18 Years back Silverline City

Rain lashed against the farmhouse roof like a thousand trembling fingers, each drop echoing the terror that filled the night. The storm swallowed the countryside whole, turning trees into shadows and the dirt paths into black rivers. But inside the old wooden farmhouse of the Jefferson family, the true storm was not the one in the sky.

It was the one breaking a family apart.

Gunshots rattled through the open fields, sharp flashes cutting through the darkness. Muzzles flared behind hedges and fences as armed attackers closed in, surrounding the property like hungry wolves.

Inside the dimly lit bedroom, a young boy knelt on the wooden floor, his small hands pressed desperately over the bullet wound in his mother’s abdomen. His palms were slick with warm blood, trembling as he tried to hold back the life that was spilling out of her.

His mother gasped, her breath uneven and fading.

Basil Jefferson stood guard at the shattered window, rain blowing in as lightning illuminated his face. He held a shotgun tightly, eyes sharp yet broken as he watched silhouettes moving outside.

He spoke without turning.

“Press tight, son.”

But the boy barely heard him.

“Mom, no, look at me, stay with me, mom,” he whispered, voice cracking.

Her chest rose and fell in shallow waves. Her fingers brushed her son’s cheek, trying to wipe his tears but lacking the strength.

“My beautiful boy,” she whispered. “Take care of my father.”

A sob broke from him.

“Mom, no, please. Please do not go. Mom.”

Her breath trembled.

“Basil,” she murmured.

Basil’s voice shook as he replied,

“I am here. The help is coming. Look at me. Do not close your eyes. Please.”

She managed a faint smile through the pain.

“I love you both.”

And then her eyes closed.

Her body stilled.

Her breathing stopped.

The room fell into a silence so heavy it crushed the boy’s heart.

“Mom…” His voice cracked open with grief. Tears streamed uncontrollably as he shook her arm gently, begging her to wake up. “Mom…”

Basil swallowed the agony that threatened to tear him apart and scooped his son into his arms. The boy clung to him desperately, crying into his chest.

“Dad… dad…” the boy sobbed.

A bullet burst through the window. Glass exploded. Basil threw himself down, shielding his son with his body. The shotgun slid across the floor.

Outside, the firing ceased abruptly.

Then came a voice dripping with arrogance.

“Jefferson. Come out now. I know you are not dead.”

Basil’s jaw clenched as he crouched behind overturned furniture. He held his boy close.

The voice grew louder.

“Jefferson, I will ask you one last time. Tell me where it is, or next time there will be grenades inside.”

Basil raised his voice sharply.

“I never thought you would be such a coward, Flinch. Bringing a pack of barbarians to attack my wife and son.”

Laughter answered him.

“Come on, Jefferson. I am sorry about your wife. Truly, I am. But you are not old yet. You can have all the women you want. Just tell me where it is, or your legacy ends tonight.”

Basil’s voice thundered back.

“You will not get away with this, Flinch. This is my city. My people will come for you.”

“Then let us hurry up,” Flinch replied lazily. “I will count to three. Either you come out, or we come in.”

“Three…”

“Two…”

But before he reached one, chaos erupted outside.

Gunfire exploded in every direction. New attackers. A new force had arrived. The night lit up with flashes of white and orange. Screams pierced the rain soaked darkness.

Basil held his shaking son tight against his chest.

“It is alright, son. The help has arrived. Hold on.”

The boy buried his face in his father’s coat as thunder, bullets, and death clashed outside.

The gunfire raged like a second storm across the Jefferson farm.

Present Day – Secret Service Safehouse, Star Harbor

A grown man jolted awake in a dark room, breath trembling, skin covered in cold sweat.

The same son.

The child who once held his dying mother in his arms.

He gasped out the word that haunted him for eighteen years.

“Mom… mom…”

The nightmare had returned. Because the past he ran from was finally catching up.

And somewhere in Star Harbor, the storm that began that night was ready to break open once more.

Rainlight from the safehouse window flickered across the man’s trembling face as his eyes finally focused. He was drenched in sweat, breath ragged, chest heaving like he had outrun death itself. But the nightmare did not end when he woke.

Because sitting in front of him, quiet and composed like a judge awaiting confession, was Miles Sterling.

The man’s pupils shrank.

“No… no… what have I done… no… my pills… where are my pills… I need my pills, please, please help me…”

Adam stepped forward and lifted a small clear bottle between two fingers.

“You mean these?”

Miles glanced at the bottle. His eyes hardened for a moment, then narrowed in understanding.

The man thrashed lightly against the ropes, panic sending sharp tremors across his limbs.

