Chapter 232: 232 The Summit Begins

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232: The Summit Begins 232: The Summit Begins The attackers surged forward as one.

Mishka tried to run, but she’d given everything to the compulsion.

Her legs buckled.

Strong hands grabbed her arms, lifted her off the ground.

“Finally,” Jean said, walking closer now that the danger had passed.

She studied Mishka like a collector examining a new acquisition.

“Do you know how long I’ve been planning this?

How many pieces I’ve had to move to get you exactly where I wanted you?”

“They’ll come back for me,” Mishka said, her voice hoarse and broken.

“The Covenant—”

“Will be too late.

By the time they organize a rescue operation, you’ll be long gone.

Relocated to one of my secure facilities.

Trained.

Collared.

Made useful.” Jean smiled, cold and triumphant.

“You’re going to help me, Mishka.

You’re going to be the face of my new order.

The Siren who proves that integration was always a fantasy, that supernatural beings need strong leadership to keep them from tearing the world apart.”

“I’ll never help you.”

“You say that now.

But the collars are quite persuasive.

And I have time to break you properly.

After all—” Jean glanced at her watch, “—I still have twenty-three days until my countdown reaches zero.

Plenty of time to make you into exactly what I need.”

They dragged Mishka toward a black van hidden deeper in the forest.

She struggled, but without her voice, without her power, she was just a woman against trained supernatural killers.

As they threw her into the back of the van, she caught one last glimpse of the forest road.

Somewhere ahead, Bruce and Emma were racing toward safety, toward the summit, toward allies who might be able to mount a rescue.

But Jean was right.

By the time help arrived, Mishka would be gone.

The van doors slammed shut, plunging her into darkness.

Her last thought before something struck the back of her head and consciousness fled was of Bruce’s face, of his promise to come back for her.

She hoped it was a promise he could keep.

Bruce crashed through Director Chen’s office door without knocking, Emma stumbling behind him, Julian and Frank at their heels.

“Jean has Mishka,” Bruce snarled, his werewolf form barely contained.

“She ambushed us.

Set a trap.

We barely got away.”

Chen was already on her feet, barking orders into three different phones.

“Where?

When?

How many attackers?”

Frank provided coordinates, a tactical breakdown of the ambush, estimates of Jean’s forces.

But Bruce could barely hear it over the roaring in his ears.

He’d left Mishka.

He’d run while she sacrificed herself to save them.

“We’re going back,” Bruce said.

“Now.

With every resource you have.”

“They’ll be long gone by the time we get there,” Chen said, her expression grim but pragmatic.

“Jean’s too smart to stay at an exposed location.

She’ll have transportation arranged, multiple safe houses, contingency plans.”

“Then we track her!

We find where she’s taking Mishka and we get her back!”

“We will,” Chen promised.

“But first, you need to tell me everything.

Every detail of the ambush, every word Jean said, every hint about where she might take a captive.

Bruce, I know you’re hurting, but right now, information is our best weapon.”

Emma had collapsed into a chair, tears streaming down her face.

“This is my fault.

I should have held the wards longer.

If I’d been stronger—”

“You held them as long as anyone could,” Julian said firmly.

“You saved our lives, Emma.

Don’t forget that.”

But Bruce knew the truth.

They’d all failed.

They’d let Jean Rousseau walk away with the one person who mattered most.

And somewhere out there, in a location they couldn’t find, Mishka was alone, captured, at the mercy of a monster.

The summit would continue.

The other delegates were already arriving, ready to debate policy and strategy while one of their own was being collared and broken like an animal.

Bruce stared out Chen’s window at the Montreal skyline, his fists clenched so tight his claws drew blood from his own palms.

Twenty-three days until Jean’s countdown reached zero.

Twenty-three days to find Mishka, to rescue her, to stop whatever nightmare Jean was planning.

Bruce had promised he’d come back for her.

He intended to keep that promise.

Even if it killed him.

The Covenant conference room was designed to impress—and to intimidate.

Three stories tall with floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking Montreal’s skyline, the circular space could seat over two hundred delegates.

Today, it held barely half that number, a grim reminder of how many communities had already fallen to Jean’s campaign.

Bruce sat in the Eldergrove delegation section, his hands clenched into fists on the polished table.

Every instinct screamed at him to be out searching for Mishka, not sitting in a political meeting while she was in Jean’s hands.

But Director Chen had been adamant—the summit had to proceed.

Showing weakness now, canceling because of the ambush, would be exactly what Jean wanted.

“We have every available resource searching for her,” Chen had said that morning, her hand on Bruce’s shoulder.

