Chapter 211

Somora Prison is a federal facility located on Camtiva Island, eight kilometers off the Helso mainland. Enclosed by massive concrete walls, fifteen-foot-high electrified fencing, and automatic gates, it is under round-the-clock surveillance with cutting-edge monitoring systems. In its twenty-six years of operation, it has not allowed a single escape, notorious as one of the highest security prisons.

It houses death row inmates or those sentenced to life without parole who require especially strict isolation. No prisoner has ever walked out alive. The institution lives up to its founding doctrine: “Isolate safely until death.”

Siron, his head close to Baekgyeong’s as they read the encyclopedia page on his phone, muttered:

“With this place, just killing one or two people wouldn’t even get you a seat at the table.”

Baekgyeong answered grimly.

“Right. You’d have to kill at least a dozen before you could even show your face here.”

A heavy silence settled between them. Both lifted their heads at the same time, looking toward Isaac’s profile in the darkness as he peered through binoculars. From the window of the van, beyond the open glass, he watched the opposite park with relentless focus.

Clearly, the made-to-order cold-bloodedness of Somora was rubbing him the wrong way; his jaw muscle twitched tight, clenched teeth betraying his irritation at their conversation. Cowed into quiet, the two bent their heads together again and kept scrolling through Wikipedia.

At Somora, group housing and communal activities are strictly forbidden. The policy of single-cell confinement is absolute: each inmate is assigned an individual cell with an identification number upon entry, and that assignment never changes for the entire sentence.

For twenty-three hours a day they remain sealed in solitary, surrounded by windowless concrete walls. Only one hour is allotted for exercise, where they can look up at the sky through the iron ceiling of the yard.

Siron’s expression darkened as he scrolled further. If Gezar Bazelli refused visitation, they would never learn the method of Imprint. Siron would be left vulnerable, falling into rut at the scent of any alpha’s pheromones, while Isaac, Baekgyeong, and Lewis would all die, trapped in their countdown lives.

“Can we even visit him?”

At Siron’s question, Baekgyeong replied:

“Visitation would be the simplest solution, but it’s too conspicuous.”

There was no way Hybris wouldn’t be watching Gezar Bazelli—the first alpha, and the only one to have lived past thirty-five. Breaking him out was impossible, and even if it weren’t, they had no means to do it.

“Don’t be so negative. Positive thoughts bring positive reality. We’ve got forged IDs, don’t we?”

As Siron tried to keep the conversation hopeful, Isaac cut in with a low voice.

“The light on the first floor just went out.”

His gaze, cold as ice and sharp as a blade, swept across the binoculars before he finally turned his head.

“It seems Anna McCarthy is the only one home.”

They had parked in a deserted lot of a nearby park in Linhart, facing the McCarthy siblings’ mansion. They had chosen binoculars over simply surveilling from the street, knowing how risky it was to park in front of a reclusive neighborhood’s estate. Residents in these gated communities were quick to find foreign cars unacceptable, often calling private security or police at the first sign of suspicion. Siron himself had experienced more than one headache delivering food in such places, with the police summoned over nothing.

“The second floor never lit up?”

“No.”

Siron’s hope that he might find some trace of Lewis there collapsed, and his face hardened in silence.

“When does Anna McCarthy usually leave for work?”

“She’s on rotating shifts—three shifts, changing every two weeks. Since she came home at ten tonight, tomorrow she’ll leave around noon.”

“Then we enter the mansion tomorrow at two p.m. For now, you should get some sleep.”

Isaac stepped out of the front seat, opened the rear door, and helped Siron down. Then he folded the second-row seats against the wall and spread an air mattress across the floor. Baekgyeong laid a thick sleeping bag on top, enough space for one to lie down.

Siron stretched out on the mattress. Cramped, but cozy enough. The two alphas would sleep once again in their seats. Since leaving Texas, Siron had sometimes been given this kind of consideration—because his body was the one most desperate for rest.

It had been three days since his abduction and rescue in Texas. Having spent most of that time asleep, the wounds to his body and mind from the kidnapping were slowly mending. Especially his mind—he recovered quickly. Whether he had killed his abductor or whether the man had died from illness made no difference. Siron deliberately refused to think of that day again. Yet whenever he thought of the road ahead, unease swelled first.

If they failed to achieve Imprint, what kind of life awaited him? Curled up like a shrimp, Siron forced himself into uneasy sleep.

The chance to infiltrate came sooner than expected. Around seven in the morning, Anna drove her white SUV out of the mansion. By nine, they were on their way.

They dressed the part. Plain gray work clothes, duffel bags slung over their shoulders like tool kits. They carried an empty box with a television design printed on it and stood at the gate. Pretending to press the doorbell, Siron keyed in the passcode he remembered, unlocking the door.

Once inside the high walls, shielded from the neighbors’ prying eyes, Siron yanked off his cap and shoved it into his back pocket. Quickly, he scanned the mansion. The garden was a mess—grass overgrown ankle-high, weeds tangled with untrimmed hedges, trees sprouting wild branches.

Anna must have been too consumed to care about upkeep, even refusing to hire a gardener. Such neglect was unlike her, and nothing but the shock of Lewis’s disappearance could explain it.

Inside, the house was cloaked in darkness. Puzzled by the shadowy atmosphere, Siron soon realized the blinds were drawn tight over every window.

In the past, the McCarthy mansion had always stood open and bright, visible through its wide windows, but now Anna had sealed it in gloom. From anywhere but a high vantage point like the park where they had been surveilling, no one could peer in.

They passed the entryway decorated like a small room and stepped into the main hall. Siron noted the lavish chandelier above, the gleaming white marble floor, the antique furniture scattered tastefully throughout.

The house’s luxurious air remained unchanged, yet it felt chilled, a coldness seeping from Lewis’s absence. Wealth meant nothing if Lewis had been murdered—what use was any of this?

“I’ll search the first floor. Siron, you take the second. Bazelli—you check the outbuilding.”

Issuing orders, Baekgyeong disappeared into Anna’s room to look for the suppressant. Siron headed for the central staircase.

Halfway up, he glanced down to see Isaac standing still in place. Though the situation was urgent, he showed no sign of moving, as if lost in some trance.