The Gifted Divide

"Revenge is an act of passion; vengeance of justice. Injuries are revenged; crimes are avenged." ― Samuel Johnson

* * * *

The rain had not stopped since dusk.

It came in sheets now—heavy, punishing sheets that battered the windshield in rhythmic torrents, smearing the world outside in blurs of grey and watery red light. Street-lights glowed like wounded eyes behind the haze. Pools of water reflected the city's crumbling soul, fractured and beaten under the weight of everything spiralling out of control.

Elijah drove like a bat out of hell.

Tires screeched through a turn so sharp it sent Misha's shoulder slamming into the door. He barely registered it. His knuckles were white, gripping the edge of the seat in front of him. The entire car stank of damp leather, gun oil, and tension.

All three of them—Misha, Elijah, and Taylor, weren't in any identifiable agent gear, but were in their street clothes, with dark jackets.

They have all hightailed out of ESA headquarters the moment Misha had came to Team Alpha, demanding Lucas's whereabouts. The rest of Team Alpha have promised to make excuses for them, as it will be an unsanctioned mission, and even to keep an eye on Team Delta.

The car that Elijah had used is one of his less conspicuous ones—the one he uses when he doesn't want to be recognised as an ESA agent, and even has a fake number plate, one of several that Elijah has prepared.

In the side passenger seat, Taylor braced herself with one hand on the dashboard and the other blindly rummaging under the floor panel between her legs. There was a dull click as the false bottom of the storage compartment gave way.

"Got it," she muttered, yanking out three matte black handguns. Standard issue, unmarked. Clean and efficient. Not traceable to any ESA registry.

Not legal either.

She handed one over her shoulder to Misha, her dark blue eyes unreadable in the dim cabin light. "Take it," she said. "Just in case."

Misha took it without a word, checking the mag, then the chamber. Loaded. No safety. A weapon meant for confrontation, not intimidation.

That was what this night was becoming.

The rain pelted the windows harder now, as if the storm itself were trying to drown out the silence between them. Misha glanced through the blurry window—empty streets, closed shops, and even hollow alleys.

Eldario's veins had gone cold.

If Misha didn't trust Elijah's driving, if he hadn't seen it on missions countless times, he'd have been terrified. But there was something more pressing than fear curling in his gut tonight.

Lucas.

Where the hell was he?

"Where are we going?" Misha asked finally, his voice low and steady despite the pounding of his heart.

Elijah's crimson hair, wild and damp at the edges from the humidity, caught the faint glow of the dashboard lights. His catlike pupils flickered toward the rearview mirror, locking eyes with Misha.

"To meet with someone I know," he said, his voice clipped. "Someone who might be able to help."

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"One of our underground contacts," Taylor added softly. Her tone was gentler, but her face was grim. "While we're there, let us do the talking. Don't use your last name."

"I know better than to do that," Misha replied, nodding slowly. He'd stopped introducing himself as Alescio years ago. He never wanted the questions. The looks. The shifting atmosphere in the room when the name Gene Alescio was spoken. He swallowed hard. "Do you think…that Lucas is okay?"

Elijah's knuckles tightened on the wheel. For a moment, the only sound in the car was the roar of the rain, and the humming whine of the tires tearing across wet pavement.

"I don't know," Elijah said at last. The words were bitter and reluctant. His eyes flickered back to the road, his jaw tense. "I should never have told him anything."

"It's not your fault, Eli," Taylor said at once, her tone sharp. "Honestly, I'm surprised he lasted this long in the ESA without knowing the truth. Half the old-timers still talk about Gene Alescio like he's some war hero, especially amongst the hunters. Even some of the ESA agents know about Gene Alescio."

"I found out not long after Team Alpha and Team Delta were formed," Misha admitted, his voice quieter now. "It was one of our first field missions. Louis was with me. We were investigating one of the outposts on the outskirts, and an old hunter said something when I introduced myself. Just one word. Alescio."

Taylor turned to look back at him, her eyes wide and troubled.

"I got curious, and got Louis to dig deeper. And he did. He found everything. Everything my father used to be. The things he did. The bodies." Misha's gaze dropped. "I never told Lucas. I…thought he knew. But by the looks of it, he only found out recently."

"He came to me," Elijah said grimly. "Asking questions. About the underground. About his father. And if I didn't answer, he'd find someone else. Possibly even someone dangerous. Goddess help us if he asked the wrong person."

Taylor winced, and Misha felt a cold chill that had nothing to do with the storm outside.

