The fun at the Subzero Center faded into a pleasant buzz as everyone walked toward the parking area, cheeks flushed from cold air and laughter.
Miles carried both skates in one hand, the twins bouncing around him like overly energetic sparrows.
Miles glanced at Celina.
"Mom is upset with you."
Celina blinked. "What? Why? How did I upset Aunt Elena?"
"You said you’d stop by the restaurant often after the opening.
You didn’t show up even once."
Celina instantly deflated. "Oh... that. I just... didn’t get the chance. I should apologize to her."
Before Miles could tease her more, her phone buzzed sharply.
Celina checked the caller ID—froze.
"I have to take this..." she murmured, already stepping away.
Miles watched her retreat a few steps.
Becky and Rose exchanged silent looks.
Even Hope and Asher peeked their heads out of the car window, sensing sothing odd.
Celina answered the call.
"...Dad?"
Silence.
Her face drained of colour, her fingers trembling slightly around the phone.
She didn’t speak.
Didn’t breathe.
Then the call ended.
Miles imdiately walked to her, concern pulling at his voice.
"Celina? Is everything alright?"
She didn’t respond. Her eyes were still fixed on the blank screen.
Miles moved closer. "Celina?"
Finally, she whispered, voice shaking:
"My grandpa."
Miles’s brows tightened. "Your grandpa? What about him?"
Celina swallowed hard.
"He’s back."
"...What?" Miles stared. "He’s back? When?"
"I don’t know," she breathed. "I have to go ho. Right now. I’ll call you later."
Miles nodded. "Alright. Drive safe."
Celina stepped into her car, still pale, engine roaring as she sped away.
Becky exhaled deeply. "We’re heading back too."
Rose waved at the twins. "Bye, cuties. See you later, Miles."
"Bye-bye," Hope waved brightly.
Asher tugged on Miles’s sleeve. "Big bro... what happened to big sister Celina?"
Miles locked the car. "There’s sothing happening at her ho. She’ll be fine."
Hope patted her stomach dramatically. "Let’s go ho too, big broo. I’m hungry."
Miles finally smiled. "Alright. Let’s go."
They got into the car, the chilly afternoon fading behind them as Miles pulled onto the road.
Wilfred Wraithbourne — a na once spoken with respect across provinces, business circles, and military halls alike.
The founder of the Wraithbourne Group.
A man forged by discipline, raised by a veteran soldier, and later decorated as one himself.
He served in the Provincial Army with distinction, eventually earning the rank of General, and even shared a long-standing friendship with Timothy Sterling, Miles’s grandfather.
While still in uniform, he built the Wraithbourne Group from scratch, managing the company in the rare hours when he wasn’t stationed at borders or command posts.
And when his son finally graduated, Wilfred passed the reins to him—seamlessly, proudly—choosing to focus on service rather than paperwork.
Life had been steady. Predictable. Honorable.
Until the day it wasn’t.
One morning, a few years ago, Wilfred Wraithbourne vanished.
No resignation.
No ssage.
No farewell to his soldiers.
No explanation to his son.
Not even a parting word to the granddaughter he adored more than life itself.
He disappeared from the army.
From the company.
From the world.
Every attempt to find him led to dead ends.
His last known location held no clues.
But now—
After all this ti—
Wilfred Wraithbourne has returned.
Alive.
Unexpected.
Unannounced.
And with his return ca questions that clawed at everyone:
Why did he leave?
Where had he been?
And what did his sudden reappearance truly an?
.....
London, usually humming with its familiar churn of tourists, bankers, and night-owls, had taken on a different tone altogether.
Sothing heavier.
Sothing colder.
In the last twenty-four hours, the city had quietly swallowed far too many new faces—faces that did not belong to businessn, diplomats, or vacationing families.
The hotels, both luxurious and modest, were suddenly at full capacity, their registers thick with unfamiliar, foreign nas. Receptionists whispered behind raised clipboards, concierges exchanged loaded looks.
They could feel it—
London had new guests, but not the kind they were accustod to.
These arrivals did not ask for tourist maps or theatre tickets.
They asked about cellars.
They asked about back-alley access points.
They asked about private rooftops.
The Treasure Hunters—they are scattered, after Elias Finch’s secret summons—had arrived early.
n with blank eyes and military gaits.
Won with sharp smiles and sharper knives concealed in designer coats.
Experts in infiltration, in sabotage, in retrieval...
and in vanishing without leaving a single fingerprint behind.
They lingered in lobbies with their luggage untouched.
They mapped exits before mapping their rooms.
They counted caras.
London’s streets absorbed them like shadows slipping between lampposts.
....
anwhile....
Miles sat in the quiet warmth of Pearl Villa’s living room, security plans scattered across the table before him. Schematics, schedules, formation charts—every detail for the President’s Monday visit was highlighted, underlined, or marked with his personal notes.
anwhile, Hope and Asher zood around the house like tiny rockets, their laughter echoing through the hallways.