“Give me those pills,” he begged. “Please… please…”

Adam frowned. “What are these anyway…”

Miles took the bottle gently, his expression shifting as he read the label.

“These are anxiety pills. This man has PTSD. He will collapse at this rate. Untie him.”

Adam blinked. “Miles, are you sure…?”

“Untie him,” Miles repeated. “If he spirals into a panic attack, he could die right in front of us.”

The ropes were cut.

Miles slipped a pill into the man’s shaking palm and offered a cup of water.

Nolan swallowed it immediately, gripping the cup like it was the last solid thing in his world.

Within seconds, his breathing steadied—still shallow, but no longer collapsing.

Miles leaned forward.

“So tell me. Why would a man suffering from PTSD try to kill me… unless he knew exactly who I am?”

Adam crossed his arms. “We checked his ID over and over. He kept repeating the same thing. Miles Sterling must die…”

Miles stilled.

“He said what?”

His gaze swept back to the man, who now looked at him with horror, desperation, and something that felt personal.

Miles lowered his voice.

“Look at me. Do I know you?”

The man swallowed hard.

“My name is… Nolan Jefferson. Please, let me go. I have a family… They will be waiting. Please, I will not do anything again, I swear.”

Miles froze.

Adam saw the change instantly.

“What is it?”

Miles stared at the man like a ghost had walked into the room.

“Did you say Jefferson…? You are from Silverline…”

Nolan looked down, ashamed and terrified.

Miles slowly stood.

“Adam, I am taking this man.”

Adam stiffened. “Miles, you cannot just take a suspect. I am Secret Service. You are not part of any legal system. I cannot just hand him over to a civilian.”

Miles looked at him steadily.

“I am taking him. And you can tell the president that General Miles Sterling has taken custody.”

Adam blinked hard.

“What?”

Footsteps echoed down the hall.

A Secret Service agent leaned in.

“Sir, it is time. President is preparing to leave.”

Adam exhaled and signaled the beginning of the safehouse shutdown.

He looked back at Miles, half annoyed, half resigned.

“You played me again… General Miles.”

Nolan recoiled, shaking uncontrollably.

“No… no, no, let me go home… my family is waiting… do not leave me to him… please…”

Adam gave Nolan a sympathetic pat on the shoulder.

“I am sorry, Nolan. But your family will have to wait a little more. I am leaving you in good hands.”

Miles raised a brow.

“Come on. Why make me the villain, Nolan? You came here to kill me. And I still protected you.”

He crouched, leaning closer.

“I will let you go, I promise. But first…”

His voice dropped to a calm, sharp blade.

“You will answer some of my questions.”

The atmosphere inside the safehouse shifted into something colder, something raw.

The Secret Service agents were gone now, replaced by the silent presence of Sterling Security operatives posted outside the door. Only Miles and Nolan remained in the small dim room. A single lamp lit their faces, leaving long shadows stretching across the floor like silent witnesses.

Nolan’s breath wavered, hands trembling around the empty water glass. He looked both terrified and furious, like a man trapped between nightmares.

Miles leaned back in the chair across from him, arms relaxed, gaze unblinking.

“I know you want to go back to your family,” he said gently. “It is simple. I cannot let you go until you answer my questions.”

Nolan’s voice cracked.

“Let me go… please…”

Miles sighed softly.

“Then I will get to the point. What is your relationship with Basil Jefferson?”

Nolan swallowed, throat tight.

“He… he is my father.”

Miles’s brows lifted.

“Now we are going somewhere. Tell me, Nolan. Did your father tell you to kill me?”

Silence.

Miles stared at him with a patient stillness that felt more dangerous than anger.

“Nolan, I asked you something. And I asked nicely.”

For a few seconds Nolan remained frozen.

Then a strange, broken laugh tore out of him.

It was hollow, deranged, cutting through the room like shattered glass.

“My father asked me to kill you?” he choked out with manic disbelief. “My father asked me to kill you?”

Miles blinked, surprised at the outburst.

Nolan leaned forward, his laugh slowly breaking into a cracked sob.

“He would never… never even think of harming you, Miles Sterling. Never. And that… that is the problem. He will protect you at all costs.”

Miles felt something shift inside him.

“Why is that, Nolan? I never asked for his protection. I do not even know him.”

Nolan’s expression twisted.

“Of course you would not know him.”

His voice lowered into something sharp and grief stricken.

“He should have protected my mother…”

Miles’s eyes darkened.

“But instead,” Nolan whispered, trembling,

“he chose to protect your god damn grandfather.”

Miles froze.

“What…”

Nolan looked up at him, eyes burning with anger, grief, and a lifetime of unanswered questions.

And the truth hung heavy in the air, lingering like a spark before an explosion.

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep