The Final Capture (Vanasagheray Trilogy Part II)

Chapter Eight: They were framed

The television screen flickers, showing the burnt wreckage of a car, the once sleek vehicle now a smoldering, twisted ruin. The female reporter's voice carries a heavy tone as the camera zooms in on the charred remains of District Attorney Ethan Caldwell's body inside the wreckage.

"The city mourns the death of District Attorney Ethan Caldwell, found dead earlier this evening. Authorities suspect this brutal murder, along with the deaths of 62 police officers at the Northgate Precinct, is the work of Kael Varden, the rogue government agent. Varden is also believed to be responsible for the bombing, the death of Marcus Stadford, and numerous other casualties. He is considered highly dangerous, and citizens are advised to remain vigilant as this dangerous criminal roams the streets of Northgate."

The reporter continues, her voice grave. "Detectives remain baffled by Varden's motives, which are yet unclear, though the danger he poses is undeniable."

The screen cuts to live footage of the Northgate Police Station, the building reduced to rubble, smoke still rising in the background.

In the dimly lit bungalow, Vanasagheray, Lyra, and Ankit watch in tense silence. Lyra's hands clench into fists as she takes in the news, her eyes narrowing. "I have to go to the city," she says abruptly, her voice tight with determination.

"No," Ankit says, his tone firm as he steps in front of her. "It's too dangerous. You can't just walk into a war zone like this."

Vanasagheray, sitting nearby, looks between the two of them. "I'll help her," he offers. "We can figure something out together."

Ankit shakes his head, his face set in grim resolve. "No, Vanasagheray. You're still a target. 'Those people' could be out there, waiting for you. You can't risk going out like this."

Vanasagheray pauses for a moment, his brow furrowing. "Why is Varden doing this?" he asks, his voice low. "What's driving him?"

"There must be some reason," Ankit says quietly, turning to Lyra. "Do you know anything about this?"

Lyra shakes her head, her expression hard. "No. I'm not aware of his motives."

The room falls silent once more, the flickering light from the television casting eerie shadows on their faces as the weight of the situation settles over them.

In the quiet comfort of his study, Gerrard Harrock, a retired judge, sits back in his worn leather armchair, watching the news. His brows knit together in concern as the reporter details the string of recent murders, including that of Ethan Caldwell, the District Attorney. His hands tremble slightly as he reaches for the glass of water on the table beside him.

"This world is falling apart," he mutters to himself, shaking his head in sympathy.

From the hallway, his wife's voice breaks through his thoughts. "Gerrard, I'm heading out for a bit. I need to go check on Margaret; she's feeling unwell."

"Alright, dear," Gerrard responds without looking away from the screen. "Hope she's alright."

A few minutes later, the front door clicks shut behind her, leaving Gerrard alone with the ominous glow of the television filling the room. His mind drifts, consumed by the chaos and violence being broadcasted across the city.

Suddenly, he hears the distinct sound of the door opening again.

Gerrard furrows his brow. That was fast.

"Back already?" he calls out, his voice light with curiosity.

But there's no response.

He sits up straighter, a sense of unease prickling his skin. "Margaret?" he calls again, louder this time, but the silence deepens.