Deenal; it was about the precedent. One didn't tug the lion's tail and walk away smirking.
The vehicle turned smoothly onto the freeway, engines humming like a beast beneath the hood. They sped toward Washington D.C.'s outskirts, eventually reaching the far perimeter of Reagan National Airport. A single, high-security hangar loomed at the edge of the runway, distant from public eyes.
As the Phantom pulled up, the hangar doors began to creak open, revealing the sleek, gleaming figure of the Bombardier Global 8000 jet inside.
Emma stepped out of the car, walking toward the plane's lower deck hatch while Noah popped the trunk. The chilly wind tugged at their coats.
"Fuel's at max, diagnostics clear," Emma called out. "She's ready for takeoff."
"I always liked this jet more than the Falcon," Noah remarked. "Smoother ride. Feels more... personal."
"That, and the food's better," Emma smirked.
"And the seats actually let you stretch your legs," Noah added, hauling Alex's bag up the steps.
"You'd stretch your legs in a coffin and still complain the padding wasn't memory foam," Emma teased.
Alex climbed the retractable staircase and stepped into the cabin. The interior was a study in luxury and function—soft cream leathers, darkwood trim, and a control center that rivaled some command posts.
"Coffee?" Emma asked as she followed behind, already prepping the galley.
"Black," Alex replied, settling into the main lounge chair. "And some of those smoked almonds, if they're still stashed away."
"Always thinking about food, even while plotting world domination," Noah chuckled, setting his laptop down and pulling up secure comms.
As they lifted off moments later, the city quickly became a constellation of light below them, fading behind a curtain of clouds.
They lapsed into silence for a few moments. The plane cruised over the eastern seaboard, its engines barely noticeable over the soft jazz playing from the surround system.
"You know," Noah asked, "you ever think about taking one of these weeks off for real? You know—someplace with sand, sun, maybe a drink or two that isn't laced with intelligence reports?"
Alex smirked. "And miss the opportunity to bury another rival beneath the weight of my competence? Tempting. But no."
"You really know how to unwind," Emma muttered dryly.
The flight passed smoothly until they began descending into the island's restricted airspace. A slight turbulence rattled the jet as they broke through the northern coastal clouds. The windows fogged briefly before clearing.
Outside, the island spread below like a sleeping giant. Forests stretched across its core, snow lightly dusting their canopies. Rugged cliffs guarded the edges, while the peaks shimmered with frost. Narrow roads snaked along the terrain, leading toward a modern fortress nestled deep within the hills—Castle Iron.
"Weather report said snowstorm's building by the western ridge," Emma noted, glancing at her tablet. "Might get cut off from the southern dock."
"Won't be a problem," Noah replied. "We fortified the rail tunnels last month. There's always a way."
As the plane descended lower, Alex caught sight of the advanced infrastructure scattered across the island—communication towers, fusion generators disguised as silos, training fields currently swarming with Reaper units mid-drill. Drones buzzed through the air like metallic insects, scanning the terrain, reporting silently.
The jet touched down with elegance, its wheels kissing the tarmac. It taxied forward until reaching the private Ironhart hangar near the mountainside. A convoy of armored SUVs awaited them just beyond the hangar's security checkpoint.
Alex stepped out, tightening the sweater around his shoulders. The cold bit into his skin immediately, sharp and unforgiving. Yet he welcomed it. The island was home, and its frost was its way of reminding those who lived here that comfort was never meant to dull the edge of power.
The wind howled as they walked toward the vehicles. Guards stood at attention, each one donning Ironhart's crest on their shoulders. Noah opened the SUV's door and stood aside.
"Home," he said with a knowing nod.
Alex climbed in, followed by Emma and Noah. The convoy rumbled to life, the black SUVs piercing through the snow like a spear.
As they drove through the terrain, the scenery unfolded with harsh beauty—vast stretches of pine, their branches weighed down by frost, cliffsides that dropped into frozen fjords below, and narrow winding roads that snaked through shadowed valleys. Hidden turrets tracked their movement as a formality; the system already recognized Alex's biometric signature the moment he stepped off the plane.
"You know," Emma said, watching the snowfall thicken, "most people use vacations for beach lounging. You, on the other hand, come to a war island to plot."
"You know me," Alex replied, smiling faintly. "If I'm not three steps ahead, I'm ten steps behind."
"And how exactly do you plan to respond to this Deenal mess?" Noah asked, cracking open a dossier. "Because I have three folders here, and one of them ends with his academic record getting wiped from existence."
"Tempting," Alex admitted. "But I want this to be more personal. Psychological. I'm not just ending his game—I'm making sure he knows he never had one."
"Dark," Emma murmured. "I like it."
"Efficient," Noah corrected. "And poetic."
The convoy wound up the slope toward the estate, its dark towers piercing the sky. Castle Iron loomed ahead, vast and unyielding, its windows glowing dimly through the snowfall.
"Let's begin," Alex whispered.