Novels by Gem

The first sign that something was wrong came quietly.Too quietly.Davion noticed it while locking up the community center one evening. The streetlights flickered once, then steadied. The air felt heavier, like the moment before a storm breaks.He paused, keys still in his hand.His instincts—dulled but not gone—stirred.Someone was watching.“Relax,” he muttered to himself. Small town. No enemies. No war.Still, he scanned the street.Empty.He exhaled and turned—The lights went out.Every single one.The street plunged into darkness, sudden and absolute.Davion’s muscles tensed. He stepped back instinctively, pulse quickening. The ocean breeze carried the distant sound of waves, but everything else felt muted, wrong.Then his phone buzzed.Unknown number.One message.ECHO PROTOCOL ACTIVATED.His blood ran cold.Beverly was halfway through editing an article when the power cut in the house. Her laptop died instantly, the room swallowed by shadows.“Davion?” she called.No answer.H

Davion learned quickly that peace was not the absence of noise.It was the presence of choice.The train hummed beneath him as it cut through the countryside, trees blurring past the window in soft streaks of green and gold. He sat by the aisle, hood pulled low, hands folded loosely in his lap. No weapon. No comms buzzing in his ear. No countdown ticking in the back of his skull.Just motion.Beverly sat across from him, legs tucked beneath her, notebook balanced on her knees. She’d been scribbling for most of the ride—ideas, thoughts, pieces of a life she was finally allowed to imagine.“You keep staring like you’re waiting for something to explode,” she said without looking up.Davion blinked, then smiled faintly. “Habit.”She looked at him then, eyes soft but sharp. “You’re allowed to relax.”“I know,” he said. “I’m just… learning how.”They were leaving the city behind. No cameras. No press. Just a small town by the coast where nobody knew the name Davion Vire and nobody cared to.

The city didn’t explode when Iron Hand fell.It didn’t burn or celebrate or suddenly become better.It just… breathed.Davion noticed it from the hospital window three days later, watching traffic move like it always had, people still rushing to places that mattered to them. The world hadn’t stopped for his war, and somehow, that felt right.He rested his forehead against the glass.For the first time in years, his head was quiet.The door opened softly behind him.Beverly stepped in, holding two paper cups of coffee. She moved slower now, carefully, like her body was still deciding whether to trust the peace.“Doctor says you’re not allowed to disappear,” she said, handing him one.He huffed a faint laugh. “I’ll behave.”She stood beside him, following his gaze out the window. “They’re dismantling the last cells today.”“Good,” he said. “The kids?”“Safe,” she replied. “Witness protection. Therapy. Real names again.”Davion closed his eyes.Real names.“That’s all I ever wanted for t

The floodlights burned hot against the night.Davion stood perfectly still at the center of the concrete courtyard, the abandoned research complex looming around him like a memory that refused to die. Cameras hummed softly from every angle—mounted, hidden, floating—streaming the moment to a world holding its breath.Kael Vire walked forward calmly, hands open, posture relaxed. He looked older under the harsh lights. Smaller. But his eyes were the same—sharp, calculating, endlessly certain.“You always hated being watched,” Kael said. “Yet here you are.”Davion didn’t move. “You wanted the world to see Iron Hand. Now they see you.”Kael smiled faintly. “They see what you allow them to see.”Behind the scenes, the feed exploded. Millions tuned in. Comments flooded faster than they could be read. Governments scrambled. Authorities rerouted units toward the location, but Kael had chosen well—remote, fortified, slow to reach.Beverly watched from the safe house, hands clenched so tightly h

The room was dark except for the glow of Wilson’s screens.Lines of code streamed endlessly, reflected in Davion’s eyes as he stood behind him, arms crossed, jaw set. The secure location felt less like a safe house and more like a pressure chamber—every second tightening, waiting to explode.“This is it,” Wilson said finally. “Everything Iron Hand buried.”Beverly sat on the couch, shoulder bandaged, face pale but alert. She refused to lie down. Refused to be treated like something fragile.“Say it clearly,” Irene said. “What happens when we hit upload?”Wilson swallowed. “Governments panic. Corporations deny. People get arrested. People disappear.”Davion nodded once. “And Iron Hand loses control of the story.”Elias leaned against the wall, arms wrapped around himself. “They’ll come for us.”“They already are,” Beverly said quietly.Davion looked at her. She met his eyes, steady despite the bruises.“They burned your home,” he said. “They put you in a hospital bed.”“And?” she repli

The first sign was the blackout.The hospital lights flickered once—twice—then died.Monitors screamed. Backup generators kicked in a second later, but the damage was already done. Panic rippled through the floor like a living thing.Davion sat upright in bed, heart pounding. “That wasn’t random.”Beverly was already on her feet, instinct sharp. “Iron Hand.”Irene’s voice crackled through the emergency intercom. “Whole east wing lost power for six seconds. That’s not an outage. That’s a test.”Wilson burst into the room, tablet clutched tight. “They didn’t come for you.”Davion’s stomach dropped. “Then who?”Wilson turned the screen toward them.Beverly’s name filled it.Along with an address.Her apartment.“NO,” Davion said, ripping the monitors off his chest.Beverly grabbed his arm. “Davion, you can barely stand—”“They’re not using Axiom,” Wilson said fast. “This is surgical. Personal.”Beverly’s face went pale. “They’re trying to make a point.”Davion was already moving.Her bui