Across the sprawling city, in a dimly lit office that smelled of old paper and burnt coffee, Detective Max sat at his desk, absently tapping his fingers against the thin file marked “CONFIDENTIAL.” The ticking of the clock on the far wall was the only sound accompanying him in the late hour, a relentless reminder that time was slipping away.Three days.That was all the time Ms. Chloe had given him to find something—anything—on a man named Logan.Yet after hours of combing through databases, sifting through every Logan recorded in New York's system, Max was no closer to an answer than when he’d started. There were plenty of men with that name, but none matched the peculiar details Chloe had given him. Logan wasn’t just an ordinary man. He fought like a trained operative, moved like a shadow, and disappeared just as easily. That alone set him apart from the rest.Max rubbed his temples, pushing away the headache forming at the base of his skull. His once steaming cup of coffee sat cold

The weight of the leather-bound journal in Chloe’s hands felt heavier than it should have. It wasn’t just paper and ink—it was history, secrets, and, most importantly, danger. She ran her fingers over the worn cover, her mind already racing with questions. The old man’s words still echoed in her ears."Because it’s already too late."Chloe swallowed hard and flipped through the pages. The journal was filled with names, dates, and locations, but her eyes were drawn to a single phrase repeated in different entries—Red Canon of the Canon Forte.She glanced up at Mr. Buma, who watched her with weary eyes. "Tell me what you know. What exactly was Canon Forte? Was it also part of the blood moon?"Mr. Buma sighed, rubbing a hand over his bearded chin. "Canon forte was indeed an extension of Red Blood. A final phase. The real reason behind everything we did."Chloe frowned. "Final phase of what?"Mr. Buma hesitated. Then, he pulled a chair and sat down, gesturing for Chloe to do the same. "Ye

'Third point of view'The apartment door creaked open slowly under Logan’s hand. The scent of sandalwood and old books hit his nose immediately—a familiar, almost comforting smell that now felt like a mask for the lies that had been buried here. The apartment was dimly lit, the afternoon sun filtered through dusty curtains. Mr. Lee sat alone at the small kitchen table, a cup of tea trembling in his hands.Ever since he was discharged from the hospital, Logan hadn’t really taken time to pay him a visit. He had always made excuses that his wife’s family had not really afforded him enough time to visit. But after what happened tonight, after the incidence with Mr. Steele and the shocking photograph of himself in military uniform he had suddenly had the time that he never seemed to have.The moment Logan walked in, Mr. Lee looked up, startled. "Logan?" He called, a hint of surprise and expectation in his voice.“No,” Logan said firmly, stepping into the room and closing the door behind

The tires of the NX-9 sliced through the asphalt like a blade in the wind, silent but merciless. The motorcycle moved with surgical precision, responding to Logan’s every subtle movement as if it were part of him. Cold air whipped against his face, stinging his skin and making his eyes narrow beneath the dark visor. Night had fallen completely now, and the world around him blurred into shadows and streaks of neon—an urban jungle pulsing with hidden danger.His leather gloves creaked slightly as he tightened his grip on the handlebars. His body leaned forward, urging the machine to move faster. Ahead, the city skyline shimmered in the distance—towering steel and glass monuments to the corruption he was beginning to unravel.But that wasn’t his destination.Not yet.A sudden pulse vibrated against his ear. The encrypted comm-link—the one only a select few ever used—crackled to life again. Static hissed in his ear, followed by a fragmented voice, urgent and heavy with strain. It was Ge

'Third Point Of View' The evening air outside the Riven Foundation building clung to the skin—heavy with spring warmth and the low hum of passing cars. Sophia Riven stood at the steps in her heels, phone pressed to her ear, her other hand gripping her bag strap tighter than she realized.It had been eight days since Logan disappeared.Eight long, aching days.And she was tired of pretending she didn’t care.At first, she'd told herself it was nothing—he probably needed space. Maybe he was dealing with stress or one of his usual silent moods. But as the hours turned to days, and the days into an unbearable, crawling week, concern had twisted into confusion… and now settled as a cold fury in her chest.The phone on her ear buzzed with the voice of Ava, her assistant and closest confidante.“…have you at least heard anything?” Ava asked. “No texts? No sightings?”“No, Ava,” Sophia muttered, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Not a single call. No note. No explanation. Just…” She glance