Miles rubbed his temple, glancing at a particularly complicated diagram of the south-wing sweep when his phone vibrated.
He answered.
"Adam?"
Adam’s voice ca low, unsettled.
"Hey Miles... I saw soone while driving today."
Miles leaned back in his chair, brows narrowing.
"Who?"
Adam hesitated.
"Does he... live here secretly?"
Miles frowned.
"Adam, who are you talking about? Don’t talk in puzzles."
Finally Adam said it—
"General Wilfred. I saw him in the city today."
Miles straightened.
"So he really ca back today? I got the news just a while ago. Is it that big of a deal for the Army?"
Adam scoffed lightly, though worry bled through.
"Miles, you don’t know. General Wilfred’s disappearance caused absolute chaos in the army. And if he returns today—just a day before the President arrives—it’s one hell of a coincidence."
Miles tapped a finger on the table.
"You’re doubting him? He seed like a righteous man to ."
"I believe that too," Adam admitted. "But I can’t take a risk. Not with what’s at stake."
Miles’ phone buzzed with another notification. He glanced at the screen—and grinned.
"Adam," Miles said, rising from the chair. "et at City Square in minutes. We’re going to see him. You can clear your doubts then."
Adam exhaled.
"Alright. I’m coming."
The call ended.
Miles checked the ssage again—the one Celina had just sent:
"Grandpa wants to et you today. Can you co?"
Miles typed back without hesitation:
"Coming."
And hit send.
Miles crouched slightly, ruffling the twins’ heads.
"Hope, Asher—big bro is heading out. Stay inside, play nicely, and don’t bother the staff too much. Mom and Dad will be ho soon."
They both stood straight like tiny soldiers.
"Copy that, sir!"
Miles nodded, amused, then headed out.
---
In the Car
Miles slid into the driver’s seat and dialed Monica.
She picked up instantly.
"Boss?"
Miles’ tone was steady.
"General Wilfred Wraithbourne—Celina’s grandfather—is in the city."
There was a beat of stunned silence.
"...He’s alive?"
"Alive and walking. With all the limbs."
Monica recovered quickly.
"I’ll start pulling his trail. Do you want his entry point?"
"Exactly. I want to know where he ca from."
Several rapid keystrokes clicked through the line.
"Give a mont..."
Miles drove toward the Wraithbourne Mansion as he waited.
A minute later—
"Boss, I have sothing."
On Miles’ screen, an airport security feed pinged into view—General Wilfred stepping out of an international gate with a duffel slung over his shoulder, posture straight despite his age.
Monica continued,
"He flew in—comrcial. No diplomatic tag. Flight details may take longer, passenger data is compressed."
Miles exhaled slowly.
"So it’s confird—he wasn’t here all this ti."
"Absolutely. He entered Star Harbor today."
Miles tapped the wheel thoughtfully.
"Dig deeper. His disappearance... and now his reappearance. I want everything from the last few years."
Monica hesitated.
"Boss... why him?"
Miles’ answer ca quietly:
"Because I don’t know if he’s inviting as his friend Timothy’s grandson...
...or as Ghost of the Graveyard."
Monica whispered a curse.
Then—
"I’ll gather everything. Also—the President’s convoy is already in the air. All channels are broadcasting it."
"Increase surveillance. Once the President is public news, risk multiplies."
"Already done."
"Good work. Call if anything new pops up."
The call ended.
Miles moved through the last stretch of city roads and turned into the affluent lane leading to the Wraithbourne mansion.
At the square –
Adam’s sedan rolled up right beside Miles’.
Adam stepped out, adjusting his blazer.
"Ready?"
Miles nodded once.
The two n drove toward the Wraithbourne mansion.
At Wraithbourne Mansion...
The wrought-iron gate opened before they reached it, staff bowing respectfully.
Inside, the foyer glowed with warm lighting and polished marble. Footsteps echoed down the grand staircase.
Celina descended quickly—and froze for a mont when she saw the unfamiliar face next to Miles.
Her eyes darted between them.
"Miles... who is he?"
Adam stepped forward politely.
"Adam. Secret Service."
Celina blinked.
"Secret Service... as in the President’s Secret Service?"
Before Miles could answer, a heavy voice echoed from deeper inside.
"I will speak with you, Mr. Adam. Please follow ."
Victor Wraithbourne walked in—calm, composed, smiling faintly.
Miles nodded respectfully.
"Uncle Victor."
Victor smiled and said "Good to see you again son".
Victor placed a hand on Adam’s shoulder.
"Co with . We will clear your doubts."
For a mont, Adam looked unsure—almost asking Miles for confirmation.
Miles t his gaze and nodded once.
That was enough.
Adam followed Victor deeper into the mansion.
Celina stepped closer to Miles and gave a small gesture upward.
"Co... Grandpa is waiting for you in his room."
Miles inhaled deeply and followed her up the stairs.
The mansion felt strangely tense—like it was holding its breath.
And sowhere ahead, behind a quiet door...
General Wilfred Wraithbourne was waiting.
To be continued...
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