Chapter 53 – Mirrors Lie Too
Chapter 53 – Mirrors Lie Too
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The safehouse felt heavier in the morning, as if the ground beneath it sensed what was coming. The quiet hum of strategy filled the air—Caleb poring over security footage, Luca on encrypted calls, and Aurora scanning the contents of the mysterious drive Nathaniel had delivered.
Damon stood at the large window, arms crossed, watching the hills in silence. The soft light cast sharp angles across his face. He looked composed, but his eyes were elsewhere.
Behind him, Aurora spoke without turning. “The files aren’t complete.”
He glanced back. “Meaning?”
“Meaning whoever gave them to us wanted to show us just enough to scare us—but not enough to win.”
Caleb entered with a tablet in hand. “You need to see this.”
He set the screen down between them and played a clip.
A room filled the display. Gray walls. Metal table. Security camera footage, grainy but clear enough to recognize two men.
One was Nathaniel Graves.
The other… wore a mask. Voice distorted.
“You’re getting sloppy, Graves. Too many breadcrumbs.”
Nathaniel had smiled, oddly calm. > “Sloppy gets results. You’re the one who wants chaos, Revenant. I’m just giving them a taste.”
“You’re not paid to be clever. You’re paid to follow orders.”
“And what if I’m tired of being a ghost’s mouthpiece?”
The video ended.
Aurora leaned in. “So Graves was working with Revenant. Until he wasn’t.”
Damon said nothing for a moment. Then: “And he brought the drive because he wants to be seen now.”
“Why?” Luca asked, stepping into the room.
Caleb replied, “Because some villains don’t want to hide. They want to be known. Revered.”
Damon finally turned fully. “Which means this isn’t about revenge. It’s about legacy.”
---
Meanwhile, Nathaniel Graves sat at an open-air café in Siena, stirring his espresso with maddening patience. He wore dark sunglasses and a light smile, as if the world weren’t imploding quietly behind him.
A stranger approached and sat without asking.
“I don’t like unannounced meetings,” Nathaniel murmured.
The man leaned forward. “You poked the hornet’s nest. They’re getting close.”
“Good,” Nathaniel said, sipping slowly. “Let them.”
“You want them to find out?”
“Of course. That’s the fun part.”
The stranger hesitated. “Does he know you’re orchestrating this?”
Nathaniel tilted his head. “Let’s not get melodramatic. I’m not orchestrating. I’m simply... shifting the melody.”
He stood and dropped a napkin on the table—upon it, a single phrase:
He always hated roses.
---
Back at the safehouse, Damon entered Silas’s room to find his brother sitting upright, sketching on a notepad.
“You’re awake,” Damon said, relief in his voice.
Silas smiled faintly. “Been awake. Just didn’t want to deal with your grumpy face yet.”
Damon snorted. “You got jokes now?”
Silas held up the sketch. It was a crude drawing of a man in a hood, standing beneath a twisted tree. “You remember the orchard?”
Damon’s expression darkened. “Of course.”
Silas circled something in the tree’s trunk. “There was a door. A hidden passage. They used it to transport people—files, weapons, whatever they didn’t want seen.”
Damon nodded slowly. “I remember.”
“We have to go back,” Silas said, voice firmer now. “The answers… they’re buried there.”
Aurora entered just then. “Did I hear you say we’re digging up childhood trauma?”
Damon and Silas both gave weak smiles.
“I’ll pack my shovel,” Aurora added, trying to lighten the mood.
---
Two days later, they stood in the overgrown ruins of the Moretti estate’s orchard, where twisted trees lined the path like crooked sentinels. Weeds had overrun the once-pristine grounds, and vines snaked over the old greenhouse.
But the tree was still there.
Dead. Hollowed. Blackened with time.
Damon knelt beside the trunk, brushing away dirt and leaves until his fingers found it—an iron ring embedded in the roots.
He pulled.
The ground groaned.
A panel gave way.
Below: a rusted staircase descending into the earth.
Caleb flicked on his flashlight. “Because nothing bad ever starts with creepy underground stairs.”
“Still want to be part of this, Celeste?” Luca asked behind him, only half-joking.
Celeste rolled her eyes. “If I die, I’m haunting you.”
Together, they descended.
---
The corridor beneath the orchard was colder than expected. Damp air. Flickering bulbs that hadn’t seen power in years. The walls were lined with old family portraits—eyes scratched out, mouths blurred.
Silas led the way, stopping before a door marked “C. Moretti – Private” in tarnished brass.
“This was our father’s study,” he whispered.
Damon’s hand hovered over the handle. His jaw clenched. Then he pushed the door open.
Inside, dust coated everything. Files. Journals. An old film projector still plugged in.
Caleb swept the room, but Aurora drifted toward the far corner, where a shattered picture frame sat atop a trunk.
She lifted the glass carefully.
The photo showed a young Damon… and his father.
But the man in the image didn’t match Damon’s memory.
He was taller. Leaner. And his eyes were wrong.
Aurora held up the photo. “Damon… is this your father?”
Damon stared.
“No.”
Silas paled. “Then who the hell did we bury?”
---
In a distant, private suite overlooking the Tuscan valley, the man who wore the face of Christian Moretti removed his gloves, revealing hands marred by years of flame and frost.
Behind him, Nathaniel Graves entered silently.
“They found the orchard,” he said.
Christian turned slowly, eyes gleaming. “Then they are finally ready.”
“For the truth?”
“No,” Christian said with a cruel smile. “For the final performance.”
Nathaniel hesitated. “They’ll resist.”
Christian walked to the window, gazing out at the hills.
“Then let the curtain fall.”