Chapter 125: The Undercover Aegis Agents

Lucien looked between them, and the crimson flare in his eyes vanished as quickly as it had appeared, leaving behind a piercing, calculating clarity.

“Because I happen to possess a rather robust working theory,” Lucien continued, sliding his hands back into his trouser pockets with casual grace. “And I strongly suspect that by the time we conclude our little symposium this evening, you are going to discover that the institutions you pledged your lives to have given you infinitely more rational reasons to fear them than you have ever had to fear me.”

He turned on his heel, gesturing gracefully toward the massive, open oak doors of the grand estate behind them, glancing back over his platinum-trimmed shoulder.

“Now… shall we retire indoors? The winter draft out here is beginning to chap my skin,” Lucien remarked smoothly. “I find myself suddenly ravenous for information regarding the recent architectural milestones of Aegis. It is, after all, an organization I share a long, complicated history with—much like an old, irritating acquaintance who refuses to die quietly. I expect you to recite everything you know about this new hardware, the scientists who engineered it, and the ambitious administrative body that thought my doorstep was an appropriate testing ground.”

His smile took on a predatory, razor-thin edge. “And do endeavor not to omit any minute details. I should be terribly displeased to discover that you neglected something of structural importance after I have gone to the considerable trouble of making you comfortable.”

He paused by the threshold, nodding toward the illuminated foyer. “After you. Ladies first, of course. I was raised with passable manners, after all.”

Neither agent moved a muscle, their bodies paralyzed by the sheer weight of the trap closing around them. Lucien’s eyebrows arched in mild reprimand.

“Really? Must we inaugurate our professional relationship with yet another tedious lesson in basic etiquette?”

Elena exchanged one final, doomed look with Dave before she exhaled a shuddering breath and stepped forward across the threshold. Dave followed her rigid footsteps, his eyes fixed blankly on the polished marble floor as the heavy doors began to swing inward.

Lucien paused on the porch for a brief moment, watching them enter before following at an unhurried, luxurious pace. Behind them, the silent winter snow continued to fall relentlessly over the blood-soaked courtyard, slowly weaving a white shroud over the fallen dead.

Inside the sprawling, brilliantly lit estate, the chandeliers blazed with warm, welcoming luminescence.

And for the first time in centuries, Aegis had accidentally handed Lucien Blackthorne something infinitely more valuable than a battlefield victory.

They had delivered a mystery.

An intricate, high-level conspiracy waiting to be unraveled. And he intended to tear it apart thread by thread—to discover who had authorized the hit, why they had suddenly chosen to poke an ancient apex predator, and what grand, catastrophic design they hoped to build upon his bones.

By the time he finished dissecting their little network, he strongly suspected they would curse the very day they decided to teach him their name.

The grand entrance hall of the European estate was bathed in the warm, golden glow of crystal chandeliers, casting soft light over polished mahogany, hand-woven tapestries, and soaring archways. Yet despite the lavish comfort, the air inside remained thick with an suffocating, razor-thin tension.

Lucien glided across the parquet floor and led the two Aegis operatives into his sprawling drawing room, where the soft glow of the chandelier illuminated the elegant furnishings and dark wood panelling.

The room was spacious, tastefully decorated, and almost absurdly peaceful compared to the blood-soaked courtyard outside. Nothing about the luxurious surroundings suggested that a massacre had taken place on the grounds only minutes earlier.

He gestured casually toward a pair of plush, velvet-upholstered armchairs facing a carved stone fireplace.

“Do sit,” Lucien murmured, his voice smooth and conversational as he walked toward a silver tray on a side table. “I assure you, the upholstery does not bite.”

Elena and Dave remained frozen near the doorway, their backs rigid, their hands hovering uselessly near empty holsters.

Lucien paused, pouring himself two fingers of amber liquid from a crystal decanter. He let out a low, theatrical sigh, swirling the glass gently so the ice clinked against the crystal. “Seriously, my dears, this hesitant posture is becoming tedious even for a man with three thousand years of patience. I’ve already explained that I have no intention of killing you at this very moment, and yet you’re standing there as though I’ve invited you into a torture chamber.”

He turned around, leaning his hip casually against the mahogany table, taking a slow sip as his piercing blue eyes locked onto them.

“Consider yourselves extraordinarily fortunate. If it were my darling brother Damien standing in my shoes right now… trust me, he wouldn’t bother wasting his evening treating you with this level of civilized hospitality, offering you comfortable velvet seats or engaging in polite conversation. Damien would have ensured you both thoroughly understood the visceral, agonizing mechanics of pain before you even crossed the threshold and had the opportunity to explain yourselves.”

He paused, his smile returning. “And knowing my brother, he would probably consider the entire experience an excellent way to unwind after a long day. So, if I were you, I’d take the seat while I’m still feeling civil.”

Elena didn’t need to be told a third time. The subtext behind his polite smile was far more terrifying than an open threat. She walked forward with rigid grace and sat down on the edge of the sofa, her knees pressed together, her spine straight as a rod. Dave followed a second later, sinking into the cushions beside her, his body locked in a state of high alert.

“Mmm,” Lucien hummed in approval, the corners of his lips curving upward as he strode over to the glass coffee table between them. “That is much better. Manners make the mortal, after all.”

He pulled a sleek, encrypted smartphone from his inner pocket, tapped the screen to activate a voice recording, and slid the device smoothly into the exact center of the glass table between them.

He positioned the device carefully, ensuring that it could capture every word spoken in the room. He then retreated to the armchair opposite theirs, crossing one long leg over the other, resting his elbows on the leather armrests as he brought his steepled fingers to his chin.

Elena’s gaze followed the movement, and she furrowed her brows. “Don’t tell me you’re going to be recording us?” she asked.

“Naturally. I have a terrible memory for insignificant conversations, and I would hate to forget something important you might say.” Lucien glanced at her. “Besides, people have a remarkable tendency to become forgetful when they realise the consequences of their own actions. This way, if either of you develops a sudden case of selective amnesia, I can simply play the conversation back.”

Dave shifted on the sofa nervously. Lucien noticed but said nothing about it. Instead, he folded his hands loosely over his knee and regarded them with an expression of polite interest.

“Now,” Lucien began, his tone dropping the theatrical playfulness, replaced by an intense, razor-sharp focus.

“Let’s begin with something simple. I want a complete, unvarnished inventory of everything currently transpiring within the upper echelons of Aegis. Every newly minted tactical weapon in their arsenal,

every experiment they’ve funded, every operation they’ve authorised against the supernatural community. I want the identities of your fellow operatives, your field commanders, your researchers, and anyone you know to be working undercover within the packs or the various supernatural organisations.”

His smile thinned. “For your directors to authorize a direct strike on my personal sanctuary, and also decide to send twenty-six operatives to their deaths without a valid reason… it signifies that the geopolitical balance has shifted. Something has changed within your organization. And I intend to discover precisely what it is.”

Elena and Dave exchanged a brief, terrified glance under the weight of his unblinking stare.

“We don’t possess a master registry of every active Aegis operative,” Elena admitted, her voice trembling slightly despite her efforts to remain composed.

“After we pass final tactical evaluation at the academy, we’re assigned to different regions depending on where our records indicate supernatural activity. Some of us are placed near werewolf packs, others are assigned to covens, and a few are sent to monitor individuals considered dangerous to human society. Our assignments are usually compartmentalised. We receive the information necessary to complete our missions, but we’re not given access to the wider network unless our positions require it. Only the Directorate holds the master telemetry data on sleeper agents.”

“How sensible of them,” Lucien murmured. “A secret organisation that keeps secrets from its own members. Whatever would the world do without such extraordinary innovation?”

Elena ignored the remark, although her fingers tightened around one another.

“Only senior officials have access to the complete operational database. They know where the agents are stationed, which identities they’re using, and which assignments are active. Even most field commanders don’t have access to everything.”