Page 71 of Sanctuary

We turned to see the barn collapsing in on itself, flames shooting skyward as the ancient timbers surrendered to the inferno. The explosion had clearly compromised its structural integrity as well.

“The horses,” Mia murmured, remembering the animals stabled there.

“They’re safe,” I assured her as her hand found mine in the darkness. “I released them earlier when Rory took you to the weapons room. They’re in the south pasture.”

I surveyed what remained of the estate—the burning ruins of the house where I’d grown up and my mother had passed away, the collapsing barn, the gardens trampled by combat boots and emergency personnel. Everything destroyed in a single night.

“Your home,” Mia whispered, following my gaze. “I’m so sorry, Connor.”

I turned to her, taking in her soot-streaked face, the blood—some hers, some not—staining her clothes. Despite everything, she was still standing.

“It’s just a house,” I said, surprising myself with how much I meant it. “What matters is who survived.”

Firefighters were swarming the property now, battling the blaze, though it was clear the main house was beyond saving. Police officers established a perimeter, directing the remaining clan members and staff to a triage area where EMTs assessed injuries.

A detective approached us, his expression grim as he took in our disheveled, blood-spattered appearance. “I need to ask you both some questions about what happened here.”

“Of course,” I replied wearily. “But first, we need medical attention.” I gestured to Mia, whose stoic demeanor couldn’t quite hide her exhaustion and pain.

The detective nodded. “There’s an ambulance waiting. After you’ve been checked out, we’ll talk.” He hesitated, then added, “I should warn you—this is going to be a complicated investigation. Multiple fatalities, extensive property damage, evidence of military-grade weapons...”

“We understand,” I said, guiding Mia toward the waiting EMTs. “We’ll cooperate fully.”

As a paramedic examined Mia’s injuries, I stepped away to make a phone call. Our family lawyer needed to be informed immediately—this situation would require careful navigation.

“I’ve got this detective. Connor MacGallan,” a voice called from behind me. I turned to find a woman in a dark suit approaching, her badge already extended. “Agent Winters, CSIS. I need a word.”

Canadian Security Intelligence Service—our equivalent of the CIA. This was escalating quickly.

“It’s Connor O’Brien, and I’m afraid I can’t speak without my lawyer present,” I replied cautiously.

She smiled thinly. “I’m not here to interrogate you, Mr. O’Brien. I’m here to contain a situation.” She glanced meaningfully at the burning mansion. “What happened here tonight involves matters of national security. My team is already working to... manage the narrative.”

I studied her carefully. “You knew about Matheson. About his operation.”

Agent Winters’ expression remained carefully neutral. “Matheson has been on our radar for some time. Unfortunately, we lacked sufficient evidence to move against him through official channels.”

“So you let him target my family?” I demanded, anger flaring despite my exhaustion.

“We had no foreknowledge of his specific plans,” she countered smoothly. “Though we were aware of his... interest in your father’s records.”

I glanced back at Mia, who was watching our exchange with wary eyes as a paramedic cleaned a gash on her arm. “What happens now?”

“Now,” Agent Winters said, following my gaze, “we clean this up. The official story will be that your family estate was targeted by organized crime—retribution for your clan’s legitimate business interests. A tragic but contained incident.”

“And the truth?”

She smiled thinly. “Will remain classified. As will Matheson’s operation and the existence of his agency.” Her eyes hardened slightly. “Including the activities of his operatives.”

The message was clear—Mia’s past would be buried along with Matheson.

“I’m offering protection, Mr. O’Brien,” Winters continued. “For you, your family, and...” she nodded toward Mia, “your wife. A fresh start, free from the shadows of Matheson’s organization. In exchange, this incident stays contained.”

I studied her, weighing our options. “I need to discuss this with my family.”

“Of course,” she handed me a business card. “You have twenty-four hours.”

As she walked away, Mia approached, having been released by the paramedic. “What was that about?”

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