h4Chapter 381: A Confession/h4

    "But how does Spider know of the specific situation of Lucas?" Athena asked after exining what kind of tracker she had used on the watch, and on Kendra’s ne, her voice low, carrying a strain she could not quite hide.

    While talking on the specifics of the tracker to her audience, she had been thinking of how Spider had been precise about the state of Lucas. Had he been on the mission with the criminals? Was that part of his undercover duty?

    iIf so, why hadn’t he informed us?/i

    Her eyes narrowed slightly, searching Ewan’s face for the smallest flicker of uncertainty. iOr was he aware?/i

    She leaned forward in her chair, palms pressed tightly together, as though squeezing them might anchor her waveringposure. The others watched her—the way her jaw tensed, the way her lips trembled just slightly before she stilled them.

    Ewan met her gaze steadily. His shoulders remained rxed, while his hands rested casually on his knees. "Because the victims are at one of the gang locations. Luckily for us, Spider is there."

    The wordsnded heavy, pulling the air taut between them, between the people in the room.

    For a beat, silence swept the room, an invisible storm forming in its wake. Every nce darted to the other, suspicion shing in their eyes. Even Athena’s pulse spiked, and her breath caught. She had asked out of desperation, yes, but his answer—so smooth, so certain—made unease stir.

    Her eyes narrowed further. "So Spider... is with the gang?"

    Ewan shook his head immediately, his expression calm, deliberate. "No. He wasn’t part of the mission. He only found out afterward. He was caught unawares, as we were... I think they didn’t deem it necessary to avoid him, because they hadn’t the need for his services."

    Still, the tension didn’t ease. It hung there, sticky and stubborn. It seemed to being from different directions, diverse thoughts and suspicions.

    Old Mr. Thorne leaned back slightly in his chair, one hand tightening on the armrest. His keen eyes studied Ewan’s face with an intensity that came only from age and the sharpened instincts of a man who had navigated too many storms. His brow furrowed, and in his voice came the slow, steady weight of suspicion.

    "Do you," he asked carefully, "know this gang... personally?"

    The question cracked the silence open.

    It fell thick across the room, heavier than the words themselves. The air shifted—tenser, denser—as though the walls themselves pressed in to hear the answer.

    Ewan’s jaw tightened. The casual calm drained from his features, leaving behind something grimmer, sharper. He didn’t move at first, didn’t blink. Just silence—unyielding and loud.

    Then he met Athena’s gaze. She cocked a stiff brow in response, her nose twitching.

    Florence, sitting near the edge of the long sofa, swallowed hard. Her eyes darted between faces—those her instincts believed knew the answer to the question. Her fingers trembled faintly where they rested on herp. The quiet stretched until she could bear it no longer.

    "Ewan..." she whispered, voice shaky, though her eyes tried to hold him. "Do you? Won’t you answer my husband?"

    Still silence.

    Then slowly, almost reluctantly, Ewan exhaled. "Yes."

    Florence’s breath hitched. How was her Ewan affiliated to the most deadly gang in the country, maybe the continent?

    "I was part of them once," he admitted, voice t but not defensive. No excuses. Just the truth.

    The ripple that went through the room was immediate. Florence’s mouth hung open to start with, a mirroring of the expression on her husband’s face. More stunned, the couple were, that they were thest to know of this information, considering the looks on the faces of the others.

    But Ewan didn’t stop at his admission.

    He told the story, just as he had told Athena, and the couple were left speechless.

    Florence’s eyes, for one, remained widened, shimmering now as she pressed her lips together hard. Her throat bobbed as she tried to swallow it down, but tears slipped anyway, silently trailing her cheeks. She brought her hand to her mouth, stifling the sound, but her shoulders trembled with the effort.

    Old Mr. Thorne’s lips parted, then closed. Shock carved lines deeper across his face. His hand, still gripping the armrest, whitened at the knuckles. He had lived long enough to suspect it, perhaps, but hearing it aloud—the raw confirmation—shattered something in him. He shouldn’t have let Alfonso take the child away.

    Ewan only sighed under their stares. He leaned back, his eyes briefly closing before opening again with grim resolve. "It’s all in the past... And Zane, Sandro—"

    "We were with him," Zane said suddenly, his voice cutting the silence. His jaw was set, his eyes hard. "And we decided it stays buried. A secret we’d take to the grave. I hope it doesn’t leave this room either."

