Chapter 5 Shadows of the Reflection

Chapter 7

Shadows of the Reflection .

Elizabeth Taylor stood still, her breath shallow as if even the air might betray her. In the pitch-black room, Morina's hand found hers. His grip was steady, but the tremble in her fingers gave away the truth: she had seen this kind of move before. And it didn't end with survivors it ended with scapegoats.

Elizabeth was no longer just a CIA operative. She was a fugitive within her own agency.

Years ago, during a classified counterintelligence op in Istanbul, she was recruited by Deputy Director Marcus Blaine to infiltrate a military-led economic faction. The operation seemed like a patriotic exercise at first: track fund flows, identify shell companies, expose black market trades. But the deeper she dug, the more the veil lifted. And what stood behind it was monstrous.

A covert group of decorated generals medal-heavy and media-groomed were orchestrating the systematic destabilization of the democratic government. Their strategy was multifaceted: currency manipulation, asset hoarding, and high-level bribes to both lawmakers and international observers. But that was only the surface.

They had quietly built one of the most intricate trafficking empires on the planet, smuggling rare minerals, weapons, and human cargo ncluding vital organs using military planes under the guise of diplomatic missions. Organs harvested from war zones, from prisoners whose names were long erased from public memory. They moved product with the same precision as combat missions, funding off-the-books operations and offshore accounts.

Elizabeth's father, Secretary Harold Taylor, stumbled upon coded transmissions linking the defense budget to ghost contractors. Two weeks later, he was dead. Official cause: heart failure. But Elizabeth read the autopsy herself. Poison. Undetectable to most but not to someone trained in biochemical warfare.

She had evidence. Names. Dates. Locations. And above all Gilbert.

Gilbert was the program manager. A shadow among the shadows. The one person who never appeared in the agency's internal comms, but whose name was etched into everything that stank of treason. He had orchestrated the hit on her father. He had ordered her extraction when she got too close. And when she refused, he erased her.

Now, living under a fabricated name, Elizabeth moved through cities like a ghost. One of her last assignments before vanishing involved a covert bust in Lagos, where she discovered UN-donated medical crates filled with frozen hearts and kidneys. All traced back to the same network. It was then she knew: this wasn't just corruption. It was empire.

Brian Woodward, her immediate superior, had always been jealous of her instincts. He often mocked her discipline and covert elegance, once saying she should be "swinging on his Cuetus" instead of chasing shadows. His harassment wasn't just lewd-it was strategic. Every case she cracked, he attempted to sabotage. Every clearance she requested, he delayed. And when she began investigating the internal rot, he red-flagged her.

Still, Elizabeth played it smart. She cloned emails. She wore wires. She trusted no one not even her own team. She used lovers as covers, and mentors as misdirection. She became an enigma even to herself. But her silence didn't buy her immunity it bought her time. And that time had just run out.

In the darkness, Elizabeth's mind raced. They had cut power from the main grid. Precision. Professional. That meant Gilbert was running point now. He never outsourced sensitive work. If he wanted Morina dead, he would do it himself or send someone who looked just like him.

Footsteps echoed in the hallway measured, heavy, deliberate.

Morina stiffened beside her. "Back exit?"

She nodded, moving toward the kitchen where a trapdoor led to an old maintenance tunnel. But even that wasn't safe anymore. They had planned this. The kind of precision that only came from agency knowledge. Her knowledge.

A shadow moved past the window.

Elizabeth yanked Morina down just as glass shattered. A stun round hit the far wall, sending white arcs through the room. The air crackled with voltage. Her ears rang.

She turned to Morina, yelling over the ringing. "Listen to me. If I don't make it out, find Sophia Silas in New York. She's the only one with a backup copy of the drive."

He stared, stunned. "What drive?"

"No time!" she hissed. "Go!"

From the hallway, a voice called out smooth, unhurried.

"Eliza... don't make this harder."

Her breath caught. It was Gilbert.

The man who killed her father.

The man who turned her life into a ghost operation.

And now, the man who had come to erase her last loose end Morina.