Chapter 5
Carter took a deep breath, fighting to keep the excitement from his voice as he stepped forward. "Have you ever considered turning this gift into a profession?"
Elizabeth's hands stilled. She glanced up at him, her expression unreadable. No spark of interest.
The lack of reaction only made Carter more anxious. Words tumbled out faster. "I could make introductions. With your skills and composure, you'd be top-tier in no time—"
He paused, searching for a word that conveyed the truth without stating it outright. "As an operative. The compensation is beyond anything you can imagine."
What he really meant: assassin.
Elizabeth holstered the cleaned weapon and zipped up her jacket, concealing it beneath the fabric.
When she met his gaze, shook her head. "I appreciate the offer, Carter. Really. But I don't need the money."
And she didn't enjoy killing, either. The hours at the range weren't about bloodlust—they were about to avoid getting hurt herself.
It was the truth, too.
Even after Charles had seized most of Hughes's hidden assets, what remained was more than enough to keep her comfortable for life. What she had been pursuing was never money, but the power and capital for revenge.
Carter's face fell, genuine regret flickering across his features.
He could tell she meant it. The way she dismissed wealth wasn't an act.
"What a waste," he muttered under his breath, then seemed to come to a decision. "Anytime you're in Sunnyvale, you come find me. Free sessions. I just want to see how Awesome you can really get."
This time, the corner of Elizabeth's mouth twitched. The barest hint of acknowledgment. "Thanks."
She didn't say anything else. Just turned and walked away.
Her frame was lean, her posture straight as a blade. Like bamboo growing silent and unyielding through a winter frost.
Carter watched her disappear, a strange certainty settling in his chest.
That girl wouldn't stay unknown for long. One day, she'd be someone who mattered.
Outside the Sunnyvale Club, , the lights had already just come on outside.
The night in the industrial zone carried a desolate silence.
Elizabeth didn't call a car back to the Windsor estate like usual. Instead, she slipped into a side street, scanning for a dive internet café, the kind where no one asked questions and IDs were optional.
She turned on a machine in the far corner, quickly inserted a seemingly ordinary USB drive, and a complex encryption program ran automatically. The interface switched, connecting to a completely different network—the dark web.
Username: Noel.
This was Hughes's final failsafe. The one thing Charles never knew existed—an account tied to a Nightfall, one that had gone dormant years ago but never truly died.
Hughes had told her once, "This is for when you have no other option. When your back is against the wall and there's nowhere left to run."
In her past life, she'd never gotten the chance to use it.
This time, she had nothing left to lose.
The interface was stark. Minimalist to the point of looking fake. Just a few command options.
She clicked on Organization Status.
Dormant.
Next to Balance, a string of zeroes stretched across the screen—so many her pulse kicked despite herself.
It was enough money to topple a small country's economy.
Clearance Level: Supreme.
No hesitation. Her fingers moved across the keys.
She selected: Activate.
A soundless confirmation flashed across the screen.
Nightfall: Awakened.
Somewhere in the digital ether, sleeping systems were waking up. Connections reestablishing. A network coming back online.
She moved to the next tab: Mission Board.
This was step one.
Target: Henry.
Objective: Sever the distal phalanx of his right pinky finger. Stream the entire process to an encrypted channel.
She hit confirm.
Done.
Elizabeth yanked the drive out, wiped the browser history, and powered down the machine. She stood, slipped back into the smoky haze of the café, and stepped out into the night.
Her face was calm.
But her eyes—cold, sharp, unforgiving.
Henry, that finger? It's just the beginning.
The first tiny payment on everything you did to me in my last life.
Elizabeth had no idea that the moment she activated the Noel account and posted that mission, alarms were screaming in a hidden underground facility halfway across the world.
Red emergency lights spun silently across reinforced walls.
Five people seated around a steel table—mid-argument about the organization's future direction—went dead silent.
Every eye snapped to the main screen.
ALERT: Supreme Clearance Account [Noel] — ACTIVATED.
Status: Dormancy Lifted.
New Mission Posted.
The silence lasted exactly three seconds.
Then chaos.
"No way in hell!" Ray, a hulking bald man built like a freight train, slammed his fist on the table hard enough to rattle the monitors. "Mr. Noel was dead!"
The acting leader—Viper, a man in gold-rimmed glasses who looked more like a philosophy professor than a killer—leaned back, his calm exterior masking the predatory calculation in his gaze. "Credentials don't lie. Looks like Mr. Noel left us a surprise."
Lynx, the only woman at the table, leaned forward, sharp-eyed and tense. "Who the hell posted it? Can we trace them? We need to confirm identity—now."
Uri, their tech specialist—a wiry guy with perpetually messy hair—was already flying through commands on his console. A minute later, he slumped back, frustrated. "Can't. Supreme clearance means multi-layer encryption and physical node jumping. Whoever this is, they covered their tracks. All we've got is the mission brief."
He pulled it up on the main display.
Target: Henry.
Task: Remove distal phalanx of right pinky. Live-stream to encrypted channel.
Payout: [An absurdly high number].
Ray scoffed. "That's it? We're talking about Nightfall's resources here, and someone's using us to play schoolyard bully? For this chump?"
But Lynx wasn't laughing. "It's not about the mission, Ray. It's about who posted it. Supreme clearance means they're not just some rando—they have Mr. Noel's authority. You get what that means?"
Blade, silent until now, spoke in a voice like gravel scraping stone. "It means the real boss just showed up."
That stopped them cold.
Viper adjusted his glasses, expression maddeningly calm. "let's not get ahead of ourselves. An account surfaces out of nowhere—we don't even know if it's legitimate—and we're ready to upend everything?"
Ray cut him off. "Viper, you're acting leader. If the real deal just logged in, we find them. Confirm their identity. Follow orders. That's loyalty to Mr. Noel."
Lynx jumped in immediately. "Agreed. We can't just sit on this. Nightfall's been in limbo too long. We need a boss—and we sure as hell shouldn't ignore the founder's will."
Blade didn't speak, but his eyes said it all.
Even Uri raised a tentative hand. "From a technical standpoint... the authentication checks out. I'd stake my reputation the account's legit."
