The country of Wales held many deep, dark secrets—creatures and myths woven into its very fabric, whispered through generations. A land of legend and folklore, of magic and mystery. But beneath its rolling hills and mist-covered valleys lay something far more terrifying, something that did not belong in bedtime stories.
Deep underground, on an unmarked piece of land, existed a top-secret facility known only to a select few. A place where nightmares were contained, where the things that lurked in the shadows were not merely legends but caged realities. To some, the existence of such a facility was an abomination. To Evelyn Giles, it was home.
Life had been rough, to say the least. How does one explain the agony of believing they'd found their perfect match, only to uncover the monster beneath? Not just metaphorically, but in the truest, most horrifying sense of the word.
She had spent years working at Creakwood, aiding the enigmatic man who ran the place, assisting him in his cold and clinical work. The whispers about him had always been there, cautionary murmurs laced with both fear and intrigue. But Arthus Peyton was more than the rumors. He had given her work, protection, and a place to belong. That counted for something, even if his kindness came wrapped in steel and shadows.
Creakwood had become her sanctuary, the one place keeping her out of the clutches of those who wanted her dead. And there were many.
Evelyn let out a slow breath, absently fingering the ring that hung from her neck. A once-prized diamond, a promise of love and devotion, now little more than a hollow weight. The engraved name inside the band, PETROVA, was a cruel reminder of what she had escaped. Or perhaps, what still clung to her.
Not like him.
Her fingers tightened around the ring before she forced herself to let go, shaking away the memories. Instead, she focused on the work before her, the endless stream of reports and analyses—things that kept her mind occupied, away from ghosts that haunted her every thought. Her usually pristine blonde hair was coming undone from its tight bun, wayward strands escaping as she hunched over her desk.
A knock at the door.
She barely had time to register the sound before she nearly collided with the visitor.
"Whoa!" The voice was familiar, warm in the cold sterility of Creakwood. Raven.
Evelyn smiled, a reflex more than a feeling. "Oh, hey, Raven."
He regarded her with sharp, intelligent eyes, partially obscured by the scarf he always wore. His gaze flickered past her, taking in the stacks of paperwork littering her desk. "Just came to check on you. You've been holed up in here for hours."
She laughed lightly, though exhaustion laced the sound. "I've had a lot to get through. He's been keeping me busy."
Raven smirked under his scarf—she could hear it in his voice. "Arthus does enjoy keeping people on their toes."
Evelyn sighed, rolling her eyes. "That's one way to put it."
He sat down in the chair opposite her, observing her with an unreadable expression. "Want some help?"
Her smile widened, this time more genuine. "That would be amazing. I'd like to get out of here before midnight for once. Let me grab us some coffee."
The hallway was silent save for the echo of her heels against the tiled floor. The stillness of the facility had become something she was accustomed to, but tonight, it felt heavier. As she passed Arthus Peyton's office, she hesitated. The door was shut, offering no glimpse inside.
A pang of something she couldn't quite place settled in her chest. Disappointment? Frustration? She wasn't sure. Shaking the thought away, she pressed forward to the break room, making quick work of brewing two cups. Strong, black coffee for herself—she needed the caffeine.
By the time she returned, Raven was already working through the documents, flipping through them with quiet efficiency. She set his coffee down beside him before reclaiming her seat, the two falling into a comfortable silence as they worked side by side.
The weight of her past pressed against her mind, relentless. She found herself staring blankly at the pages before her, lost in the memories that refused to fade. She barely registered when Raven eventually stood, offering a small nod before leaving her to her thoughts.
By the time she finished, the weight of the completed work felt far lighter than the weight in her chest. With a deep breath, she gathered the paperwork in her arms, holding it close as if that might steady her nerves.
Then, hesitantly, she knocked on Arthus Peyton's door.
A pause. Then—
"Come in."
The voice was deep, laced with a thick Welsh accent. Even in just two words, it carried an edge of authority that sent a shiver down her spine.
Evelyn stepped inside, her breath catching at the sight of him. Arthus Peyton was as imposing as ever, seated behind his heavy mahogany desk, long ginger hair framing his face, those piercing blue eyes assessing her with something between mild irritation and absolute indifference.
"What is it?" he asked, tone clipped, impatient.
She nearly jumped.
Steadying herself, she approached and placed the papers neatly before him. "The reports you requested, sir. I didn't mean to disturb you."
His gaze barely flickered. He took the paperwork without a word, scanning the first page with a neutral expression. "Very well, Miss Giles. You may finish for the day."
Evelyn hesitated. She could feel the weight of his gaze on her even as he continued reading.
"Is something the matter?" he asked, voice deceptively calm.
She turned away, heart hammering against her ribs.
"No," she murmured before quickly retreating, shutting the door behind her as if to trap whatever emotions threatened to escape.
The air in the hallway felt heavier than before.
And Evelyn wasn't entirely sure why.
As she walked towards her quarters, her footsteps slowed, thoughts spiraling. Why did she always react like that around him? Was it fear? Something else?
Outside, the wind howled through the underground vents, carrying with it a distant, inhuman sound—one she was all too familiar with. A reminder of what lay beneath Creakwood's surface. A reminder that monsters, real ones, were not confined to stories.
As she reached her room, she hesitated before entering. The ring around her neck felt heavier than usual, as if the past itself was trying to suffocate her. With a sigh, she shut the door behind her, locking out the world. But the ghosts in her mind? Those remained.
