Herrison squeezed the pen in one hand, his head leaning on his other, as he reread what he'd written down on what was supposed to be an official letter of apology.

Dear Freider and Maxi,

I offer you my most sincere condolences. I couldn't even begin to imagine how you must be feeling right now, but know this: your son, Tom, has always been strong, hard-working, brilliant and talented. So let that warm your heart as you

Grieve his death. How could he write that? He picked up the paper, crumpled it and tossed it in the overflowing bin. He shouldn't be writing this letter anyway. He should go there in person and comfort his friends. Tell them himself what had happened.

He could wait it out, wait for the others to return. Force Sam to tell his parents what had happened. Except it wasn't Sam's fault and Herrison had a feeling Sam didn't want to breach the subject with his parents. If he did, he would've told them by now. The least Herrison could do was take care of this problem.

It was on him, after all. He'd been the one who hadn't checked in with the pilot before takeoff. He'd been sure everything would go smoothly. The man could be trusted. Except he was found dead in the hangar that very afternoon, most likely killed by Snitch Gravel's man, the one who hijacked the plane and sent it crashing to the ground. One call could've prevented everything.

And now Angie was off the grid as well. Not that Herrison blamed her, but his superiors were badgering him to get a hold of her and confirm whether she'd joined the others or not. And meanwhile, new side missions were flying under his nose, to the girls, as if the men in charge had second thoughts about recruiting them in the first place.

Herrison's eyes drifted to the door of his new office. He had been promoted, or so he'd been told. The glass on the door now bore the inscription Herrison James, Grant Team Coordinator with the soaring eagle sigil of the agency right under it. He couldn't believe Grant Team Coordinator had become an official position. The only good part was that Keeves was no longer an intermediary between him and the big guns. But in truth, all of Keeves' projects paled in the face of the Jewel project the Grants were assigned to.

Some coordinating I'm doing. He wasn't even sure where his team was and he didn't even get to verify the latest assignments that were sent out. He didn't know if Kay had accepted her side mission, if she'd told the others even if it was against her orders. If Kyle had found out and would be kicking up a storm. Herrison swallowed heavily at the thought. Kyle was a loose cannon the agency was using without knowing his full potential. No one had done a correct analysis of his abilities or his mental state. He seemed okay. He could explode and turn on them any second.

His superiors didn't care. All they wanted was the stones and to see Snitch Gravel taken down, and Kyle was the perfect weapon to do that. All the Grants were. The Agency counted on Snitch Gravel's hate for Freider to lead him to a wrong move when trying to kill his children. A loss of focus, an explosion of rage, anything that would give them the chance to catch him and snuff him out.

Only Snitch Gravel wouldn't fall so easily. So far, he'd been very careful, and his plans had verged on the preposterous. What was he playing at? Why was he stalling in killing the kids? Because Herrison remembered Snitch Gravel before he deserted and disappeared, before he became the underground king he was now. And if there was one thing Herrison was convinced of, it was that Snitch Gravel was anything but stupid. So he had to be planning something.

Or maybe his hatred for Freider had simply driven him mad and he no longer made any sense.

Herrison's phone lit up, drawing him out of his miserable thoughts. A secure connection was being established, after which photographs started loading, together with one lone message: Not cool, Herrison.

Ignoring the message and the fire it ignited in the pit of his stomach, Herrison analyzed the pictures: handwritten notes. Snitch Gravel's research. He dropped his phone in surprise, then quickly picked it up again. He couldn't believe Kay had pulled it off. Or all of them or whoever managed to get their hands on them. The message came from Kay's number, but it implied everyone knew about it.

With baited breath, Herrison sent the images to the agency servers and deleted them off his phone. He then hurried to access them on his computer and have a better look. He still couldn't believe it. Because of those brilliant kids, after twenty years, Snitch Gravel was finally no longer in the lead.

⭐⭐⭐

Snitch Gravel checked the security cameras once again, unable to believe his eyes. Just what the hell had happened? He'd just gone out for water. He was out of his office for fifteen minutes. Fifteen freaking minutes.

