The farmhouse felt smaller now, somehow. Like saying goodbye was already compressing it into memory rather than present reality.

Elliot's family had gathered in the main room—Zofia, Tomasz, Marek, Anika, and a dozen others who'd sheltered us for eight and a half months without asking questions we couldn't answer.

"Thank you," I said, the words feeling inadequate. "For everything. For the risk you took. For treating us like family when you had every reason to turn us away."

Zofia waved off the gratitude with a gesture that was pure maternal dismissal. "Family helps family. You helped Anika. We help you. Simple."

"It wasn't simple," Evelyn said quietly. "What you did could have destroyed everything you've built here. We won't forget that."

Elliot stepped forward, and for a moment we just looked at each other. The young man who'd been a fan of Mr. Angel. Who'd helped with Anika. Who'd given us sanctuary when the world was hunting us.

"Don't die," he said finally. "I'm tired of watching people I respect get killed by this system."

"I'll do my best," I replied.

We shook hands, then he pulled me into a brief hug. "Give them hell, Reynard. For Anthony. For everyone Mark's policies have crushed."

"That's the plan," I said.

Sienna was hugging Zofia, who was giving her detailed instructions about staying safe that probably wouldn't be followed. Camille was exchanging contact information with Anika, promising to send her new clothes when this was over. Alexis was having a quiet conversation with Tomasz about animal care, of all things.

Normal goodbyes. Human moments before we walked back into the storm.

Finally, we stepped outside.

A convoy of vehicles waited, sleek and official. Polish government plates. Security personnel in professional formation.

And standing beside the lead vehicle, looking exactly as severe as she had eight months ago, was President Valeska.

"Mr. Vale," she said formally. "Your transportation is ready. We have a private plane waiting at a secure airfield."

"Thank you," I said, approaching the vehicle. The girls followed, and we climbed inside.

The convoy moved smoothly, and within thirty minutes we were at a small airfield where a government jet sat fueled and ready.

As we boarded, Valeska followed us up the stairs. "Where to first? Your penthouse in Canada? A safe house? We have multiple options prepared."

I settled into a seat, pulling out a phone—not the encrypted device Valeska had provided, but a secure communication setup she'd included in the resources she'd mobilized.

"Before we go anywhere," I said, "I need to contact three people."

Valeska raised an eyebrow but nodded.

I dialed the first number from memory.

Samuel Osei answered on the second ring. "This is President Osei."

"Samuel," I said. "It's Reynard."

Silence. Complete, stunned silence.

Then: "REYNARD! My friend! I knew it! I knew you were alive!" His voice was practically shouting with joy. "Eight months! Eight months and not a word! Do you know how worried I was? How much I wondered if—" He caught himself, the joy tempering into something more controlled but still vibrant. "Where are you? Are you safe? Do you need—"

"I need your military," I interrupted gently. "Prepared and ready to mobilize. I can't give you specifics yet, but within the next forty-eight hours, there's going to be a significant event. I need Ghana ready to move."

Samuel's tone shifted immediately to serious. "Done. I'll have forces on standby. Whatever you need, whenever you need it. Just say the word."

"Thank you, Samuel. I'll be in touch soon."

"Reynard—be careful. Mark has become... dangerous. Paranoid. Unpredictable."

"I know. That's why we're moving now."

I ended the call and dialed the second number.

President Dubois answered with characteristic French formality. "Oui, this is President Dubois."

"Monsieur President," I said. "This is Reynard Vale."

A sharp intake of breath. "Reynard? Mon Dieu. Is it really—how—where have you been?" Unlike Samuel's joy, Dubois's reaction was pure shock. Disbelief warring with the evidence of his own ears. "The rumors are true? You're actually alive?"

"Very much alive," I confirmed. "And I need your help. Specifically, I need France prepared to receive and broadcast a global social transmission. Video and audio. I need it to reach every platform, every network, every device that can receive it."

"A broadcast?" Dubois's voice carried careful consideration. "This is... Reynard, do you understand what you're asking? If I facilitate this and it goes wrong—"

"It won't go wrong," I said firmly. "But it will change everything. And France needs to be on the right side of history when it does."

