Forgetting every warning—every risk of being seen, of being hunted—Athena found herself walking back to the familiar building, as if her body remembered the way even when her mind screamed for her to turn back. Nostalgia struck her like a cruel tide as she stepped into the compound, memories clinging to her skin, tightening around her throat.
Her steps slowed.
The door was ajar.
Her heart lurched violently. She stood there for a long moment, dread coiling deep in her chest, begging her not to look—because once she did, there would be no undoing it.
Still, she pushed the door open.
The world collapsed.
Athena staggered backward, her breath ripping out of her lungs as if the air itself had betrayed her.
Her father lay on the floor.
Cold. Lifeless. Still.
A broken sound escaped her throat as her knees buckled. She shook her head in denial, vision blurring, her heart pounding so hard it hurt.
"No… no… please…"
Slowly—achingly—she forced herself closer, every step heavier than the last. When she finally dropped to her knees beside him, the dam shattered.
Tears streamed freely down her face as she cupped his cheeks with trembling hands, as if warmth might return if she touched him enough. His skin was cold. Too cold.
"I'm sorry," she whispered, her voice breaking completely. "I'm sorry for running away while you were killed this brutally."
Her shoulders shook violently.
"I promise… I promise I'll make them pay for this."
Her lips trembled. "I love you. We all do."
She leaned down and pressed a kiss to his forehead, lingering there—desperate, unwilling to let go—before finally forcing herself to stand.
Her legs felt like they might give way beneath her.
She stumbled into her parents' matrimonial bedroom, the scent of old memories wrapping around her like a cruel embrace. Love and sorrow clung to the air. Her eyes swept across the room—photographs frozen in happier times, neatly folded blankets, traces of a life that had once been whole.
A family that once was.
Her fists clenched at her sides.
After a long, suffocating silence, she turned toward her mother's wardrobe. As she opened it, a single folded paper slipped free and fluttered to the ground.
Her breath caught.
She picked it up carefully and unfolded it.
Her voice trembled as she read aloud.
> My beautiful children…
With every word, Athena's chest tightened.
Her mother's regrets bled from the paper—of being an orphan, of misplaced trust, of a life ruined by a profession meant to protect. Of love denied. Of grandparents who never accepted her marriage. Of hacking skills that had become both power and curse.
And then—
> I hope neither of you follows my path… but if you must, be careful.
Athena's knees gave out.
A scream tore from her chest as she collapsed to the floor, grief ripping through her, her voice echoing through the empty house like a wounded animal's cry.
She screamed again.
And again.
Unaware she was no longer alone.
"Athena."
The soft voice cut through the darkness.
She spun around, grief twisting instantly into rage. She charged forward, pounding her fists against Imelda's chest, sobbing uncontrollably.
"Why?!" Athena screamed. "Why must it be her?! Why them?! They took everyone away from me!"
Imelda didn't push her away.
She wrapped her arms tightly around Athena's trembling body, holding her as if letting go would destroy her.
"It's all my fault," Imelda whispered, her voice cracking under the weight of years of regret.
She gently lifted Athena's face until their eyes met.
"I promise," Imelda said, tears streaming down her own face, "I'll do everything to make it up to you."
Athena broke completely.
"They're all gone," she sobbed. "They all left me. We said together forever… and now I'm alone."
Imelda pulled her closer.
"You're not alone," she said fiercely. "You have me. And I won't let anything happen to you—even if it costs me my life."
Athena's sobs softened, collapsing into quiet, broken breaths as she leaned into her grandmother's embrace.
"…Grandmother," she whispered.
Imelda closed her eyes.
"Let's go home."
Hand in hand, they walked out into the waiting night. Brian opened the car door silently, understanding without words. As the vehicle pulled away toward the Williams mansion, the darkness swallowed the house behind them—
—but inside Athena, something had changed.
Grief had found a purpose.
And vengeance had found a promise.