“But the delegates need to see leadership.

They need to know we don’t abandon our mission when things get hard.

You represent Eldergrove now.

Mishka would want you here.”

So here Bruce sat, trying to focus while his fiancée was being collared and broken somewhere he couldn’t reach.

Emma sat beside him, pale and exhausted from the ambush.

Julian flanked her other side, his security training making him catalog every exit, every potential threat in the room.

Frank had remained at Covenant headquarters, coordinating with his investigative contacts to track Jean’s movements.

Director Chen stood at the central podium, her voice carrying through the space without need for amplification.

“Welcome to the Emergency Continental Summit on Supernatural Integration.

We gather in crisis, under attack from forces that seek to destroy everything we’ve built.

But we gather nonetheless, because we refuse to be broken.”

Murmurs of agreement rippled through the assembled delegates.

“You all know why we’re here,” Chen continued.

“Seventeen communities attacked in coordinated strikes.

Three completely destroyed.

Dozens of our people killed or captured.

And this morning, one of our most visible advocates—Mishka Classens of Eldergrove—was taken by Jean Rousseau herself.”

The murmurs turned to shocked exclamations.

Many delegates hadn’t yet heard about the ambush.

“Jean’s strategy is clear,” Chen said.

“She’s not just attacking our communities.

She’s targeting our leaders, our innovators, the individuals who make integration possible.

She wants us frightened, divided, and desperate.

The question before this summit is simple: do we give her what she wants, or do we fight back?”

A delegate from Vancouver stood—a vampire named Marcus whom Bruce recognized from previous integration conferences.

“Fight back how?

With what?

Jean has infiltrated our communities, compromised our security, and now she’s proven she can ambush even Covenant-protected convoys.

What makes you think we have any chance of winning this war?”

“Because we’re still here,” a new voice said.

Bruce turned to see a woman rising from the Portland delegation—a witch with silver streaks in her dark hair.

“I’m Vera Santos, Portland Integration Council.

Jean destroyed Chicago.

She evacuated Seattle.

She’s attacked seventeen communities.

But sixty-plus communities remain.

That’s sixty-plus groups of supernatural beings who refuse to hide, who choose to stand together.

That’s our strength.”

“It’s also our vulnerability,” Marcus countered.

“Concentrated targets.

Jean doesn’t have to hunt us individually—we’ve conveniently gathered ourselves for her.”

“Then we make that concentration a fortress, not a trap,” Bruce found himself saying.

All eyes turned to him.

He stood, his werewolf nature lending weight to his words.

“I’m Bruce Thornton, Eldergrove Security Consultant.

This morning, Jean ambushed our convoy with overwhelming force.

She should have captured all of us.

But she didn’t, because one person—Mishka—sacrificed herself to give the rest of us time to escape.

That’s what integration is about.

Not hiding separately, but standing together and being willing to sacrifice for each other.”

“Pretty words,” Marcus said.

“But Jean still has your fiancée.

How long before she uses Mishka against us?

A Siren under her control could devastate any community she targets.”

Bruce’s claws extended involuntarily.

“Mishka will never help Jean willingly.”

“The collars don’t require willing cooperation.

That’s rather the point.”

“Enough,” Chen interrupted, her voice sharp.

“We’re not here to debate what Jean might do.

We’re here to coordinate our defense and plan our counterattack.

Now, I’m going to share intelligence gathered over the past week, and I need everyone to listen carefully because it changes everything we thought we knew about Jean’s operation.”

She brought up a presentation on the massive screens around the room.

“We’ve traced Jean’s financial backing.

She’s not operating alone or even primarily for profit.

Jean Rousseau is the public face of a much larger organization—one that includes human and supernatural elements at the highest levels of power.”

The first slide showed a corporate structure chart with dozens of interconnected companies and organizations.

“These are known financial supporters.

Defense contractors who profit from supernatural conflicts.

Private security firms that specialize in ‘containing’ supernatural threats.

Even government officials who benefit from keeping our communities fractured and afraid.”

Bruce studied the chart, his mind racing.

This wasn’t just about Jean’s personal vendetta against integration.

This was a coordinated effort by people who profited from supernatural beings remaining hidden, controllable, exploitable.

“Jean’s countdown,” Emma said suddenly, her young voice cutting through the shocked silence.

“The one she sent to Eldergrove.

What if it’s not about revealing secrets?

What if it’s counting down to some kind of…

demonstration?

Something to prove supernatural beings are too dangerous for integration?”

Chen’s expression darkened.