"There are still some out there," Elijah continued, his voice low and dark. "The old guard. Hunters who follow the original code, before Nicolosi took over. The ones who remember the cleansing years. The ones who only goes after the criminals. To them, Gene Alescio wasn't a hero. He was something worse."

"Something like Nicolosi," Taylor whispered.

The name struck like a nail to the spine.

Misha looked up sharply. "Nicolosi's still pulling strings. Even after what happened at Blackpool. Even after the Veridale exposure. How?"

"Because he's not human," Elijah muttered.

"He doesn't see the Gifted as human," Taylor corrected bitterly.

Misha nodded grimly. He'd read the reports about the recent chaos, with the hunters no longer even pretending to follow the law by targeting anyone even remotely suspected of being a Gifted. And even those who so much as spoke up for them.

And then, there were also those whispers going about lately—about the frenzied hunters. And those hunters that doesn't even look right during the Blackpool mission. And the whispers about a drug that was wiped out by the underground years ago, but was brought back by Nicolosi.

Blue Pandora.

"We're dancing on a thread," Misha said aloud. "One misstep, and the ESA tears apart from within. Honestly, I think it already is."

There was silence again. Not just quiet, but a silence that weighed.

"You feel it too," Elijah murmured.

"Of course I do," Misha said. "Team Delta isn't the same anymore. We're being watched. Split. Someone's trying to fracture us from the inside. And I know who." He leaned forward, resting one elbow on the seat between them. His voice was lower now. "Maia."

Taylor's breath caught.

"I've noticed it for months," Misha continued. "Her hatred for the Gifted's always been there, but it's escalating. After Blackpool, she's been watching us. Like a hawk. Watching me. Louis. Even Coleen. And probably Remi. And she's reporting. I just don't know to who."

Elijah swore under his breath. "She was R&D, wasn't she?"

"Yeah," Misha said. "Transferred out about six months after Team Delta was formed, and I was gathering my team members. I knew Louis since our training days, so he was the first I approached. Coleen came with recommendations from the director. And Remi was recommended by another guy I used to work with. But Maia, I never trusted her from the start. She was in R&D, and that was enough for me. Even back then, I heard the rumours about that department. Then suddenly, Maia got flagged for Special Ops. I protested, but Command overrode me. Even the director couldn't do anything."

"That's not normal," Taylor muttered. "R&D doesn't transfer."

"Exactly," Misha said. "I don't have proof yet, but I think she's a mole. Either a sympathiser, or worse. A hunter."

Elijah's hands tightened on the wheel.

"That would explain a lot, actually," Taylor said, her voice cold.

"Louis is already working on tracing her network. I told Remi to keep an eye on her, too, but even he's been losing patience with how much Maia is shooting her mouth off. And if she is working with the hunters…" Misha paused. "Then Lucas might not have much time."

The car sped up again. No red lights, no traffic. The roads were empty. Eldario was shutting down. Or maybe dying. The country was burning from the inside.

"Are you sure this contact of yours can help?" Misha asked, looking between them.

Elijah didn't answer immediately. Then, finally, he sighed, "If anyone can find Lucas, it's them."

Taylor turned in her seat again, looking over her shoulder. Her eyes, lit by flashes of passing light, were steady and fierce. "We're going to the edge of the surface network," she said. "The place where the underground is the strongest. Where even the hunters don't tread unless they're suicidal."

Misha's breath caught. A cold realisation settled over him. "You don't mean…?"

Taylor nodded. "Yes," she said. "We're going to Zalfari."

The name hit like a drop of ink in water—spreading, staining, and sinking.

Zalfari. The town whispered in the depths of reports and warnings. A hub of the resistance. A place that never existed on any official map, and yet, everyone in the ESA who mattered knew it was real.

It was the heartbeat of the underground. A smuggler's haven. A Gifted sanctuary. A place where the truth festered, and waited to be found. Where one can find anything they want there, even the ones that are illegal or can get you executed.

Even ESA agents never go there unless they have no other choice.

Misha exhaled slowly. The weight of it all closed in like a noose. Lucas. Nicolosi. Gene Alescio. Maia. The hunters. The Gifted. The ESA's growing divide.

The civil war wasn't coming. It had already begun.

And this night, this drive through the rain, armed and unsanctioned, might be the first step toward choosing sides.

The car roared down the highway, tires slicing through puddles like knives.

Behind them, Eldario burned in silence.

Ahead of them, Zalfari waited.