The island’s cleanup was just as ssy as the chaos itself. That task fell to everyone in the special joint operation with Holand Security, the military, and other involved agencies.
The Shadow Order helped—but barely. They rely introduced themselves as residents of the island and were treated as victims, especially since hostages were involved. The Phantom Circle? They quietly slipped away, with Angel and Mark claiming they were part of the Pri Group’s elite forces.
The injured were quickly transported to the nearest hospital. There was one clinic on the island, but Granny Sybil inford them of a larger hospital on the neighboring island. So, all the wounded were temporarily taken there.
That included Hugo, Mint, Slater, and Zoren. They had survived, yes—but not without injuries, especially Hugo.
And while everyone was busy...
One man had a different agenda—escape.
Jonathan peeked over the tree he was hiding behind, eyes scanning the area as he took advantage of the commotion. Earlier, while locked in an underground cell, a fight had broken out. He played dead as two n wrestled just outside his cell.
When one man erged victorious, the other barely managed to rise before charging back into battle. What the victor didn’t know was that Jonathan—captive and ignored—was watching.
Seizing the chance, Jonathan looted the corpse that had slumped near his cell and took his rifle. Luckily for him, the locks were old and rusted—evidence that the cells hadn’t been used in a long ti. With so effort, he broke free and escaped the battlefield.
Now, hours later, Jonathan was sprinting through the woods, successfully avoiding detection.
As he reached the last treeline, his pace quickened. Breaking through the underbrush, he erged onto a cliff.
"Hah..." he panted, dragging his feet to the edge.
From there, he could see boats on the other side. He scanned the area and spotted more vessels approaching. Choppers, too. Anteca’s full forces were arriving to assist with the cleanup.
"Tch," he clicked his tongue, eyes burning with resentnt at the thought of Nathalie. "All those years of hard work..."
All of it—gone.
Nathalie had played him too well. All this ti, he believed she was under his thumb. She’d admired him, followed his plans... or so he thought.
In truth, it had been Nathalie’s plan from the very beginning.
She let him do all the heavy lifting while she positioned herself to reap the rewards.
"That old hag..." he spat to the side. "If she’s still alive, I’ll be the first to kill her."
He paused, fists trembling in fury. "And he’s second."
By he, he ant Shawn.
Jonathan’s teeth clenched, heart swelling with rage and betrayal.
"I’ll get back at him," he muttered, glaring at the chaos below. "But for now..."
For now, he had to hide. He needed a plan. He couldn’t be caught.
With that in mind, Jonathan turned and jogged away—
BANG!
He froze.
His breath caught in his throat. Eyes wide, he turned toward the sound.
To his dismay, standing several feet behind him, was Shawn.
Smoke curled from the muzzle of the rifle pointed skyward. Shawn’s gaze was locked on him.
"Nathan," Shawn called out, lowering the rifle. "It’s over."
The mont he heard those words, Jonathan’s already-wild eyes widened further.
"Surrender now," Shawn added, remorse thick in his voice. "Please."
Jonathan didn’t respond. He didn’t move. He just stared blankly at Shawn.
Then... anger exploded in his eyes.
"Surrender?" he whispered, veins bulging in his forehead. His hands slowly balled into fists. He clenched his jaw.
He scoffed, jabbing a finger at himself. "You want to surrender? HAHAHA! Shawn, are you out of your damn mind?"
"It’s over, Nathan," Shawn said again, firmly. "Your plans failed. It’s done."
Hearing that only made Jonathan’s blood boil more. Of course the plan failed—and whose fault was that?
"It’s your fault," Jonathan spat, laughing bitterly. "Everything is your fault! If it weren’t for you—"
"Even if I hadn’t acted, Nathalie was still ten steps ahead of you. The result would’ve been the sa."
And that was the final spark.
The next mont, Jonathan saw nothing but red. Without thinking, he charged toward him like a madman.
Shawn could have shot him, but he didn’t. Instead, he tossed the rifle aside and t Jonathan with his bare fists.
Jonathan was a skilled fighter, but so was Shawn. The two clashed by the cliff, wrestling with everything they had. Each blow held weight and aning. Each strike carried pain and mory, breaking into shards of a shared past.
mories of their laughter through hunger. Warmth through winter. Bland als were eaten together like a feast.
Their childhood had been far from perfect. Abandoned before they could even walk, left to fend for themselves. It was hell for each of them. But sohow, they’d ford a family. Having only each other as allies, they survived through thick and thin.
At least, Shawn wanted to believe that—if only for a fleeting mont—Jonathan had once seen them that way.
Not as pawns. Not as tools. But as brothers. Soone he cared for and wanted to protect.
Eventually, Shawn gained the upper hand. He pinned Jonathan down, face to the dirt, arms locked behind his back.
"You traitor! I’ll kill you!" Jonathan scread, thrashing beneath him. "What are you doing, huh?! If you’re going to kill , do it now! Because if you ever give a chance, I will kill you!"
"Kill , then!" Shawn shouted back, his grip trembling. "I’ll wait for that day and accept it—but not now... don’t die."
His voice cracked. He tried to hold back the tears, but they ca anyway. They landed on Jonathan’s back, unnoticed by the man still fighting beneath him.
"Nathan..." Shawn whispered, voice thick with grief. "She’s dead. She’s gone. And we... we’re free."
Jonathan froze, his breath hitched, eyes wide. Realization hit like a bucket of ice, and only now could he feel the warmth of Shawn’s tears on his back.
"It’s over... and we’re free, Nathan," Shawn repeated softly. "Wasn’t she the only reason you’re like this? Well, she’s dead. So my big brother doesn’t have to pretend anymore."
He whimpered as he added, "It’s not too late to repent. To start over. For you and ."
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