"Third Point Of View''The night sky hung like an obsidian curtain over the mountain pass, broken only by the muted pulse of infrared scanners and the occasional drone slicing silently through the clouds. Wind howled over the rocks like the ghosts of old wars—wars that had never truly ended.Deep inside a bunker carved into the heart of a forgotten Volkov stronghold, Logan Styles—no, Malachi Volkov—stood alone.He didn’t wear a mask. Not yet. But the man staring at his reflection in the polished steel panel wasn’t Logan anymore. His eyes were darker, colder. His jaw clenched harder. The hesitation… gone.Behind him, footsteps echoed—slow, deliberate.General Steele, bruised and still partially recovering from his wounds, stepped into the room. Beside him were two older men in suits that didn’t belong in any government today. Their faces were aged by time, but their presence still sharp—military, calculated, and alert.Steele’s voice was low. “They came. Just like I told you they wou

The firelight flickered restlessly along the curved walls of the bunker, casting dancing shadows that stretched like ghosts across the floor. The heat from the flames did little to chase away the cold that settled deep in Logan’s chest.He sat alone at the heart of Volkov Terminal 7, once the nerve center of a forgotten empire, now resurrected under his command. Around him, the chamber hummed with quiet power—screens lining the walls pulsed with reawakened systems, ghost frequencies blinking to life, dormant weapons caches signaling their reactivation like ancient beasts shaking off dust and time.The Resurrection Protocol had worked. Canon Forte was no longer a myth. Its heartbeat was back—and he was the pulse.The Phantom Guard had answered. Severov and Gratz had rejoined him. Old allies were surfacing from the fringes of history, pledging loyalty not to a ghost, but to him.He should have felt invincible. Empowered.Instead, Logan felt like a man standing in a cathedral built for a

The resurrection of Canon Forte had triggered more than machines.It had stirred the old loyalties—the long-buried instincts of men and women who once swore oaths in silence, far from the spotlight of the world. And now, in the deepest bunker of Volkov Terminal 7, those loyalties stood reborn.Malachi Volkov—Cipher—stood before the Phantom Guard.Twelve operatives. The best. Handpicked during the height of his father’s reign. Their records had been erased from every database. Their names stripped from history. These were not soldiers. They were ghosts with purpose.They had returned because he called them.He faced them now, dressed in newly-reinforced combat armor bearing the Volkov insignia. Not Logan’s cheap streetwear. Not the muted, civilian mask he’d once worn to hide from a past too heavy to carry..He was done hiding.“This is not a reunion,” Malachi said, his voice carrying evenly through the chamber. “This is a reckoning.”No one spoke. Their attention was fixed, absolute.“

The glass wall of the Volkov Tower glimmered as the first rays of sunlight spilled against the polished floors. Silence draped the entire thirty-seventh floors like a velvet curtain, broken only by the rhythmic ticking of the antique clock mounted behind the massive obsidian desk. Malachi Volkov— he had decided to use his real name now that he knew it—stood facing the skyline, his hands tucked behind his back, posture stiff, contemplative.He hadn’t slept.Sleep had become a luxury now, one he couldn’t afford now. Not when the world believed he had perished three years ago, and his enemies still breathed.A knock echoed softly.“Enter,” he said, his voice flat, low, but powerful.The door creaked open and Mr. Eric stepped in, holding a tablet, his expression tense. “Sir… news from Apex.”Malachi turned, face unreadable.Eric hesitated, then handed over the device. “The Riven Holdings Board has filed for emergency bankruptcy protection. Ethan has vanished—word is, he fled the country l

Sophia sat on the edge of the bed, fingers trembling against her lap. She hadn’t moved for what felt like hours, her eyes still fixated on the closed door.Logan—no, Malachi—was out there somewhere, carrying the weight of a name that sounded more like a code than a person. Cipher. The man she had insulted, degraded, underestimated... now bore the reputation of a war legend feared in the highest circles of global power.And she had married him.No. She had bought him.The shame clung to her like oil, refusing to wash off, no matter how many times she mentally apologized.The silence in the room was deafening until it was broken by the soft beep of a touchscreen panel near the bed. A message blinked on the screen:> “Report to Command Hall – Level 3. Urgent.”Her stomach twisted. She stood, straightened her blouse, and slipped on the flats someone had laid neatly beside the door. There were no guards posted in the hallway, just silent, blinking lights embedded in smooth walls. Everythin