Chapter 182: The Edge of the Labyrinth
The last thing Eva remembered was the buzz of halogen lights above her recovery bed, the antiseptic sting in the air, and the cold drip of medication flowing through her IV. She was stable — just barely — after the operation. The internal bleeding had stopped. The shrapnel removed. Her body was healing, but slowly, delicately, like spun glass still in the fire.
Before the procedure, a quiet presence had lingered in the sterile room's corner. Dr. Halvorsen, one of the lead specialists on the Maxwell medical team, approached, holding a sleek, pen - like device with a tip pulsing faint blue light.
"Eva," he said softly, kneeling beside her bed, "your father authorized a classified nanotech protocol. It will speed your recovery — and erase any traceable DNA markers. If anyone runs a genetic profile on you, they'll find nothing."
Eva gave a weak nod — barely perceptible, but enough.
Dr. Halvorsen pressed the device gently against her inner wrist. A cool sensation spread instantly as billions of microscopic nanobots entered her bloodstream. She flinched, but the discomfort was fleeting — a ripple beneath her skin.
"These nanobots target specific sequences," he explained. "They mask the genetic markers unique to the Maxwell – Lioré bloodline. To the outside world, your DNA will read like a blank page."
Her father had insisted on it. In a world of espionage, corporate warfare, and political assassination, identity was both shield and target. If anyone discovered who Eva truly was, she'd become a beacon to every enemy her family had ever made.
Dr. Halvorsen's eyes scanned her vitals with practiced precision. "They're also accelerating cellular repair. You'll heal faster, with far less risk of infection. But you need rest. Let the nanobots work."
Eva closed her eyes, letting the doctor's calm voice fade as the nanobots silently rewrote her biology — erasing her from every registry, every genetic trace.
When the device retracted, his face was calm but serious. "You're stable — for now. But this protection only works if no one knows it's there. Stay quiet. Stay invisible."
Her father's final words echoed in her mind:
Disappear if you must, Eva — but never forget who you are.
Then came the explosion.
A low rumble beyond the compound walls — not enough to level the hospital, but enough to rattle windows and send guards and nurses into a sudden scramble. Alarms shrieked. Boots thundered past her door. Through the haze of painkillers, she heard voices shouting orders — then something quieter, more mechanical. The whine of reinforced tires. The synchronized slam of armored doors opening.
And then — nothing. A needle plunged into her arm. A sudden cold rush.
When Eva woke, it wasn't chaos that greeted her. It was silence — sterile, humming silence.
The world was white — floor, walls, ceiling — all pristine, too pristine. Her mind lagged behind her eyes, disoriented. Muscles ached, her side pulsed with a deep, hot throb beneath tight bandages. The scar tissue from surgery was fresh. Moving felt like peeling herself from a half - dried cocoon.
She blinked slowly. Her throat was raw. "Arry…?"
Her cracked voice barely carried, but a soft rustle to her right made her heart jolt with fragile hope.
Aristea lay beside her on the floor, curled like a cat mid - fall. Her jacket was half - draped across Eva's legs, as if — even unconscious — she'd tried to shield her. A faint bruise marred her temple, but her breathing was even.
Eva reached out with shaking fingers, brushing a strand of hair from Aristea's brow.
"Arry, wake up… please."
Aristea stirred, lashes fluttering. She groaned, sitting up too quickly and pressing a hand to her head.
"W - where…?" Her voice was hoarse. Then she remembered. Eyes widened. "The gunfire — the blast — Eva! Are you alright? Did they —"
"I'm okay," Eva whispered, though her body felt anything but. "You're okay too."
They stared in breathless silence. The air buzzed faintly, almost imperceptibly. No windows. No doors visible. Just smooth white panels and soft, recessed lights pulsing with artificial calm.
"What is this place?" Aristea murmured. "A hospital?"
"No." Eva shook her head slowly, biting back a wince. "Too quiet. No staff. No monitors. Just us."
"Then—?"
"A facility. A lab. A prison," Eva said. "Whatever it is, it's not meant for healing."
Aristea's hands curled into fists. She drew in a shaky breath, trying to contain the tremor in her limbs.
"We need to escape," she said. "Now."
"We will," Eva said gently. "But if we rush, we lose."
"But—"
"Arry." Eva's voice turned low, steady. "We don't know where we are. How many people are involved. There could be cameras, sensors. If we act like scared kids, they'll expect noise. Panic. But if we observe, think — then strike when they least expect it."
Eva shifted, pushing herself carefully to her feet, ignoring the screaming protest from her muscles. Her hospital gown was rumpled, stained from surgery, but her bearing remained regal.
Aristea stood beside her, arms folded, eyes narrowing. "And if they separate us?"
"They won't. They brought us here together. It's strategic. Either we're leverage, or resources." Eva glanced toward a wall where the lighting subtly pulsed. "They think we're harmless. Children. That's their first mistake."
Aristea studied her in silence, then smiled — wry, thin, but full of something deeper.
"Alright. What's the plan, general?"
"First — we observe," Eva said. "Watch the lights. Listen to every sound. Feel for vibrations. If there's airflow, it means vents. If power shifts, it means routines. We build a map in our minds."
"You sound like you've done this before."
"I haven't," Eva admitted. "But Papa taught me how to survive. Our minds are our blades now."
Aristea stepped closer. "Do you think they know who we are?"
"Maybe. They know I'm an Ainsley. That's enough to make me valuable. But they may not realize I'm also Maxwell – Lioré."
"They'll find out," Aristea said. "If your father has anything to say about it."
"He'll tear cities apart."
"And me?" Aristea asked quietly.
"You," Eva said, voice firm, "are Aristea Arethusa Celestine Artemis Kallistráti Rousseau – Parnassos. The future of G•••••. If they realize that — they'll never let us go."
Aristea tilted her head, a soft smile creeping onto her lips. "So… we're bargaining chips."
"Not just that. We're wild cards," Eva said. "They'll underestimate us. And that's how we win."
A pause passed. Then Aristea stepped forward, stopping inches away.
"You're incredible," she whispered.
Eva's composure flickered. "I'm just doing what I can."
"No," Aristea said softly, her voice low and sure. "You're protecting me. Like I'm yours."
Without another word, she leaned in and kissed her.
It was brief — a spark, not a fire. Eva froze, eyes wide, heart stammering like a snared drum.
Aristea pulled back, a calm, knowing smile playing on her lips. "For good luck."
Before Eva could respond, Aristea leaned in again, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to her lips. Then once more, more confidently this time, her smirk deepening.
Eva's cheeks flamed. "That's… not…"
"You didn't hate it," Aristea teased, voice dripping with playful certainty.
"I didn't say I hated it!" Eva protested, voice a breathless whisper.
Aristea laughed — a gentle, golden sound that seemed to warm the cold room. She squeezed Eva's hand, her eyes sparkling with mischief and something fiercer.
"You know," Aristea murmured, inching closer, "I could do this all day."
Eva's breath hitched, caught somewhere between protest and invitation.
Aristea's fingers trailed up Eva's arm, her touch light but claiming. "If I'm going to protect you," she whispered, "I might as well stake my claim."
Before Eva could say another word, Aristea closed the distance again, her lips capturing Eva's with soft insistence, slow and sure. When they parted, her smile was triumphant.
"You're mine," Aristea said softly, eyes locking with Eva's.
Eva's pulse thundered in her ears. "I —"
"No interruptions," Aristea teased, brushing a stray lock of hair behind Eva's ear. "Not until you say it back."
Eva swallowed hard, heat blooming in her chest. "You're mine too."
Aristea's grin deepened. "Good."
She pressed one last, lingering kiss to Eva's lips, then rested her forehead against hers.
"Together," she said, voice barely more than a vow.
Eva nodded, breathless but sure. "Always."
"Then let's survive this. Together. Plan first, escape later. But always together."
Eva took a steadying breath and nodded. "Always."
Then — a noise.
Metal shifted behind the wall to their left — subtle but distinct. A door was opening.
Outside, muffled voices rose, low and tense:
"We hit room 402, right? That's where the ambassador's kid stays."
"Yeah, intel said explosion's our cover — pulls security away."
"You sure we got the right room?"
"Don't second guess me. We get the kid, we get paid. No mistakes."
They crept inside.
Flashlights swept the room and stopped. Two girls lay there, pale, fragile — not the ambassador's kid.
"Shit," whispered one. "This isn't the right kid."
"Doesn't matter," the leader said sharply. "We've got 'em. Knock 'em out — no noise."
A syringe jabbed into Eva's arm, the cold rush hitting fast. The kidnappers exchanged nervous glances, fumbling but determined.
"We don't have backup. If anyone comes, we bolt. Just get 'em and move."
They hauled the girls roughly to their feet — unaware of the power nestled in their captives' bones.
Back in the white room, Eva and Aristea listened as footsteps faded, replaced by the hum of silence.
"They think we're the ambassador's kid," Eva murmured.
Aristea narrowed her eyes. "They don't even know who we are. Idiots."
Eva smiled grimly. "Good. Let them underestimate us."
"Alright. So what now?" Aristea asked.
"We learn their routines. Every sound, every light flicker. We wait for a chance to turn the tables."
Aristea nodded, confidence returning. "Together."
Eva took her hand. "Together."
The white walls seemed to hold their breath, waiting for the game to begin.