Silence stretched. Then eventually: "Very well. I will have our communications infrastructure prepared. When do you need this?"

"I'll let you know. Soon. Within forty-eight hours."

"Reynard—whatever you're planning, be certain. Mark has more power now than Hugo ever did. If you move against him and fail..."

"I know the stakes," I said quietly. "That's why I'm not going to fail."

The call ended, and I dialed the third number that Valeska had provided me. It was Liang Mei who specialized in cyber security. She was supportive of me in the United Nations meeting though we never did anything together. Hopefully that support remained.

She answered in Mandarin, then switched to English when she recognized the caller ID encryption. "Well, well. The ghost returns from the dead."

Her voice carried a smugness that suggested she'd expected this call. Or at least wasn't surprised by it.

"Liang," I said. "I need your expertise."

"Of course you do," she replied, and I could hear the smile in her voice. "Let me guess—you need Mark's location. His security protocols. His communication networks. Everything that would let you isolate him and strike without warning."

"Exactly that," I confirmed. "Can you do it?"

"Can I do it?" She laughed. "Reynard, I've been tracking his digital footprint since he took power. I know where he is, who he talks to, when he sleeps. I've been waiting for someone to ask me to actually use that information."

"Then I'm asking," I said. "Find me everything. Location, security details, communication timing. I need him isolated and vulnerable."

"Give me twelve hours," Liang said. "I'll send you a complete intelligence package. But Reynard—you know this won't be clean, yes? Mark has support from high-rank individuals. Military contractors. People with power who benefit from his policies."

"I know," I said. "We'll handle it."

"Good." Her tone shifted slightly, becoming more serious. "It's good to hear your voice. I wasn't sure we'd ever get this chance. Don't waste it."

"I won't."

The call ended, and I looked up to find everyone watching me.

"Geneva," I said to Valeska. "That's where Mark is based. That's where we're going."

"Geneva," she repeated, her expression calculating. "That's Swiss territory. Neutral ground. If you start a conflict there—"

"Then we start a conflict," I said flatly. "I'm done hiding. Done waiting. Done letting Mark destroy the world while we plan perfect strategies."

Valeska nodded slowly. "You should prepare for war, then. Because while the people don't support Mark, the upper ranks do. A majority of A-Rank and some B-Rank individuals who've benefited from his policies have resources and private security. Some have access to military-grade equipment."

"Let them come," I said, feeling Strategist mapping out scenarios. "This ends one way or another. Either with Mark's death or mine. And either way, it's going to be broadcast live for the entire world to see."

The plane's engines started, a low rumble building to a roar as we prepared for takeoff.

Valeska studied me with those cold, analytical eyes. "You've changed. Eight months ago, you were broken. Hiding. Running from yourself as much as from Mark."

"Eight months ago, I hadn't processed Anthony's death," I replied. "Hadn't dealt with my father's revelations. Hadn't accepted what needed to be done." I met her gaze directly. "Now I have. And Mark is about to learn exactly what that means."

The plane lifted off, leaving Poland behind. Leaving the farm and its safety. Leaving the quiet months of recovery and planning.

Heading toward Geneva. Toward Mark. Toward the final confrontation that would determine who controlled the future.

Camille leaned over from her seat. "You really think we can do this? Take down the World President with a live broadcast?"

"I think," I said carefully, "that Mark's greatest strength has always been controlling the narrative. What people believe. What story they accept as truth." I looked around at all of them—Evelyn with her strategic mind, Alexis with her medical precision, Sienna with her caring strength, Camille with her creative chaos. "So we take that strength away. We show the world who he really is. What he's really done. And we let them decide who deserves to lead."

"And if they choose him?" Sienna asked quietly.

"Then we die trying," I said simply. "But I don't think they will. Not when they see the full truth. Not when they understand what's really at stake."

The plane climbed higher, Geneva growing closer with every passing minute.

This was it. The moment everything had been building toward since Hugo's death. Since Mark's betrayal. Since that broadcast eight months ago that had destroyed everything we'd built.

One way or another, this ended soon.

With Mark's death or mine.

Live, for the entire world to witness.

...May the best devil win.

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