Chapter 7 Bones and Proposals

# Chapter 7: Bones and Proposals

Kazimir's gun remained steady, aimed at Dominic's head with the precision of a man who had executed countless threats without hesitation. Blood from his temple wound trickled down his face, giving him a demonic appearance in the pulsing emergency lights.

"You've become quite troublesome, Valentina," he said, his voice eerily calm. "Costa always said your programming had flaws."

I shifted slightly, positioning myself between Dominic and the gun. "The only flaw was thinking you could control me."

"Yet here we are." Kazimir's smile was cold. "You, protecting your brother exactly as Elena designed. Predictable, despite your rebellion."

He was right, and the realization stung. Even my defiance had been anticipated, accounted for in the psychological architecture Elena had been forced to build. Was any choice truly mine?

"What happens now?" Dominic asked, his voice steadier than I expected given the drugs still in his system.

"Now we revert to the contingency protocol." Kazimir gestured with the gun. "Move away from the exit. Both of you."

We complied, stepping back from the door that had promised freedom. My mind raced, calculating options. I could likely dodge his first shot, but Dominic was still compromised, his reactions slowed.

"Costa's death was unfortunate but not unprepared for," Kazimir continued. "The organization has invested too much in Project Chrysalis to abandon it over one setback."

"You mean they've invested too much in me," I corrected.

"In what you represent—the perfect infiltration asset. Costa merely provided the environment to develop your skills. The real value was always Elena's work." He tapped his earpiece. "Bring the transport to the lower level. And the special equipment."

Special equipment. The phrase triggered a memory fragment—Elena's notes in the diary describing a "reset protocol" that could wipe recent memory formation while preserving core programming. They were planning to erase my activation, return me to the obedient thief who didn't question her origins.

"You're going to reset me," I stated flatly.

Kazimir looked impressed. "Your mother's notes were thorough. Yes, a temporary measure until we can establish proper control parameters."

"And my brother?"

"Joins you, as planned. His FBI access remains valuable."

Dominic tensed beside me. "I'll never work for you."

"Voluntary cooperation isn't required," Kazimir replied. "Costa kept samples of your tissue on ice for years, waiting for the right moment. Neural mapping is more difficult with adults, but not impossible with proper... motivation."

I caught Dominic's eye, a silent communication passing between us. Whatever happened, we wouldn't be separated again. Twenty years apart was enough.

The sound of approaching footsteps signaled Kazimir's backup arriving. Two guards appeared in the corridor, wheeling a metal case that I instinctively recognized as containment for medical equipment.

"Restrain them," Kazimir ordered, keeping the gun trained on us as the guards approached with zip ties.

I remained passive as they bound my hands, watching Dominic do the same. Cooperation now would give us opportunities later. The first rule of captivity—survive long enough to escape.

They escorted us through the facility to a loading bay where a nondescript medical transport waited. The interior had been converted to a mobile laboratory, complete with restraint beds and monitoring equipment. My stomach clenched at the sight—too similar to the room in my recovered memories where Elena had been forced to remake me.

"Secure them for transport," Kazimir instructed, finally lowering his weapon as the guards pushed us into the vehicle.

As they strapped me to one of the beds, I caught glimpse of a familiar object being loaded into the van—a small metal container marked with biohazard symbols. The type used for transporting human remains or specimens. A bone-deep certainty told me what it contained—my mother's remains, being moved from the mansion now that I had discovered them.

Rage built within me, a cold fury that sharpened my focus rather than clouding it. They had taken everything from me—my childhood, my identity, my freedom—and now they were taking even my mother's bones, as if she belonged to them rather than to her children.

"Where are you taking us?" Dominic asked, straining against his restraints on the opposite bed.

"A more secure facility," Kazimir replied, climbing into the van behind us. "One designed specifically for Project Chrysalis subjects."

The doors closed, sealing us in the sterile environment as the engine started. I tested my restraints subtly—medical-grade, designed to hold patients during procedures. No easy escape there.

Kazimir moved between us, preparing injection sites with clinical detachment. "A mild sedative for transit," he explained, though we both knew it was likely something stronger. "When you wake, we'll begin the reset process."

