The living room was filled with the faint hum of the ceiling fan, a weak attempt to diffuse the tension thick in the air. I sat in the middle of the sofa, surrounded by my family. Their eyes were on me, expectant, waiting for the silence to break. Waiting for answers.
I clasped my hands in my lap, my fingers tightening as I stared down at my knuckles.
"I know you all have questions," I began, my voice smooth but measured. "And I owe you an explanation. But before anything else, I need you to understand—I am here now. I am safe."
Reed was the first to speak, his voice edged with restrained fury, his relief barely masking it. "Safe? Beatrice, you were gone for five years. Do you have any idea—" He stopped, his voice breaking. He inhaled sharply, then continued, softer this time, "Where were you?"
His words struck deep, the weight of them pressing against my chest. I lifted my gaze, meeting his before sweeping over the faces around me. My grandfather, weary yet relieved. My father, his rigid composure betraying the cracks beneath. My mother and grandmother, eyes clouded with worry.
I hesitated. The truth—it was too heavy, too cruel to hand to them all at once. I could not burden them with everything.
"Do you remember when I told you I was leaving for a mission?" I asked instead.
"Yes. But when I asked what kind of mission, you said it was classified." My mother spoke this time.
I nodded. "The mission was more dangerous than expected. Things... went wrong." My words were deliberate, neutral.
My father's eyes narrowed, his gaze piercing through me. "What kind of mission was it?" His voice was calm, but firm.
I held his gaze. "I am not at liberty to say." My tone remained steady. "You know how these things work. It was classified."
Reed's expression darkened, frustration flickering like a storm. "Classified? Even now?! Bea, we thought you were dead!"
The air in the room felt suffocating. The weight of their emotions bore down on me, but I held my ground. I felt like I was trapped, caught between my loyalty to my family and my duty to the Lord.
"Reed." My father's voice was a quiet command, silencing him. "Let her speak."
I inclined my head in acknowledgment and continued. "I was captured," I said simply. The words felt foreign, distant. "I was held for a long time, but eventually... I was rescued. By the Guardians."
The room stilled, the air thick with disbelief. Their silence carried a thousand unspoken words, emotions too tangled to unravel.
"You mean the Guardians under the Heir's faction? That independent force?" my grandfather asked.
"Yes."
A pause. Then my grandmother spoke, her voice a whisper of realization. "If the Guardians were involved... it means the mission was truly perilous."
My father's gaze sharpened. "Do you know any of the Guardian?"
I stilled for half a second but masked it with a composed shrug. "No." The lie slipped effortlessly.
Silence settled over us, each lost in their own thoughts.
And then, my grandfather exhaled slowly. "So that's why."
I frowned slightly. "What do you mean?"
"Your father investigated your disappearance after months of no word. We started to worry, so I moved my resources. Even called in a favor from the Faulkersons to deploy their intelligence network. But there was nothing. Not even a trace. No one in the organization knew about your mission. That only meant one thing—it was a direct order from the Lord. And when the Lord does not want something known, no one will know."
They had already pieced together so much. We had reached this point—I would no longer deny it.
I took a deep breath. "Yes." The single word felt like an avalanche, and I watched as the revelation struck them, their expressions faltering, their shoulders sinking beneath the weight of it.
"It was a direct order from the Lord himself," I confirmed. "And he requested the Heir to involve the Guardians."
"What?" Reed breathed, his disbelief palpable. He sank back into his seat as if the strength had been drained from him.
"Then... if the Lord himself ordered it, he must have known you were alive..." my grandfather trailed off.
"He did not," my grandmother murmured, realization dawning. "Instead, he obstructed the search and sent word that you were dead."
"But why?" my mother asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
I held her gaze. "I don't know," I lied effortlessly. "Perhaps he thought it was the safest option. You know how he operates—everything is calculated."
The room seemed to hold its breath, waiting for me to reveal more. But I would not. I could not.
My grandfather studied me carefully but did not press further. Instead, he leaned back in his chair, deep in thought.
I exhaled slowly, my gaze sweeping over them—my family, the people I had longed to see for so long. They deserved the truth, but how could I give it to them without endangering them?
To be continued...