From a distance, Mark could see smoke rising into the sky. Latros Manor was burning.

He stood at the abandoned dock far from the estate, the baby secured in his arms while the ocean wind carried the sharp, fishy smell of salt and rot.

He had always disliked the scent of the sea, but now he did not have the luxury to care. He did not know how long they had before someone tracked him down.

Bennet remained quiet in his arms, strangely calm despite the chaos unfolding behind them.

Around the dock, civilians whispered and panicked, pointing at the smoke in the distance and speculating about enemy attacks or internal conflict. None of them knew the truth.

Mark closed his eyes briefly and took a steady breath. This morning had been the last time he would ever see Flynn and Bella alive.

He had never been a warm man. He was rigid, logical, distant. There were no tender memories between the three of them, no laughter over shared meals, no comforting gestures.

He had kept himself detached to survive in that place. He told himself he did not regret it.

Yet now, as his eyes settled on the baby in his arms, he wondered if this child was the only chance left for him to make amends.

A dark shape appeared on the horizon. The ship.

His message had reached its destination. His friend had answered and agreed to shelter them, though he warned that living as a fugitive was not mercy, it was paranoia and constant movement.

But that fate was still far kinder than whatever nightmare Robert intended to build.

Another explosion echoed from the direction of the manor. The sound rolled across the water like distant thunder.

Mark frowned.

Why weren’t they fighting inside a domain? If Robert’s Bloodstyle was Psyche-type, perhaps he could restrict space itself, preventing others from forming their own territory. Or perhaps the destruction meant something had slipped beyond his control.

"Flynn..." Mark murmured under his breath. "Maybe there is still a chance for you."

That boy had never known freedom. He had lived as an experiment, a symbol, a tool. If Mark could give that freedom to his son, perhaps it would mean something.

Bennet shifted slightly and opened his eyes halfway. The sunlight made him squint. It was possibly the first time he had seen the open sky.

Bella had told Mark she hid him inside the abandoned food lift used to transport supplies between floors. They had insulated the narrow space and made it soundproof so no one would hear him cry.

The child had survived because of their careful planning.

"Shh," Mark murmured softly, rocking him gently. "You will be alright. Your parents are fighting for you."

Bennet did not cry. He simply stared at Mark with wide, dark eyes and lifted one tiny hand as if trying to grab his coat.

That small gesture made Mark’s chest tighten.

He closed his eyes briefly, his thoughts racing through escape routes, contingencies, lies he might need to tell, and sacrifices he might have to make. Then a hand touched his shoulder.

He reacted instantly. He turned around sharply, one hand already sliding toward the gun in his pocket.

But instead of an enemy, he saw a familiar face.

Theodore Wright.

His brown hair had long since turned grey, and deep lines marked his stern expression. His grey eyes remained sharp and observant, unchanged by age. Theodore had never been a man who smiled, and time had only made him colder.

"The hell are you staring at me for?" Theo crossed his arms, irritation clear on his face. "Do you know I risked my life coming here? Move. Now. Don’t make me wait."

He turned toward the ship, already expecting Mark to follow.

Mark didn’t move.

Theo had always been impatient. In the past, even a few seconds of hesitation would earn a sharp remark or a shove forward.

But now Mark just stood there, the baby still in his arms, his eyes fixed on the small face pressed against his coat.

Theo turned back again, clearly annoyed. "What? Are you hesitating now? Just so you know, I’m not raising that kid alone. I don’t have tits, and neither do you. But I do have a cow, some powder, and basic common sense. So hurry up before I change my mind and leave you here."

Mark swallowed. "I don’t think I can go."

Theo’s expression changed slightly, though he tried to hide it with another scoff.

Mark’s mind replayed what he had seen in the lab. Robert suppresses Roanna effortlessly. That level of control, that precision was happening when she threatened to take him.

If he disappeared now, Robert would hunt him relentlessly. And once Robert knew about the baby’s existence, Bennet would never know peace.

If he ran, he would only drag the child into a longer chase.

"Take care of him, Theo," Mark said quietly. "I know you hate children. But please."

He drew a slow breath, the weight in his chest almost suffocating. "I cannot leave that place. Not yet. I cannot free myself from that cage."

"Even when the door is wide open?" Theo’s voice lost its sarcasm.

Mark shook his head. "It was never open."

Theo stared at him for a long moment, then clicked his tongue in frustration. "You’re an idiot. So what am I supposed to do with him? Toss him into the sea and let the fish decide his fate?"

They both knew he would never do that.

"Theo," Mark continued softly, "I have never truly sacrificed myself for anyone. You know that. I might look calm and composed, but I am a coward at heart."

"Just this once, help me. Help him. For my sister’s sake. For the fact that I allowed her to marry a so-called terrorist like you."

Theo rolled his eyes. "Don’t drag my dead wife into this. She’s at peace now."

He stepped forward and took the baby from Mark’s arms. His grip was steady despite his age.

"I’m too old to raise him properly," Theo muttered. "But my daughter... She always wanted a child. Maybe this will give her something to protect."

Mark nodded slowly. "Just don’t change his name. It was chosen by his parents."

Theo adjusted the blanket around Bennet and looked back at Mark. "You better not die before I punch you again. I don’t believe in an afterlife, so don’t expect me to meet you there."

A faint smile touched Mark’s face. "Take care, old friend."

He stood on the dock as the ship pulled away, watching it grow smaller against the grey horizon. The wind grew colder, the town behind him quieting as smoke thinned into the sky.

When the ship finally became a dark speck in the distance, Mark exhaled.

"The fight is over," he murmured.

"Indeed."

The one who answered him was not Flynn.

It was Robert.

Mark turned slowly, already knowing what he would see even before his eyes confirmed it. Robert stood a few steps away, coat untouched by ash, expression calm as if he had merely taken a walk. In his hand, he carried something by the hair.

Then he tossed it forward. The head rolled across the damp wooden planks and stopped near Mark’s shoes.

Bella. Her eyes were still half-open, frozen in shock rather than peace.

Mark forced himself not to react. His jaw did not clench. His breath did not quicken. He would not give Robert the satisfaction.

Part of it was pride.

The rest was acceptance. He had already calculated the result of that battle the moment Flynn confessed his power.

A copy was still a copy.

"What about Flynn?" Mark asked carefully, his voice steady.

Robert smiled faintly. "Alive."

That single word carried no mercy.

"His blood is far too valuable to waste. He will be reunited with his great-grandfather. In the tank, submerged but sustained. Alive enough to produce. Dead enough not to resist."

Robert’s tone remained almost conversational. "Fifty years, perhaps a hundred. Maybe even a thousand if the body adapts."

Mark felt something cold settle in his chest.

"And after that?" he asked.

Robert tilted his head slightly. "You already know."

When Flynn’s value diminished, he would be discarded and Robert would hunt for a new one.

Robert stepped closer, shoes echoing softly against the wood. "Now, my friend, it is your turn to decide. Would you like to join him? Preserved, restrained, endlessly useful? Or would you prefer to retain your body and mind intact?"

The wind from the sea brushed against them, carrying the fading scent of smoke.

Robert smiled again, patient as ever. "So tell me, Mark. Which fate do you choose?"