{300 Power Stones bonus chapter }
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Thirty minutes later.
At the Lighthouse Hotel.
Inside another presidential suite on the top floor.
Alex gently ruffled Caine's daughter's soft little head.
For once, his face carried a rare, genuine smile.
Caine stood nearby, also smiling.
At that moment, it felt to him as if the old saying—a man never deceives another man—had been proven true.
Alex patiently played with the little girl for a while,
then signaled for Nikita to keep her company.
He hooked an arm around Caine's shoulder,
leading him into the study.
"Caine, for the time being, stay here. Once I've cleared a few things up, we'll find you a place to move into."
"New York isn't safe either?"
The question slipped out almost reflexively after Caine heard Alex's words.
Patting his shoulder, Alex walked to the shelf,
pulled down a bottle of red wine,
and poured two glasses.
He handed one over,
a calm, confident smile on his face.
"Nothing major. I'll settle it soon.
Better you and your daughter stay here for now, just in case.
Besides—new city, new country… buying a house, getting a car, school enrollment… none of that happens overnight."
Hearing this, Caine didn't press further.
He accepted the glass, nodded,
and let Alex's reassurance settle his nerves.
After a pause, Caine added earnestly:
"Before I retired, I owed you. If you ever need me, just ask. That won't count against the three favors I promised."
Alex's eyes glinted.
"Since you mention it… there is one thing."
He reached into his jacket,
produced a silver circular seal,
and placed it in Caine's hand.
"This afternoon John Wick will be here.
I need you and him… to enter a blood oath."
1:00 p.m.
A sedan rolled out from the Lighthouse Hotel's underground garage.
Inside, Nikita and two blue-grade assassins headed toward the Continental.
Twenty-five minutes later, Anna arrived at the garage with ten blue-grade killers.
In the shadows, three brand-new SUVs blinked their lights.
Once her team boarded,
the convoy pulled out—destination: New York International Airport.
Five minutes after their departure,
Duggan slipped into the garage,
climbed into his nondescript little car,
and also drove toward the airport.
Meanwhile, at the Saint Dion Strip Club—
Four cars and a motorcycle stood ready.
A total of twelve men.
The Night Demon donned his suit, mounted the bike,
and whispered under his breath:
"Baba Yaga… I truly look forward to crossing blades with you."
He twisted the throttle.
Engines roared as he and the High Table's killers thundered out—
toward the same airport.
High above the clouds.
On a flight from Mexico to New York.
John Wick gently tucked a blanket around Helen.
Despite his care, the movement stirred her awake.
She lifted her wrist groggily,
checked the time.
[13:30].
"Half an hour to New York…"
Pulling the blanket tighter,
she leaned against John's shoulder,
murmured softly,
and closed her eyes again.
"Sleep. I'll wake you when we land."
John brushed a tender kiss against her forehead, whispering.
No reply came.
Helen had already slipped back into dreams.
Turning his head, John reached for the window shade—
but instinct made him glance outside.
The vast sprawl of America looked so small from up here.
And yet, unease twisted in his chest.
For some reason, the closer they came to New York,
the more restless he felt.
"Hopefully… it's just my imagination."
He sighed quietly,
rubbing at his brow to ease the gnawing sense of dread.
The Continental.
As always, Charon stood behind the front desk,
dutiful as ever.
A man in a suit approached,
hat brim low,
and placed a black coin on the counter.
"Inform Mr. Winston. Tell him the High Table seeks him."
Charon's smile vanished.
He stared at the man,
then slowly reached for the phone.
But before he could dial—
a golden Jack of Hearts card landed beside the coin.
Both Charon and the Adjudicator froze,
eyes shifting to its owner.
Nikita smiled gracefully,
her voice calm, assured:
"Mr. Charon,
the Lighthouse requires a blood oath to be witnessed.
We would like Mr. Winston himself… to serve as arbiter."
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