Night fell too quietly.
After everything that had happened, the calm felt unnatural.
The children were asleep upstairs.
The broken parts of the house had been covered, swept, repaired as much as possible.
And Catherine—
For the first time in days—
Had finally fallen asleep.
Jack stood at the bedroom doorway, watching her.
Moonlight touched her face softly.
Even in sleep, she looked tired.
Like someone who had been carrying grief, fear, and love all at once.
He knew that look.
Because he had put it there.
Slowly, he stepped inside and pulled the blanket higher over her shoulder.
Catherine stirred slightly.
Her hand brushed his wrist.
Even half asleep, she reached for him.
Jack's chest tightened.
He bent down and kissed her forehead.
"I'll make this right," he whispered.
Though he had no idea how.
A sound came from downstairs.
Soft.
Metal.
A latch.
Jack straightened instantly.
Every nerve in his body sharpened.
He moved to the hallway without making a sound.
Another noise.
Near the kitchen.
Someone was inside.
He glanced back at Catherine.
Still sleeping.
Then slipped out and closed the bedroom door behind him.
The stairs did not creak beneath his feet.
The darkness did not slow him.
Old instincts returned like breath.
He reached the bottom floor.
Silence.
Too much silence.
Then—
Movement to the left.
Jack turned sharply.
A shadow rushed him.
He caught the attacker's arm, twisted, and slammed him into the wall.
The man grunted.
Another figure emerged from the dining room.
Then another.
Three.
No.
Four.
This wasn't burglary.
It was extraction.
Jack struck the first man in the throat, spun, and kicked the second into the table.
Wood cracked.
A third grabbed him from behind.
Jack drove his elbow backward into ribs, then hurled the man over his shoulder.
The fourth one fired a stun gun.
Electric pain tore through Jack's side.
He staggered.
Damn.
Upstairs—
A scream.
Catherine.
Jack's head snapped upward.
"No!"
He bolted for the stairs.
Two men tackled him halfway up.
He crashed hard against the railing.
Pain shot through his shoulder.
But rage burned hotter.
He roared and threw one man down the staircase.
The other took a punch that dropped him instantly.
Jack sprinted up—
Bedroom door open.
Window curtains moving.
Empty bed.
"No…"
The word came out broken.
He rushed to the window.
Outside, at the gate—
Two masked men dragged Catherine toward the black car.
Her hands bound.
Mouth covered.
She was fighting.
Kicking.
Trying to scream.
"CATHERINE!"
She looked up.
Their eyes met.
Terror collided with helplessness.
One of the men struck her in the side and shoved her into the car.
The door slammed.
Engine roared.
Jack jumped from the first-floor ledge to the lawn below.
He landed badly, rolled, got up running.
The car sped through the gate.
Gravel spraying.
Jack chased it barefoot into the road.
For several seconds, pure fury almost outran steel.
Then the taillights disappeared into darkness.
He stopped in the middle of the road.
Chest heaving.
Hands shaking.
Mind burning.
Behind him, neighbors' lights flicked on.
Dogs barked.
Someone shouted from a distance.
He heard none of it.
Only one thing mattered.
They had taken her.
Inside the house, one of the attackers groaned on the floor.
Still conscious.
Bad choice.
Jack walked back inside slowly.
The surviving man tried to crawl away.
Jack grabbed him by the shirt and dragged him across broken glass.
"Where is she?"
The man spat blood.
"Go to hell."
Jack slammed him into the wall.
"Where. Is. She."
The man laughed weakly.
"You still don't get it…"
Jack's grip tightened.
"Get what?"
The man grinned through blood.
"She was always the target."
Cold flooded Jack's veins.
"What does that mean?"
"It means Richard doesn't need you anymore."
Jack hit him once.
Hard.
"WHERE?"
The man coughed, then whispered one word:
"Foundry."
Jack froze.
A memory surged.
Steel doors.
Abandoned machinery.
Training screams.
Richard's voice.
The old industrial compound outside the city.
Where they built monsters.
The man smiled faintly.
"He said you'd come angry."
Jack released him.
His expression emptied of everything human.
No panic.
No grief.
No hesitation.
Only purpose.
He turned and headed upstairs.
The children.
He had to secure them first.
Then—
He was going hunting.
On Catherine's pillow lay something he hadn't seen before.
A black card.
No writing.
Just one silver symbol stamped in the center.
A broken crown.
Jack stared at it.
Then closed his fist around the card.
Richard had just declared war.
"Wrong move," Jack said quietly.
Because Richard had not taken a hostage.
He had taken the only thing capable of bringing the old Jack back.