As he inserted the needle into Dominic's arm, I saw my brother's eyes close almost immediately—whatever drug they'd given him worked quickly. Kazimir turned to me next, tapping a larger syringe.

"Your dose needs to be higher," he said, noticing my gaze. "Elena's modifications included enhanced metabolism of certain compounds."

"You seem to know a lot about me," I observed, stalling while I worked my wrist against the restraint. "More than Costa shared publicly."

"I was there from the beginning." He swabbed my arm with alcohol. "I helped Elena implement the primary protocols while Costa handled your operational training."

"You helped torture a child," I corrected, feeling the restraint give slightly.

His expression didn't change. "I helped create a masterpiece. The most advanced deep-cover operative ever developed."

"And now you're going to reset that masterpiece because she didn't behave as expected?"

"A temporary adjustment." He positioned the needle. "Your value remains intact."

As the needle pierced my skin, I made my move—dislocating my thumb in one practiced motion, a skill learned during my second year as a thief. The pain was intense but brief, allowing me to slip one hand free just as the drug began entering my bloodstream.

I grabbed Kazimir's wrist, forcing the needle deeper into my arm—not to inject more, but to use it as a weapon, ripping it sideways to create a gash in my own flesh. Blood sprayed across his face, momentarily blinding him as I freed my other hand.

The driver called back in alarm as I launched myself at Kazimir, ignoring the burning sensation spreading from the partial injection. We crashed into the medical equipment, sending trays of instruments clattering to the floor.

"Stop the van!" Kazimir shouted, attempting to restrain me with one hand while reaching for a secondary syringe with the other.

I fought through the encroaching fog of the sedative, focusing on the one objective that mattered—the container holding my mother's remains. If I couldn't save ourselves, I could at least prevent them from desecrating her further.

The van swerved sharply, throwing us against the wall. Kazimir used the momentum to pin me, the second syringe poised above my neck.

"Enough," he growled. "You're only damaging valuable property."

"I'm not property," I spat, fighting the heaviness in my limbs.

"You are exactly what we made you," he replied, plunging the needle downward.

I twisted at the last moment, causing the syringe to embed in my shoulder rather than my neck. The additional dose hit my system like a tidal wave, blackness encroaching at the edges of my vision. With the last of my strength, I reached for the nearest object—a scalpel that had fallen during our struggle—and drove it into Kazimir's thigh.

He howled, releasing me as he clutched the wound. I fell against the container holding Elena's remains, fumbling with the latches as consciousness began to slip away.

The last thing I saw before darkness claimed me was the container opening, revealing not a skeleton but stacks of documents and a sealed urn—Elena's contingency plan, hidden where she knew I would eventually look.

---

I awoke to the sensation of movement—not the smooth glide of the transport van, but the uneven rhythm of being carried. My eyes remained closed as I assessed my situation through other senses. Arms holding me, the scent of gunpowder and pine, labored breathing from exertion.

Dominic.

I opened my eyes to confirm what instinct had already told me—my brother was carrying me through dense forest, his jaw set with determination despite the strain evident in his face.

"You're awake," he murmured, noticing my consciousness returning. "Can you stand?"

I nodded, and he carefully lowered me to my feet, supporting me until the world stopped spinning. The sedative's effects lingered, making my thoughts syrupy and movements uncoordinated.

"What happened?" I managed, my voice hoarse.

"The van crashed," Dominic explained, gesturing vaguely behind us. "Your attack on Kazimir distracted the driver. We hit a guardrail and rolled down an embankment."

Memory returned in fragments—the struggle, the second injection, the container with my mother's remains.

"The urn," I said urgently. "Did you get it?"

Dominic nodded toward a backpack he'd somehow acquired. "And the documents. I grabbed everything I could before the backup team arrived."

"Kazimir?"

"Alive, last I saw. Injured but coordinating the search." He glanced at the darkening sky. "Which means we need to keep moving. Can you walk?"

I took a tentative step, finding my balance returning as the sedative continued metabolizing. "Yes. Where are we?"

