The safehouse burned behind them, flames spitting into the stormy sky. Smoke and rain mixed in the air, choking and heavy. Dylan led the group down the muddy road, his eyes never leaving the dark treeline.Clara stumbled once, clutching something tight in her fist. Marcus caught her arm, steadying her.“What’s that?” Marcus asked, voice low, eyes scanning the road ahead.She opened her hand just enough for him to see—a small flash drive, slick with rain.“Rico had it,” she whispered, teeth gritted. “He tried to hide it, but I grabbed it when you tied him. It has files—my father’s research. Proof. It ties him… and me… straight to the corporation.”Dylan slowed his pace, glancing at her hand. “Let me see it.”Clara shook her head, pulling it back against her chest. “No. Not yet. This is all I have left of him. If you want to see it, you’ll have to keep me alive.”Dylan stared at her for a long second, then gave a short nod and kept walking.Marcus muttered under his breath, shaking his

One of them, lanky with tattoos creeping up his neck, stepped forward despite trembling. “Come on, man, it was just a joke! Chill!”Dylan’s gaze sharpened. “Joke?” He leaned slightly forward, voice still low but lethal. “You think humiliation is funny? You think shoving people into carts is entertainment?”The lanky one swallowed hard, eyes flicking to the broken cart he’d toppled. “It’s just—I mean… we were messing around. No harm—”“It’s not just,” Dylan interrupted, stepping closer. The air seemed to thicken around him, and the man instinctively took a step back. “You feel entitled to push, to laugh at someone weaker? To embarrass them in front of everyone? You pick on the wrong man, the wrong day, and suddenly the joke’s on you.”A girl nearby let out a gasp. Marcus muttered, “Yeah… I think they’re getting the point.”The lanky one raised his hands, trying to maintain some semblance of bravado. “Okay… okay… we get it. No need to—”But the smallest of the group, barely eighteen, pu

Marcus exhaled once they were outside, rain still coming down hard. “Man… I thought that was it. I thought they were gonna haul us in.” “They couldn’t,” Dylan said simply. “Not without proof.” Clara glanced around nervously. “Proof? People were filming…” Dylan’s eyes narrowed. “I know.” And he was right. Across the street, under the awning of a bus stop, a man in a gray coat lowered his phone. He wasn’t one of the kids. He wasn’t just some random shopper. His face was calm, his expression unreadable. He had recorded everything—the fight, the confrontation, Dylan’s cold stare that froze even security in place. The man opened a messaging app. No hesitation. No delay. He typed a single line: “Target confirmed. Sending footage now.” He attached the video, hit send. On the other end, far away in a dimly lit office, Damian Cross received the file. The glow of the screen lit his sharp features as he leaned forward, pressing play. The fight unfolded before him in shaky phone-camera

It was past midnight when Dylan’s eyes snapped open. A sound outside. Boots. More than one pair. He stood silently, motioning Marcus to stay quiet. Marcus’s hand instantly went to his pistol. Clara stirred, whispering, “What is it?” “Trouble,” Dylan said. He pulled her gently off the bed. “Stay behind me. Don’t make a sound.” The first knock came heavy on the door. “Open up!” a rough voice shouted. “Motel security!” Marcus’s eyes went wide. “That’s not security…” The knock turned into a kick. The door rattled on its hinges. Dylan moved fast—he shoved the dresser against it, buying seconds. “Back window,” he ordered. “Marcus, take Clara.” But before they could move, the door splintered. Three men forced their way in—Rico’s survivors. Faces twisted with rage, weapons in hand. One had a knife, another a bat, the third a gun. “There he is!” the gunman snarled. “You’re dead, freak!” Dylan grabbed the lamp and hurled it. The glass shattered across the gunman’s face, and the shot w

The man lunged at Clara, grabbing her wrist. “Got you!”Clara screamed, struggling, trying to claw at his arm. “Let me go!”Dylan moved fast. He caught the man’s arm and twisted, forcing him to release her. Bone cracked audibly. The man snarled and pulled a blade free from his coat, swinging at Dylan with a wild slash.The market exploded in chaos. People screamed, stalls toppled, baskets of fruit scattered across the ground. Vendors shouted curses as customers ran, clutching children, knocking over tables in their rush to escape.“Stay down!” a woman shrieked, dragging her son under a table.“Not here, not now!” a vendor wailed, shielding his cart of bread.Marcus yanked Clara back, stepping between her and the hunter. “Stay behind me!”Clara’s breath came fast, ragged. “He—he just came out of nowhere—”“Quiet!” Marcus barked, his eyes never leaving Dylan. “Focus on breathing.”Dylan locked eyes with the man. His voice was calm, deadly. “Who sent you?”The hunter smirked, blood alrea