CHAPTER 108: RAIN!!

Midnight draped Star Harbor in silence. Inside the auction hall, the monitoring room was alive with flickering screens. Dozens of feeds showed every corner of the building, from polished marble halls to the heavily guarded vaults below.

Jemma stepped inside, her boots echoing softly on the tiled floor. Her sharp eyes swept across the room.

"Anything suspicious?" she asked.

"None," one of the security men answered confidently. "Everything looks fine."

Jemma folded her arms, studying the feeds herself. The guards around her seemed relaxed, but her instincts wouldn’t quiet down. She leaned closer to the screen bank, eyes narrowing. Something felt wrong.

Her voice cut the silence. "What’s the weather outside?"

The operator glanced at the small weather overlay. "It’s cloudy. It’s likely to rain soon."

Jemma’s gaze darted to feed seventeen. She froze. "Then why," she whispered, "is there a reflection of a clear moon in the window glass?"

Her words hit like a bullet. The room stiffened.

"The feed is hacked!" Jemma barked. "Check outside—now!"

One guard flung the monitoring window open. The sky was thick with clouds, no moon in sight. His face went pale. "She’s right. The video is fake—this whole system is compromised."

"Alert everyone!" Jemma shouted.

The man grabbed his radio. "Heads up everyo—"

A sharp crackle cut him off. The radio hissed and spat static. "Sshhsshhssh—" then silence.

Jemma grabbed another handset. "Switch to channel nine."

The same distortion bled through.

"Cellphones," someone tried. But every signal was dead. No connection.

Jemma’s jaw clenched. "They’ve jammed everything."

Her eyes sharpened. She pulled her weapon free, the metallic sound crisp. "Toward the vaults. Now."

The team moved in precision, boots pounding against the floor, weapons raised. The atmosphere thickened with dread.

Jemma advanced at the front, steps silent but swift. Then she froze. Just ahead, sprawled against the corridor wall, was a uniformed officer—unmoving.

Her stomach tightened. She knelt quickly, two fingers checking the man’s pulse. He was breathing but unconscious.

"They are already inside," Jemma hissed into the dead comms. Her voice hardened, echoing in the hall. "They’re already inside. Secure the vaults, move—"

The sound came first. Metallic clinks hitting the floor.

"Grenades!" someone shouted.

A hiss filled the corridor as the canisters burst open. White smoke poured outward, thick and suffocating, rolling across the hall like a flood. Vision blurred, air grew heavy.

The entire world turned white.

The smoke choked the corridor, flashes of muzzle fire tearing through the haze. Gunshots cracked in every direction, ricocheting against marble walls. Guards coughed and stumbled, blind in the fog, some firing wildly while others fell with sharp cries.

Amid the chaos, Jemma kept her stance low and steady. Her breathing was calm, her grip on the pistol unshaken. Every pull of her trigger was measured. A target, a step, another target—clean precision even in the storm.

The smoke thinned at last, curling and settling to the ground like a dying breath. The scene it revealed was grim. Bodies of fallen security sprawled across the polished floor, groans of the injured filling the silence. Only a handful stood with Jemma now, their weapons trembling under exhaustion and fear.

Then the laughter came. Low, mocking, spreading like a chill. From the shadowed archway, armed men in black tactical gear stepped forward, rifles raised, their formation perfect.

And at their center, a figure walked slowly. A mask covered his face, his movements casual, almost lazy, like a predator savoring the hunt. He stopped just meters from Jemma, tilting his head as if amused.

"I didn’t expect such beauty here," his voice rasped through the mask, smooth but cruel. "Why do you hold a gun in those delicate hands? You’ll ruin your soft palms."

The thieves around him chuckled darkly, their weapons never wavering.

Jemma’s pistol was raised straight at his head, her stance unwavering. Her eyes were steel. "You’re not getting away with it. Even if you take the last of us down, you’ll never open that vault."

The masked man laughed, the sound booming in the hall. "Vault? That’s the easiest part. We already have the sequence keys."

Jemma’s expression faltered, her lips parting in shock. "What...?"

The man leaned forward slightly, enjoying her disbelief. "Is that a surprise? Unfortunately, you won’t live long enough to share this story."

And then—darkness.

Every light in the auction house snapped off at once, plunging the hall into a pitch-black void. Gasps filled the air.

"Get down!" Jemma shouted, her voice slicing the panic.

Gunfire erupted immediately, deafening in the black. Muzzle flashes lit up faces for fractions of seconds. Screams echoed, sharp and terrifying, bodies collapsing.

And then came something worse—the sound of movement, swift and silent, like a shadow slipping past. One by one, thieves screamed in pain, dragged down in the dark. The chaos wasn’t just panic anymore—it felt like something unseen was hunting them.