"National forest land, about twenty miles from the city. I'm familiar with these trails—used to run training exercises here."

We moved through the forest as twilight descended, Dominic setting a pace that challenged my drug-addled system but remained within my capabilities. Neither of us spoke much, conserving energy and remaining alert for signs of pursuit.

After what felt like hours, we reached a small hunting cabin nestled among ancient pines. It looked abandoned, the windows dark, but Dominic approached with confidence, retrieving a key from beneath a specific rock as if he'd done so many times before.

"Another safe house?" I asked as he unlocked the door.

"My father's," he replied simply. "Before everything happened."

The cabin interior was sparse but functional—a main room with a fireplace, basic kitchen, two small bedrooms. Dominic secured the door behind us, then systematically checked each window and potential entry point.

"We should be safe here for tonight," he said, finally allowing exhaustion to show in his posture. "The property is registered under a shell corporation that even the Bureau doesn't know I'm connected to."

I sank into a chair, my body feeling like lead as the last of the adrenaline faded. "You've been preparing for this for a long time."

"Twenty years." He began gathering supplies for a fire. "Since the night I watched them take you."

The casual statement hit me with unexpected force—this man had spent his entire adult life searching for the sister he'd lost, while I hadn't even known he existed until days ago. The imbalance between us felt insurmountable.

"Why?" I asked, the question that had been building since I first learned who I might be. "Why spend your life looking for someone who might be dead? Who wouldn't remember you even if found?"

Dominic paused in his task, staring into the empty fireplace. "Because you were the last person I failed to protect."

The words hung between us, heavy with two decades of guilt and purpose. I watched as he methodically arranged kindling, his movements precise despite his exhaustion. The FBI agent who had hunted the Viper was gone, replaced by a brother who had never stopped searching for his sister.

"You were a child yourself," I said finally. "There was nothing you could have done."

"I was supposed to watch over you while our parents entertained guests downstairs." His voice remained steady, but tension lined every word. "I fell asleep. When the gunshots woke me, I hid in the panic room instead of getting you first."

The fire caught, flames illuminating his face—the face of a man who had built his life around an ancient failure. I understood obsession; it had driven my own criminal career, the compulsion to steal more valuable items, leave more dangerous calling cards. But his obsession had been far purer than mine—protection rather than possession.

"You found me," I offered, unsure how to comfort someone whose pain was simultaneously foreign and intimately connected to my own. "Against impossible odds."

He looked up, his eyes reflecting firelight. "Did I? How much of Valentina Graves is still there? How much was erased?"

It was the question I'd been avoiding since the activation—who was I, really? The jewel thief with a vendetta? The weapon Elena had designed? The little girl who had once had a brother and parents and a normal life?

"I don't know," I admitted. "The memories are there now, but they feel like someone else's life I'm watching. The activation didn't magically transform me into your sister."

He nodded, accepting this hard truth without visible disappointment. "Elena's message said the process takes time. The programming breaking down gradually."

"And if it doesn't? If the Viper is who I truly am now?"

Dominic finished building the fire before answering. "Then that's who you are. My sister, regardless."

The simple acceptance in his voice threatened to unravel something tightly coiled within me. I turned away, focusing on the backpack he'd brought from the van.

"We should examine what you salvaged," I said, changing the subject to safer ground.

He retrieved the pack, placing it on the small table between us. Inside was the urn—simple brushed steel with no markings—and a waterproof case containing documents.

I opened the case first, spreading the contents across the table. What I found wasn't what I expected—not research notes or experimental protocols, but personal items. Birth certificates for both Dominic and Valentina Graves. Family photographs. A handwritten letter from Elena addressed to her children.

And a flash drive, labeled with a single word: "TRUTH."

"She knew we'd eventually find each other," Dominic said softly, examining a photo of all four Graves family members at what appeared to be a beach vacation. "She left breadcrumbs we'd both recognize."

I picked up the letter, breaking the seal with uncharacteristically unsteady hands. Elena's elegant handwriting filled the page:

"My dearest children,

If you're reading this, the worst has happened, but you've found each other as I prayed you would. Dominic, my watchful guardian, and Valentina, my fierce little fighter—together again despite the forces that tried to separate you forever.

