"A solution," she whispered. "A major breakthrough in technology. We developed a teleportation-like device." Her voice grew steadier, but her eyes were distant, lost in the past.

"Instead of sending people to different planets—which had risks of survival and unknown factors—they researched wormholes. And after years of hard work... they developed the Exodus Protocol—a time machine."

She swallowed hard. "The plan was to send us back to 10,000 B.C.—a time when the Earth was untouched, when humanity could start over. But the wormhole wasn't stable." Her voice broke.

"After sending a few batches of groups through... the wormhole collapsed. We had no way to communicate with the other side."

Her head lowered, her shoulders slumping. "My husband, Harry, was the chief of the project." Her voice was barely a whisper. "Walter killed him. He wanted to be the only one who could control the wormhole... and rule here as well."

Angela exhaled shakily, her breath trembling as she forced the words out. "After Harry's death, I distanced myself from Mary and Veronica." Her voice was raw, thick with guilt and grief.

"I let them discover the wormhole on their own by leaving some clues at home... let them come here behind me pretending not to notice... and then made them leave, far from here."

She looked up at me, her eyes glistening with unshed tears, her expression twisted with torment. "I did it because I didn't want them implicated," she whispered, her voice breaking.

"Because I was afraid Tyler would use them to threaten me. Because I couldn't bear the thought of losing them too." A tear spilled down her cheek, and she didn't bother to wipe it away.

"I thought if I kept them away, if I made them hate me, they'd be safe. But now..." Her breath hitched. "Now I don't even know if they're alive."

I studied her, the weight of her confession pressing down on the room. The way her shoulders trembled, the way her fingers twisted in her lap—she wasn't just afraid.

She was broken. And for the first time, I saw her not as a schemer, not as a threat, but as a mother who had been forced to make impossible choices.

I sighed, unable to shake the thought of how pitiful and alone she must have been—carrying the weight of the world on her shoulders, forced to push away the only family she had left just to keep them alive.

My hand lifted, my fingers gently brushing away the tears from her cheeks, feeling the warmth of her skin beneath my touch.

"Don't worry," I said, my voice low but firm, carrying the weight of a promise she could cling to. "No one can threaten or harm you or your daughters now that I'm here."

Something inside Angela shattered.

With a choked sob, she lunged forward, her arms wrapping around me with a desperation that stole my breath.

She buried her face against my chest, her body shaking violently as she cried—not the controlled, calculated tears of a manipulator, but the raw, broken sobs of a little girl who had carried the weight of the world for too long. Her fingers clenched into the fabric of my shirt, her breath coming in ragged, hiccuping gasps.

I didn't pull away.

Instead, I let her cry, my hand resting on the back of her head, my fingers tangling slightly in her hair. The room was silent except for the sound of her sobs, the wet warmth of her tears soaking through my shirt. I could feel the way her body trembled against mine, the way her breath hitched as she finally—finally—let herself fall apart.

After what felt like an eternity, Angela pulled back, her cheeks flushed and her eyes red-rimmed. She looked down at my shirt, now damp with her tears, and her voice came out stammering, thick with shame.

"I—I'm sorry..." Angela's voice was barely a whisper, her fingers twisting together in her lap like she was trying to knot her own anxiety into submission.

She swallowed hard, her breath hitching as she stared at the damp spot on my shirt—her tears, her shame, her vulnerability all laid bare. "I didn't mean to—I just—"

I pressed a finger to her lips, silencing her. "It's okay," I murmured, my voice gentle but firm, cutting through the storm of her guilt.

My thumb brushed away the last of her tears, my gaze locking onto hers with an intensity that made her breath catch. "You don't have to explain yourself to me."

For a moment, the room was silent except for the sound of her shaky exhale. Then, my expression darkened, my voice shifting to something colder, more calculated. "That Walter must be here, right?"

Angela's body tensed at the mention of his name, her fingers clenching into fists. "Yeah," she said, her voice tight. "He's the one in control of the fortress. Everything belongs to him." Her lips curled into a snarl, her eyes flashing with remembered fury.

"He took it all—my husband's work, my research, my life. And he's been ruling over this place like a king ever since."

The air between us crackled, thick with the weight of what was coming. I leaned back in my chair, the legs scraping against the concrete floor, and let a slow, dangerous smile spread across my face. It wasn't the kind of smile that promised mercy. "Not for long."

Angela's breath hitched, her fingers tightening around the edge of the table. Her eyes darted over my face, searching for something—doubt, hesitation, anything to tell her I was bluffing. But she wouldn't find it.

"What do you mean?" Her voice was barely above a whisper, but the fear in it was unmistakable.

I didn't look away. Instead, I let the silence stretch, let the anticipation coil tighter between us. When I finally spoke, my voice was low, a dark promise wrapped in steel. "I mean," I said, each word deliberate, "I'm going to take everything from him. His power. His control. His empire."

I leaned forward, just enough to make her flinch. "And when I'm done, he won't even remember what it felt like to have it."

Angela's breath came faster now, her chest rising and falling in shallow bursts. She opened her mouth to respond—but the words died on her lips.

A deep, guttural roar split the night. The sound of engines, not one or two, but a dozen, maybe more, tearing through the silence like a blade. The ground trembled beneath our feet, vibrations humming up through the soles of my boots.

Then came the helicopters—massive, relentless, their rotors chopping the air into a storm of noise. Dust and debris swirled around us, caught in the chaos of their descent. The walls rattled, the windows shaking in their frames.

I didn't move. I just smiled, the sound of destruction music to my ears. "The party's begun."

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