Certainly! Here''s a culturally localized English adaptation of your text, following all the guidelines for style, cultural references, and narrative coherence:


    The close bond between the cousins wasn''t just a matter of blood.


    It probably had a lot to do with the fact that Lysander''s uncle-Carrol''s father- had died in the line of duty when Carrol was still young. Lysander''s parents had practically raised Carrol as their own.


    Carrol, always steady and dependable, was much older than Lysander. He was more than just an older brother; he was almost a father figure.


    He was also the most promising member of this generation of the Montgomery family—the one everyone expected to rise the farthest.


    Although he''d enlisted early and spent years away from home, the distance never weakened their bond. If anything, it grew stronger. After Lysander married, M would sometimes catch him on the phone with Carrol. The warmth and gentle affection in his voice were rare glimpses of his softer side.


    So many years had gone by without seeing each other.


    She never expected their paths to cross again-here, of all ces.


    ...


    After a brief, charged silence, M forced a small smile and spoke softly. "Good evening, sir."


    Carrol nodded in acknowledgment.


    Another heavy pause settled over the room. Even with the tension thick in the air, M pressed on. "The people at the camp-are they alright?"


    "The rescue team''s on it. Everyone''s safe."


    She finally let out the breath she''d been holding. That was all that mattered. Only then did she dare to ask about those who''d tried to kill her. "Did you catch any of the people who came after me? And if you did... what will happen to them?"


    "We''ll deal with them ording to thew. If the charges are serious enough—” Carrol''s cool gaze flicked to her, and he finished in a low, deliberate voice, "they''ll face a firing squad."


    He didn''t borate on what exactly counted as "serious enough."


    And, truthfully, that wasn''t her ce to ask.


    M exhaled slowly, then hesitantly asked about the people pulling the strings behind the attack. After all, the ones who''de after her were just following orders the real threat might still be out there, waiting for another chance. How unlucky could she get?


    This time, Carrol didn''t answer.


    Silence closed in again.


    The suffocating tension in the room only deepened—until, out of nowhere, Carrol looked straight at her and spoke. The subject caught herpletely off-guard.


    "I hear from Lysander you''re nning to divorce him. That boy can be a little intense, but it''s only because he cares. He takes marriage and family very seriously. Are you sure there isn''t some misunderstanding? After seven years together, can''t you sit down and talk things through?"


    His voice was calm and even, almost detached.


    It didn''t sound like he was pleading with her to stay. If anything, it was the tone of someone handling a grave matter of business-formal, almost cold. It left M with a strange sense of pressure.


    She blinked, caught off guard.


    Was Carrol really bringing this up? He truly was a good brother... For a moment, she didn''t know what to say; the room grew still.


    Eventually, M gave a dry, awkwardugh.


    "Sir, maybe you should talk to Lysander. He''s already torn up several copies of the divorce papers. He listens to you more than anyone. If you say the word, he''ll stop making things difficult for me."


    "You said it yourself-seven years of marriage. There''s no need for us to treat each other like enemies."


    "Why can''t we separate on good terms?"


    Her determination was unmistakable; she wasn''t leaving any room for doubt.


    Once she made her position clear, Carrol didn''t press the issue. The room slipped into silence.


    Just as M felt she might suffocate, there was a sharp knock at the door. A soldier stepped inside.


    "Sir, the car is ready!"


    "Take her to Sris City."


    Carrol gave the order and walked away without another word. M was quickly blindfolded, led outside, and helped into the waiting car. The engine started, and they drove off into the night.


    Kingsford.


    A sleek ck sedan rolled through the dawn-blue light, pulling up in front of an old, stately townhouse.


    Lysander, immacte in a tailored ck suit, stepped out, adjusted his cuffs, and strode toward the study. He radiated a cold, refined energy.


    He''d barely crossed the threshold when the sharp crack of a cane struck the hardwood floor.


    "Bang!"


    Then came the old man''s furious roar.


    "Lysander, do you even know what you''re doing? The whole of Kingsford is talking about how you''ve turned the city upside down for some woman! Haven''t you caused enough trouble? Aren''t you embarrassed? What if your enemiese knocking at our door?"


    For the first time, a flicker of emotion crossed Lysander''s usually impassive eyes. "That won''t happen."


    The old man behind the desk fell silent, then eased himself into a chair with the butler''s help, taking a few deep breaths. His eyes were still sharp as razors as he spoke again.


    "You''ve always been headstrong, Lysander-rarely giving me reason to worry, and rarely making mistakes. You were the one who insisted on this marriage. I gave you the chance to back out. Now look at the mess you''ve made. Well, fine- if it''s over, let it end."


    Lysander lowered his gaze. "Grandfather, I know what I''m doing."


    "Do you? Really?"


    His grandfather''s temper red again. With a burst of anger, he hurled his cane, striking Lysander squarely in the chest before it ttered to the floor.


    The sound echoed through the room.


    Lysander barely felt the pain, but the moment left him reeling, a strange sense of déjà vu washing over him. How had thingse to this?


    Still, he had no regrets. He''d never had a choice.


    A torrential downpour shook the very sky.


    Thunderous rain hammered the city, but even that couldn''t drown out the desperate pounding on the door. Down a narrow alley, a ck car waited. A young man stood in the rain, Leonard holding an umbre over him-though the man kept stepping away from its shelter.


    The young man watched the girl banging on the door, his eyes-usually sharp and unreadable-now trembling with emotion.


    Leonard hesitated for a moment. From a distance, he saw the girl''s forehead start


    to bleed. Seeing his master''s anguish, he couldn''t keep silent. "Should I call for help...?"


    "No."


    The young man''s face was pale, his voice chillingly calm, edged with a strange finality. "This time, she has toe to me. She has to use everyst bit of strength she has. Only then..."


    He didn''t finish the sentence.