What I did to Valentina is unforgivable, though it was done under duress no mother should face. When Costa's men took you both, they gave me an impossible choice—use my research to transform one child, or watch both die. I chose the option that would allow both my children to live, even if one would not remember who she was.

The programming I was forced to implement has a failsafe that Costa never discovered. The activation sequence triggered by the necklace begins a cascade process that will gradually dissolve the artificial neural pathways while preserving the authentic ones—including your original memories, Valentina. Within three days of activation, you will be free of external control, though the skills and abilities will remain yours to use as you choose.

But beware—Costa's organization extends far beyond him. Project Chrysalis had governmental backing, powerful people who saw my research as the future of intelligence operations. They will never stop hunting what they believe belongs to them.

In the urn you'll find not my ashes (I could not bear to think of my remains as another of Costa's trophies), but the means to expose those responsible and secure your freedom. Use it wisely. Use it together.

Remember who you are—not what they tried to make you.

With eternal love,

Your mother"

I set down the letter, emotion threatening to overwhelm the careful control I'd maintained for years. Dominic reached across the table, his hand hovering near mine—offering comfort without demanding I accept it.

After a moment's hesitation, I placed my hand in his, the first voluntary contact I'd initiated between us. His fingers closed around mine, warm and solid—an anchor in the storm of reclaimed identity.

"What's in the urn?" I asked finally, my voice steadier than I felt.

Dominic carefully opened it, revealing not ashes but a stack of data drives and a small velvet pouch. The drives were labeled with names—senators, military officials, intelligence directors—people in positions of power who had apparently supported Project Chrysalis.

"Blackmail insurance," I realized. "Elena gathered evidence against everyone involved."

"Smart woman," Dominic said, a hint of pride in his voice. "She knew the only way to keep you safe long-term was to have leverage against those who would reclaim you."

He opened the velvet pouch, tipping the contents into his palm—a rose gold ring fashioned in the shape of handcuffs, small diamonds embedded along the band. A note wrapped around it read simply: "For when you find each other."

Dominic stared at the ring, understanding dawning in his expression. "It's not just jewelry. It's a key."

I examined it more closely, recognizing the mechanism hidden within the decorative elements. "A digital key, designed to unlock the encrypted files on the drives."

"She made sure we would need each other," he said, the implication clear. "Neither of us could access the information alone."

The symbolism wasn't lost on me—handcuffs connecting us as both prisoners and protectors of a shared legacy. Elena had ensured her children would work together, whether by choice or necessity.

"What now?" I asked, suddenly exhausted beyond measure. The events of the past few days—prison release, activation, fights, escapes—had pushed even my enhanced physiology to its limits.

Dominic closed his hand around the ring. "Now we rest. Tomorrow we access those drives and find out exactly who we're up against."

He stood, gathering blankets from a trunk near the fireplace. "You take the bedroom. I'll keep watch out here."

I should have argued, insisted on taking the first watch given his still-healing injuries from Kazimir's torture. But the weight of reclaimed memories and the lingering effects of the sedative made the offer too tempting to refuse.

As I moved toward the bedroom, I paused in the doorway. "Dominic?"

He looked up from where he was settling on the couch, gun within easy reach. "Yes?"

"Thank you," I said simply. "For never stopping looking."

A smile touched his lips—small but genuine. "Get some rest, Val. We have a lot of people to make regret what they did to us."

In the small bedroom, I found myself surrounded by remnants of a past I was only beginning to remember—fishing gear in one corner, a bookshelf filled with field guides and survival manuals. Our father's retreat, preserved like a time capsule from before our world shattered.

As sleep claimed me, one thought remained clear—whatever happened next, I was no longer alone in my fight. For better or worse, I had found my brother. Or perhaps, more accurately, he had finally found me.

And somewhere in the space between Valentina Costa and Valentina Graves, I would discover who I truly was meant to be—not the weapon they had created, but the person I would choose to become.