The Divorced Military Queen Awakens (by Sadie Baxter) novel Chapter 638

Chapter 638 Descent Into Darkness

Chapter 638 Descent Into Darkness

Julius had witnessed that death, had breathed this same scent, and the aroma had since hardened into his private nightmare.

Quinn needed no further proof. Joaquin had staged the fragrance on purpose.

Suddenly, a woman’s voice rolled through the chamber, smooth yet chilling. “Julius, my son, if I am gone, why should a tool like you remain alive? You have no worth any longer, do you?”

Quinn’s face blanched. It was an AI simulation–she herself had once used the same trick to corner Joaquin.

Now Joaquin had turned that weapon back on them.

Quinn’s pulse spiked as Julius slowly raised the pistol clutched in his hand.

The muzzle drifted toward his own temple. Quinn lunged. She seized the weapon, crushing her fingers over his, locking the trigger in place.

“Wake up, Julius!” Quinn shouted.

Still, his gaze floated, unfixed. His body shook as he fought to peel free of her grip.

The synthetic female voice continued to reverberate against the concrete.

Quinn bit down on her frustration. This could not continue.

She swept the room with a swift glance, found her mark, then yanked Julius‘ arm and fired toward the hidden speaker.

The gunshot split the air. A single, deafening crack ricocheted off the concrete walls, sounding bigger than the room that trapped it.

Metal screamed as the bullet slammed into the speaker unit, the device that had been vomiting out the Al’s lifeless recording. Plastic shards and singed wires rained onto the floor, hissing as they cooled.

The synthetic voice died mid–sentence. In its place came a silence so heavy it felt physical, pressing down on every breath inside the sealed chamber.

Yet the perfume remained, a sweet–rot scent that clung to the recycled air, refusing to fade no matter how hard the vents pushed.

Without warning, Julius wrenched free of Quinn’s restraining grip. His eyes were wild again, and the gun

spinning in his fist rose toward his own temple. Quinn pivoted. One snap of her boot sent the weapon across the floor. Before it landed, she drew her sidearm, slammed it back into the holster, and squared up.

Thunk!

Steel–capped boot met flesh and bone with a sickening solidity.

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Chapter 638 Descent Into Darkness

Quinn moved first, closing the distance. The two of them crashed together, fists and elbows sear soft targets.

+20 Free Going

She understood what had swallowed Julius–a childhood nightmare reborn. Left unchecked, he would turn every weapon in the room against himself. She could not allow that.

The quickest solution was brutal and simple–drop him, drag him out of this perfumed coffin, and give his lungs clean air.

Thunk. Thunk. Thunk. Each impact rang like a judge’s gavel, counting down the seconds of Julius‘ madness.

They met head–on, strength against strength, no feints, no mercy.

One was sane. The other clawed at it through a fever of terror.

Quinn offered a silent prayer of thanks that she was just past the three–month mark. According to the doctor, her baby was no bigger than a lemon.

Her morning sickness and other symptoms were pretty much gone.

Had this fight come weeks earlier–or months later, when her belly would be heavy–she might not have stood a chance against Julius‘ raw power.

Clarity was her edge. His confusion was the crack she meant to exploit.

She attacked in tight arcs, one arm instinctively shielding her midsection. Nothing, absolutely nothing, would touch the life growing there while she was still alive.

At last, she trapped his arms and drove him backward until the wall hammered the breath from his lungs. “Julius, snap out of it! You are not a tool. You were not born for someone else, and you do not have to die because they did. Do you hear me?”

Her shout hit him harder than any punch. For a heartbeat, his movements faltered, uncertainty bleeding into his eyes.

The tactic was working.

Quinn pressed closer, her breath brushing his ear. “Julius Whitethorn, you are grown now. Your mother’s death was never your fault. You promised you would protect our child and me, remember? That promise means you do not get to die today.”

Focus began to return to his gaze, like a lens adjusting until the image snapped into sharp.

Who… Who is calling me?

The sky was red with blood, and his mother’s voice spiraled around him, whispering that a tool no longer useful deserved nothing but the scrap heap.

A tool without purpose belongs in the trash.

Yet something holds me here. A different voice, urgent and steady, tells me to wake up. Tells me I am more than a tool.

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