A day and a half after Eric's escape—
The warehouse was finally discovered.
The report came from a truck driver who had noticed a strong smell coming from the abandoned industrial area. When the police arrived, the silence outside contrasted violently with what they found inside.
Investigators entered with flashlights and masks.
What they saw made them stop—
As if they needed a moment to confirm it was real.
Bodies.
Everywhere.
Not arranged.
Not lined up.
Not executed at a distance.
These were bodies that looked like they had been thrown—
Against metal structures.
Against shelves.
Against the concrete floor itself.
One forensic technician muttered:
"Looks like they fought a bear."
Another examined the walls and added:
"A bear without claws."
There were deep impact marks on steel columns.
Bent metal plates.
Wood shattered as if it were paper.
Blood stains at different heights—
Some far above average human reach.
As if bodies had been launched with inhuman force.
There were bullet casings scattered across the ground.
So yes—
There had been gunfire.
But the bodies didn't match a typical shootout.
No close-range fatal gun wounds.
No knife marks.
It was as if they had tried to defend themselves—
From something too fast to fight.
One investigator knelt beside a corpse.
"They tried to protect themselves. Look at the arms. Defensive fractures."
Another pointed at a completely twisted metal shelf.
"This wasn't done with firearms."
The collective expression was disbelief.
The city's police chief arrived shortly after.
A seasoned man.
Used to brutal scenes.
Even so—
He stood in silence longer than usual.
He walked slowly through the warehouse.
Observing the ground.
The blood trails.
The warped walls.
"How many?" he asked.
"Seventeen so far, sir. Still confirming."
He nodded.
"Any survivors?"
"None."
He exhaled slowly.
No signs of explosives.
No heavy equipment.
No evidence of a coordinated tactical assault using advanced weapons.
It was a massacre.
But a strange one.
After a few minutes, the chief stepped aside and made a call.
On the other end—
One of Prince Amir's men answered.
"I'm at the site," the chief said. "No survivors."
A pause.
Then:
"Was there a young man with black hair and dark eyes? And a young woman of Chinese origin?"
The chief frowned.
"We're having difficulty identifying some bodies, but so far, no one matches that description."
Silence.
"Why do you ask?"
No answer.
The line went dead.
The chief stared at his phone for a moment before putting it away.
Something about that call bothered him.
He turned to one of the investigators.
"I want all vehicle routes reviewed from that night. Cameras—highways, toll booths, intersections. Everything."
The investigator nodded.
"The warehouse cameras were offline. Someone cut the system before the confrontation."
"That means they didn't want to be seen," the chief replied. "But someone always makes a mistake."
Minutes later, an officer rushed over with a tablet.
"Sir… you need to see this."
The chief looked at the screen.
Grainy footage.
Old highway camera.
But clear enough.
A young man—
Running.
Too fast.
Fast enough to keep pace with traffic for a few seconds.
He was carrying a girl in his arms.
Unconscious.
His shirt appeared stained—
Possibly with blood.
The chief froze the frame.
The face was blurred by motion.
But the eyes—
Even distorted—
Seemed wrong.
Empty.
Or in absolute panic.
"Identify these two," the chief ordered. "I want names. I want connections to the victims."
He zoomed in again.
"This isn't normal…"
Meanwhile—
In a luxury hotel downtown—
Prince Amir watched his team discreetly dismantle equipment in the private hall where the negotiation had taken place days earlier.
His aide approached.
"Confirmed. Neither of them were among the dead."
Amir nodded slowly.
"So he survived."
"The police are reviewing camera footage."
"They always do."
The prince walked to the window of the presidential suite.
The city looked calm.
Unaware.
"We need to leave the country," he said.
"Today?"
"As soon as possible."
The aide hesitated.
"Do you believe the young man was involved?"
Amir didn't answer immediately.
He took out one of the coins marked with an X.
Studied it under natural light.
"Involved?" he repeated.
"No."
A pause.
"He is the center."
The aide felt a chill.
"Should we maintain contact?"
"Of course," Amir replied.
"But from a distance."
He slipped the coin back into his pocket.
"Never underestimate someone who survives something like that."
Back at the hospital—
Doctors were still trying to understand Eric's condition.
Tests remained inconclusive.
He was unconscious—
But stable.
In the next room—
Elena stared at the ceiling in silence.
She felt it.
Something had changed.
Not just in the situation.
In Eric.
And in herself.
At the police station—
The image of the running man remained frozen on the screen.
The chief crossed his arms.
He had seen violence before.
But this—
Was different.
Not a common crime.
Not a gang conflict.
It felt like the result of something…
Disproportionate.
"Find out who he is," the chief ordered again.
The investigation had begun.
And this time—
Eric wasn't facing just mercenaries.
He was facing the State.
And perhaps—
Something even greater had started watching him.