“We’ve considered that possibility.

If Jean has captured enough supernatural beings, trained them, collared them…

she could stage an attack that looks like supernatural aggression against humans.

Create an incident large enough to turn public opinion completely against integration.”

“A false flag operation,” Frank’s voice came through the conference speakers—he was patched in remotely from the search coordination center.

“Make it look like integrated communities are training supernatural terrorists.

Twenty-three days until she executes it, presumably somewhere public, somewhere with maximum media coverage.”

The room erupted in chaos.

Delegates shouting over each other, demanding answers, proposing increasingly desperate solutions.

Bruce barely heard them.

His mind was fixed on one thing: Mishka had twenty-three days before Jean used her in whatever nightmare scenario was planned.

Twenty-three days to be found, rescued, freed.

Twenty-three days to survive.

“We need to find Jean’s base of operations,” Bruce said, his voice cutting through the noise.

“Where does she take the people she captures?

Where are the collars made?

If we can find that—”

“We’ve been looking for months,” Frank’s voice came through the speakers.

“Jean’s operation is highly compartmentalized.

Different facilities for different purposes, constantly moving.

Even our best intelligence has only found abandoned locations.”

“Then we make her come to us,” Emma said.

All eyes turned to the young witch.

“She wants me.

I’m a Resonant—valuable to her plans.

And she wants to eliminate Bruce because he represents successful integration, a werewolf who’s built a legitimate life.

If we let it be known we’re vulnerable, that we’re traveling with minimal security…”

“Absolutely not,” Julian said immediately.

“You’re fifteen years old.

We’re not using you as bait.”

“But I’m willing,” Emma insisted.

“If it means rescuing Mishka and stopping Jean—”

“Your mother would kill me,” Bruce said, then realized Emma’s parents were in Montreal, waiting at a hotel nearby.

“Emma, I appreciate the offer, but we’re not sacrificing children to catch Jean.”

“I’m not a child,” Emma said quietly.

“Not anymore.

Not after everything that’s happened.”

The truth of that statement hung in the air.

Emma had maintained wards that should have taken a decade to master.

She’d witnessed Mrs.

Callahan’s death.

She’d been ambushed and nearly captured.

Integration had stolen her childhood, whether any of them wanted to admit it or not.

“We’ll table the bait option for now,” Chen said diplomatically.

“But Emma’s not wrong that we need a more aggressive approach.

Sitting behind wards and waiting for Jean to attack isn’t working.

We need to go on the offensive.”

“How?” Marcus demanded.

“We don’t know where she is, we don’t know what she’s planning beyond vague threats, and now she has one of our most powerful allies as a hostage.

We’re playing her game, by her rules.”

“Then we change the rules,” Vera Santos said.

“Director Chen, you said Jean has backers, financial supporters.

What if we go after them instead of going after her directly?

Cut off her funding, expose her human collaborators.

Make it too expensive, too risky for them to continue supporting her operation.”

“That’s a long-term strategy,” Chen said.

“It might work, but it won’t save Mishka or the others Jean has already captured.”

Bruce stood again, unable to sit still any longer.

“I’m going to find her.

With or without Covenant approval, with or without a plan.

Mishka sacrificed herself for us this morning.

I’m not abandoning her to whatever hell Jean has planned.”

“You’ll get yourself killed,” Marcus said flatly.

“Maybe.

But I’ll die trying instead of sitting here debating policy while the woman I love is being tortured.” Bruce looked around the room.

“Anyone else want to join a suicide rescue mission?

I’m leaving in an hour.”

Silence.

Then Vera Santos stood.

“Portland will provide two volunteers.

We’ve lost people to Jean too.

We want them back.”

One by one, other delegates stood.

Not all of them—Marcus and several others remained seated, their expressions skeptical.

But enough.

Enough to form a team, to mount a rescue operation that had a slim chance of success.

“This is madness,” Marcus said.

“You don’t even know where Jean is holding her prisoners.”

“Then we’ll start with what we do know,” Frank’s voice came through the speakers.

“I’ve been tracking Jean’s network for months.

I have leads on three possible locations—all heavily guarded, all dangerous.

But if we coordinate, hit them simultaneously with different teams, we might find something.”

“Or you might walk into traps and give Jean exactly what she wants—more captives,” Marcus countered.

“He’s right that it’s risky,” Chen said.

“But so is doing nothing.

Frank, coordinate with the volunteers.

Bruce, you’ll lead one team.

Vera, you take another.

I’ll assign Covenant security to the third.

We move tonight, before Jean can relocate or strengthen her defenses.”