    Florence gasped faintly, another sob breaking loose. Her hand trembled against her lips. She just couldn’t imagine the pain her little boy had gone through, her little godson. Why hadn’t she bothered with him those years?

    Athena leaned back slightly, her mind whirling. She bit her lips, watching the tension unfurl, hoping that her grandparents wouldn’t have her hide for keeping this matter from them. For to be honest, she had thought they knew...

    Old Mr. Thorne’s voice came again, raw, carrying disbelief. "So there was nothing... nothing that broke you free? No revtion? No one thing that pulled you from that pit?" Yet to understand how Ewan had led a gang at such young age, what damage it had wrought to his already damaged head.

    Ewan shook his head slowly. His expression weary, his eyes holding something too heavy to be spoken. "No. Nothing but time. And the chance to crawl out."

    His hand moved toward his phone, a deliberate gesture to end this line of questions. "I’m sorry old man, but right now, we don’t have the luxury of dwelling. We still have Lucas and Kendra to save. I believe Spider has more for us."

    Old Mr. Thorne nodded slowly, absent-mindedly, his hand moving to his wife’s back to pat gently, tofort her.

    Meanwhile, Ewan dialed Spider’s contact.

    The room held its breath, listening as Spider’s distorted voice came through–wherever the location was had a terriblework. "Coordinates confirmed. Exact location. They’re close—two states over. But listen—" his tone grew taut— "sending this blows my cover. My men and I might not survive if this leaks back."

    Ewan’s jaw clenched. "You’re sure?"

    "Positive. But I’ll risk it. I’ll send the coordinates. I’ll leave the gate open. That’s the best I can do."

    "Then do it," Ewan said, firm. "Thank you. I owe you one."

    The line went dead.

    Athena exhaled, one hand pressing to her forehead as relief swept through her like a tide. Her shoulders slumped, the first true easing of her body in hours. Hope, fragile but alive, pulsed inside her chest.

    "We’ll be there soon," Ewan muttered to himself, lowering the phone.

    Then louder, steadying his voice, he turned to the room. "Listen. We move now. Susan, you stay. You keep the mansion secure with the guards. No one gets in, no one leaves. Keep the children safe. Also dispense more security around Chelsea and Gianna."

    Susan, though reluctant, wishing to follow them, nodded firmly.

    The rest rose to their feet. Boots scuffed against marble, chairs pushed back, coats pulled close. The room that had once been stifled with silence now brimmed with movement, urgency.

    Athena quickly reached for her phone, fingers steady as she typed. "Eric," she talked into the receiver, her eyes watching Ewan take charge of the mission. "Is Margaret safe?"

    "Yes," Eric’s voice came, steady too. "She’s safe. We are on our way to the Thorne mansion."

    Relief broke through Athena’s chest again. "Good. Good. God willing, we might be done with this mission today."

    By the time she ended the call, Ewan was already giving, over the phone, coordinates on where to get extraction isuits/i and weapons to an agent, and Old Mr. Thorne was already leading Zane and Sandro toward the hallway, toward his private room where certain tools for extraction were kept.

    –

    They spilled into the night minutester, the heavy front doors of the Thorne mansion groaning shut behind them. The estate’s courtyard, washed silver by moonlight, seemed to hold its breath. Engines rumbled faintly as sleek ck vehicles waited at the ready, headlights cutting through the darkness.

    Old Mr. Thorne followed, expression harder now, the shock of Ewan’s revtion etched deeply into his lined face. He stopped after the porch, with Florence clinging to his side, her eyes still red, watching them enter the cars.

    Athena, now d in ckbat suit, wrapped her shawl tighter, casting onest nce at her grandparents and imitated a wave, a small smile on her lips.

    "Come back safe." Old Mr. Thorne called out, already epting of his grand daughter’s love for the field. He hadn’t even tried to convince her to stay back.

    "I will." Athena promised, her ears picking up Ewan’sst instructions to the agents following them.

    i "We move straight to the private hangar. No stops, no dys."/i

    His tone was clipped, every wordmanding, even as he told Zane and Sandro to take the lead car.i "Check the route on the way. If we’re tailed, cut them off."/i

    Winking at her grand parents, she slipped into the middle SUV with Ewan, her hands sping in herp as she sat on the cold leather seat.