Charles Petrova stood by the window of his office as night fell upon Moscow. The violent howls of the wind echoed outside, snow ripping through the air like knives against the men stationed in the cold. Yet he showed no remorse. He had no reason to.
Among those who worked for him, he was a king, and as far as he was concerned, kings did not pity their subordinates.
He ran a hand down the velvet curtain, the dim light reflecting against the darkness, turning his tall, burly figure into a shadow. His long hair was tied back to keep it from getting in his way, and his dark eyes remained narrowed - a natural expression for him. He exhaled softly, turning on his heel to face the second figure seated across from his chair.
The younger man bore a striking resemblance to him, save for his slightly softer features and youth.
"Brooding, brother?" the younger man asked, his voice edged with amusement. Despite the low light obscuring most of his features, Charles could make out the smirk playing at his lips.
Charles resisted the urge to roll his eyes as he settled into his chair, rolling it forward slightly until he was comfortable. "Simply thinking," he replied bluntly. Then, his voice took on a venomous edge as he asked, "any news on my dear wife, little brother?"
Alexei nodded. "We've tracked her as far as Wales," he said, watching Charles' expression carefully, "though we don't yet know her exact location. The scouts will continue their search - unless, of course, we go ourselves. You know how untrusting they are."
Charles scoffed, waving a dismissive hand. "We have work here. Project Shadow is near completion."
Alexei's smirk faded slightly, his own dark expression settling in. "Aside from the missing test subject," he reminded him. "Thanks to your dear wife, of course."
A shiver ran down Charles' spine at the bitter reminder. The memory of that day, of discovering what had transpired when Evelyn had left, still lingered in his mind like a festering wound. "The test subject is much easier to find," he said, keeping his tone neutral. "I know precisely where they are."
There was a smugness to his voice, and he knew it. But it was the truth. He knew exactly where to find them. "Once the time is right, we will swoop in."
Alexei smirked, ready to needle his brother further. He knew precisely which buttons to press - but before he could speak, a knock echoed from the other side of the office door.
Both brothers stood in unison.
"Come in," Charles ordered impatiently, smoothing out his blazer.
The door creaked open, revealing a third figure with shaggy blond hair and piercing emerald eyes. His sharp features were lined with a slight stubble, and he wore the standard attire of Charles' operatives—tight trousers, heavy boots, and a dark shirt. He stood stiffly, hands clasped behind his back, his gaze flicking between the two brothers.
"Was I correct?" Charles asked, his voice steady.
The man nodded. "Yes, Father," he replied without emotion, "Harley has been found in a small village called Pontypandy. Perhaps I should be the one to-"
"- Send Angel and Ace," Charles interrupted without missing a beat, waving his hand dismissively, "we cannot take chances, and they value patience."
Alexei studied his nephew as the assassin hesitated for a moment, eyes cast downward. Charles, too, watched his son with a cautious gaze.
"You know better than to argue, Liam," he remarked, his tone laced with warning.
Liam clenched his jaw before inhaling slowly. "No disrespect, Father," he said carefully, "but she wouldn't trust them, not like she trusts me."
For a moment, there was silence.
Then, Charles and Alexei exchanged an amused glance before both burst into laughter, the sound echoing through the room. Liam remained still, swallowing the lump forming in his throat as he looked down.
Charles relaxed his posture, clearing his throat before speaking. "Your darling sister is… tricky. We cannot afford to send someone who has…" he paused as if searching for the right word. "…familial love for her."
Liam's gaze snapped up. "Love?" he scoffed. "She betrayed us. All of us."
His voice rose slightly, but he caught himself, taking a steadying breath. "Wouldn't it be more poetic if her own brother was her undoing?"
Charles shook his head. "Do not forget your place," he warned, stepping closer. "You may be my son, but I can strip you of your position—just like that." He snapped his fingers, his dark eyes flashing. "Frederick and Sophie will go. That decision is final. Do you understand?"
He loomed over his son now, his height a towering shadow. Liam felt the weight of his father's authority pressing down on him, but he knew better than to challenge it.
He bowed his head. "Yes, Father."
Without another word, Liam turned and left the office, stepping into the cold halls. Yet somehow, the bitter chill inside felt worse than the frost outside.
He walked with purpose, ignoring the mercenaries and assassins moving through the corridors between rec rooms, labs, and training grounds. The further he went, the quieter the halls became, until he reached the private family quarters.
His father's door remained locked, hiding whatever secrets lay within. Liam's own door was slightly ajar. He entered and slammed it shut behind him. The vinyl records hanging on the wall trembled, but he didn't care.
His heart pounded as he pulled his phone from his pocket, scrolling frantically until he found his sister's number. He pressed it, placing the phone to his ear.
It rang. And rang. Each tone chipped away at his patience.
"We're sorry, but this person—"
Without another thought, Liam hurled his phone at the wall. It shattered upon impact.
"Dammit! Dammit!" he yelled, slamming his fists against the dresser before collapsing onto the edge of his bed. He buried his face in his hands, then lay back, staring at the ceiling.
The cold had never felt so suffocating.
As he lay there, thoughts raced through his mind, a mixture of frustration, betrayal, and uncertainty. His fingers twitched against the fabric of his bedsheets as he replayed the conversation with his father.
Could he really stand idly by while his teammates hunted down Harley?
The thought gnawed at him. He closed his eyes, trying to push it away, but it was futile. He knew deep down - if he didn't act soon, he might never get another chance.
With a deep breath, he sat up, his gaze settling on the remnants of his broken phone. His jaw clenched. If he couldn't reach Harley this way, he would find another.
One way or another, he would get to her first.