Ashes and Alliances
Chapter 22 – Ashes and Alliances
Ava Carter’s POV
My fingers trembled as I traced the name printed across the final page of the Thornhart file: Project V — Subject: Dr. Samuel Carter.
My father.
The man I thought had died in a car accident. The man I mourned every year with fresh flowers and unanswered questions. Damon leaned against the wall beside me, still bruised and weary, but his hand found mine, grounding me.
Jackson lit a cigarette beside the window, his eyes dark. "You alright?"
I shook my head. "No. Not even close."
Damon glanced at the file again. "He was part of it. Whatever Vanmoor was building... it started with him."
"Started or ended," Jackson muttered. "Project V was terminated two years ago. That’s the same time the lab was abandoned."
I stood abruptly, clutching the file. "I need answers. If my father was involved, if he’s still alive—"
"Then he’s not the man you remember," Jackson interrupted.
His tone was sharp, but not cruel. Realistic. And it shattered me.
"We don’t know that," Damon said, brushing his fingers along my wrist.
"No," Jackson agreed. "But we know Vanmoor used scientists. Turned them into tools. Lab rats. Your father might’ve been a prisoner, not a partner."
I wanted to believe that. I had to believe that.
Jackson dropped the rest of the files onto the table. "There’s something else. A name keeps popping up—Ezra Montague. Military contractor. Bioengineering specialist. Former CIA."
Damon raised a brow. "That sounds like trouble."
"He vanished a year ago. But according to this, Vanmoor recruited him to replicate the Thornhart compound's energy synthesis. If Ezra’s alive, he’s the last living link to whatever they were building."
"Then we find him," I said.
Jackson nodded. "Already working on it."
---
Two Days Later
We found Ezra in the unlikeliest of places: a mental facility disguised as a rehab center in South Mason.
Jackson made the call, Damon did the planning, and I… I prepared myself to face another ghost.
The facility was clean. Cold. Guarded.
We entered under the pretense of a routine psychological evaluation. Jackson forged the paperwork. Damon wore a crisp suit. I played the assistant.
The receptionist glanced at our credentials and buzzed us in. No questions.
Ezra Montague sat in a white room under heavy sedation. He looked barely forty, but his eyes told a different story—like he’d seen eternity and begged to forget.
"Ezra?" I said softly.
His eyes focused slowly. "You’re not real."
"Yes, I am. My name is Ava Carter. I think you knew my father. Samuel Carter?"
His expression changed.
"Carter... Carter was brilliant. Didn’t belong with us. Said he had a daughter—" Ezra blinked. "Wait. That’s you. You have his eyes."
"Is he alive?"
Ezra’s lips twitched. "Vanmoor… sent him away. Somewhere remote. He refused to finish the project. So they took him. Said he’d comply under different conditions."
"Where?"
Ezra hesitated. Then, trembling, he reached under his mattress and pulled out a folded piece of paper.
Coordinates.
Damon leaned over. "Mountain sector. Abandoned observatory. That’s six hours north. Remote. Harsh terrain. Perfect prison."
Jackson pocketed the note. "We’ll leave tonight."
Ezra grabbed my wrist before we turned to go. "Ava... when you find him... don’t expect the man you knew. They break you in there. They remake you."
My stomach sank.
---
Four Hours Later
Snow blanketed the winding roads as we neared the mountain pass. The sky was ink black, and wind howled like a warning.
Jackson drove. Damon sat beside me in the back, his hand resting over mine.
"You don’t have to do this alone," he murmured.
I looked out the window. "I don’t feel like the same girl anymore."
"You’re not," he said softly. "You’re stronger. Scarred, yes. But so am I. So is Emilia. We carry each other."
My eyes burned. "What if I find him and he doesn’t recognize me? What if he’s… gone?"
Damon pulled me closer. "Then we bring him back. Or we burn down the place that took him. Together."
---
The Observatory
The compound loomed like a relic from a forgotten war—steel towers wrapped in barbed wire, and a domed building in the center.
Jackson signaled. "One guard at the west fence. Infrared cameras. Give me ten minutes."
He vanished into the snow. Damon and I crouched behind a rusted satellite dish.
Ten minutes later, a soft whistle.
We moved.
The inside was worse than the outside.
Long corridors. Metal doors. Medical carts. CCTV monitors displaying empty rooms… and one that wasn’t.
A man sat in a chair, his wrists strapped. Thin. Bearded. Hollow eyes. A drip attached to his arm.
Room 17.
Jackson opened the door without a word.
"Dad?" I whispered.
The man didn’t move.
I stepped closer. His fingers twitched.
"Ava?"
The voice was barely there. But it was him.
I fell to my knees beside him. "I’m here. I found you."
His eyes flicked to Damon. Recognition flared.
Then he whispered, "Run. Now."
I froze.
Jackson cursed. "It’s a trap."
The room locked with a magnetic click.
Red lights flared.
An alarm howled.
"Back wall!" Damon yelled, lifting a metal chair and smashing it into the side panel.
The panel gave way, revealing a ventilation shaft.
We shoved my father inside. Damon crawled in next. Jackson last.
Gunshots echoed behind us.
I crawled faster.
We emerged on the east side of the observatory. Jackson threw a flashbang behind us and dragged me toward the jeep.
We drove without headlights until we were back in the forest.
Only then did we breathe.
---
Safehouse – 2:03 AM
My father lay on the cot, drugged but safe. Damon sat nearby, watching Emilia draw pictures of stars and wolves on old notepads.
Jackson poured whiskey. For once, he looked tired.
"We burned the observatory," he said. "No coming back from that."
"And Vanmoor?" I asked.
Jackson handed me a tablet. On it, a still image from the observatory’s CCTV. A woman.
"She’s the one who gave the order to keep your father sedated. New player. Elite. Codename: Solace."
"Solace?"
Damon read over my shoulder. "She’s not working for Vanmoor. She’s using him."
I stared at the image. The woman wore a dark trench coat. Crimson lips. Calculated eyes.
Something about her was… familiar.
"She looks like—"
"You?" Jackson finished.
I swallowed.
Because the resemblance was uncanny.
"Sister? Clone? Doppelgänger?" Damon muttered.
None of us knew.
But I did know one thing:
This wasn’t the end.
It was just the ignition.