Like a ghost had entered the battlefield.

The lights flickered back to life, flooding the auction hall with harsh white glare.

Jemma’s eyes widened, her breath caught in her throat. Every thief who had been standing moments ago now lay sprawled on the floor, groaning in agony. Guns clattered uselessly around them, smoke from spent ammo still lingering in the air.

And at the center of it all, a hooded figure held the masked leader by the throat, lifting him effortlessly off the ground like he weighed nothing.

The man in the hood spoke, voice calm, almost cold. "Too weak."

With a single motion, he slammed the leader down. The man hit the marble floor with a dull thud, knocked unconscious instantly.

The hooded figure turned then, his steps echoing as he faced Jemma’s small surviving group. They instinctively raised their guns, shaking, ready for a final fight.

The figure tilted his head. "Relax, Officer Jemma. You don’t have any bullets left."

Jemma stiffened, shock running through her veins. He knew her name.

The man reached up, pulling down his hood.

Jemma’s eyes widened as if the world had just stopped. "Miles...?"

A small smile tugged at his lips. "Hello."

Her words stumbled, caught between disbelief and relief. "Why... why are you here?"

Miles stepped closer, calm as though the chaos didn’t exist. "That’s such an odd question."

Jemma’s voice rose, still reeling. "The vault—"

"The vault is safe," Miles interrupted gently. "Don’t worry. Backup and ambulances are already on the way."

Her chest tightened, questions piling faster than she could think. "How did you... who are you really, Miles?"

Before he could answer, the heavy doors of the auction hall burst open. Armed Star Harbor PD stormed inside, their boots pounding the marble floor. Stretchers were rushed in, medics scattering across the scene.

At the front strode Captain Sam, his voice steady and commanding. "Capture these culprits!" He coughed, then corrected himself with more weight. "Send them to the hospital first."

The room moved in a flurry of controlled chaos. And then Sam turned, his sharp eyes landing on Miles. For a moment, his hardened face softened, and then he straightened to full height.

He raised his hand in a crisp salute. "Greetings, General Miles."

The world seemed to freeze around Jemma. Her lips parted as the words struck her like a blow. General...

Her eyes widened to their limits, memories flashing—his uncanny skill at the range, his strange composure under fire, the secrets she could never piece together. It all clicked now.

"You’re... a general?" she whispered, half in awe, half in disbelief.

Miles only smiled, quiet and knowing.

Sam’s voice cut in, steady as stone. "Yes, he is."

Jemma’s body moved before her mind caught up. Her heels clicked together, and her hand shot up to her brow in a sharp salute, her cheeks flushing red at her own formality.

Miles chuckled softly. "Come on, you two. I’m not on the field anymore."

Jemma lowered her hand quickly, embarrassed, her face warm.

Miles gave a small shake of his head. "Sorry for the mess I made here"

"General. But it’s exactly what they deserved. They injured too many of our men tonight." said Sam .

Miles’s smile lingered, though his eyes were colder now. "I know."

Sam returned another firm salute, then stepped back to take command of the scene again. "Clear this mess ASAP, the auction is tomorrow."

The hall bustled with police, medics, and officers working in silence, but all Jemma could hear was her own heartbeat—loud, uneven, and heavy with the weight of truth she had finally uncovered.

Miles adjusted his coat as the last stretchers rolled out of the auction hall. The air smelled of smoke and gunpowder, faint sirens echoing in the distance. He turned back to Jemma, her uniform disheveled but her posture still sharp, eyes full of questions she wasn’t ready to ask yet.

"Well, good night Jemma," Miles said quietly, his voice calm as ever. "I’ll go back now. Also, take this."

He handed her a small folded paper.

Jemma unfolded it carefully, her brows knitting together. "This is...?"

"The vault sequence they had," Miles explained, his tone measured. "I think someone inside this auction house is involved. Look into it."

Her eyes hardened, the weight of responsibility falling on her shoulders. "Thanks for your help tonight, Miles... I mean, General."

Miles gave a low chuckle, shaking his head. "Just Miles is fine."

Jemma hesitated, then nodded slowly, her salute earlier still burning in her memory.

Miles glanced at the glass windows. Dark clouds had gathered over the city, thunder rolling faintly in the distance. He smirked faintly. "I should leave before it rains."

Jemma’s lips parted as if to stop him, but no words came. She only gave a small nod. "Good night then."

By the time she blinked, Miles was already moving, his figure swallowed by the shadows near the broken hall doors. Silent, untraceable, like a ghost.

Outside, the first drops of rain began to fall.