Two girls dressed in saris had snuck into his office, took his research papers, and escaped out the window. It didn't take a genius to figure out who those girls were. The fact that Kyle and Jimmy had popped up at the same time to distract his guards was too much of a coincidence. But he couldn't believe how easily he'd been distracted. Before he could do anything to put a stop to their antics, they'd all vanished.

He'd been convinced their childish attempts to get into the building were real, that they were the ones keen on breaking in. Not that they were merely providing cover for the girls. They were the protective types, not the ones who sent their girlfriends to be cannon fire.

And now... He searched the drawer of his desk yet again, but the folder wasn't there. He needed his stupid men to report faster.

A knock on the door signaled that his patrol had returned. The three men entered without waiting for an answer, but the hesitant looks on their faces spoke of their failure.

"Give it to me straight. I know the news is not good," he growled.

"We lost them, boss," one of the men whispered.

Snitch Gravel narrowed his eye. "How did you lose them?"

"Eye Patch..." The man swallowed heavily. "Tom is alive."

Well then. Snitch Gravel raised an eyebrow. The brats were harder to kill than he'd thought. He half expected it when his men returned with no bodies, but no one had managed to find him either, so he'd thought the agency might have beaten him to the cleanup.

"Eye Patch found him and ran him over with his car," the man continued. "But the other brats caught Eye Patch and I'm guessing they pulled the information out of him. We found him unconscious. So we headed for the hospital to intercept them. Police was lingering around so we stayed out of the way."

"Police?" This was an interesting turn of events. "So? What happened?"

"They climbed out the window, dodged the police and we started chasing them. They split up into a shopping mall and we just..."

"You just what?" Snitch Gravel snapped. "Why is it so hard to find, chase and capture children?"

"We were taken out," one of the other men muttered.

"Taken out?" Snitch Gravel asked between his teeth. "How many of you were there?"

"Ten," the guy squeaked. "So only two on one."

Two on one. Snitch Gravel had to fight the impulse to facepalm. "What about the girls?"

The three men cowered and he had his answer.

"You didn't even chase them, did you?"

"N-no. We were focusing on the—"

"You idiots!" Snitch Gravel got to his feet and banged his fist against the desk. "Do I really need to draw you a diagram on basic human logic? And if there were two on one, why are Sam, Tom and Jerry still free? Okay, I understand Kyle and Jimmy leaving you flat, but the others?"

The men shuffled their feet, guilty expressions on their faces, and Snitch Gravel suddenly felt exhausted. It was his fault after all for deploying Von Crooken's idiots rather than his far superior men. But he'd thought it wasn't rocket science. They were kids. Apparently these kids were smarter and more competent than he'd given them credit for.

He now had no idea where they were and what they'd done with his research. And he needed that back because it had been years since he'd last read it.

"Get out." He waved the men away and they scrambled out the door without hesitation. If only they would run that fast when they had to catch the Grants.

This wasn't over. He just had to up the game a bit, take it to the next level. So he picked up the phone and dialed one. It rang only once before his most competent man picked up. "Firefox, I need you in here."

Once he put the receiver back in its hook, Snitch Gravel let out a long sigh. He'd learned a lot from this little misadventure. And it would all be fixed in no time. A strange surge of pride enveloped him. It weirdly felt that the craftiness of his adversaries and their annoying habit of escaping was his doing, like he was training them to get better, more efficient, more proficient. He should hate it. He should hurry up and kill them, not watch them in fascination every time they pulled something interesting out of the hat.

They were not his charges, not his students, not his children. They were nothing of his, nothing more to him than a means to an end. To destroying Freider Grant's presumptuous ass. Nothing but a way to teach that asshole that actions had consequences and betrayal was the worst sin in his book. And if there had to be collateral damage, let the blood bath begin.

Blood. It was a lie. Blood did turn to water. He'd seen it too many times. And he'd wash the streets with the blood of his enemies. Right after he was done having his fun with them. Right after the next test.

🌟🌟🌟

Short, I know. You're welcome. Also the necessary interlude before the climax and the end. If all goes well, we have 3 chapters left. If not... probably four. Still hoping for 3.

So, yes, you get Herrison and you get your first Snitch POV. Though I'm keeping it vague on purpose so I don't ruin the fun of the plot. Still hope you picked some stuff up from it.

Hope to see you soon with a new update.