The Truth UnleashedThe files are out.Everything—every document, every transaction, every kill order The Oath ever whispered into the shadows.I watch the screens as the world reacts in real-time. News anchors stammer through breaking reports, struggling to process the weight of the revelations. Some of them look pale as if they are realizing they might have unknowingly been a part of it. The footage loops over and over—classified documents flooding online forums, secret bank accounts exposed, encrypted messages decrypted and dumped for the world to see.It’s chaos. And it’s only just the beginning.Governments are scrambling. The rich and powerful, the ones who built their empires with The Oath’s invisible hand, are suddenly exposed. Some deny. Some run. Some try to cut deals before the hammer falls. And some…some are already dead.I lean forward, gripping the edge of the desk as the weight of it all settles in my chest.I did this.I tipped the first domino.And now, the whole damn

Riley’s SilenceRiley is gone.No messages. No calls. No trace of where she went.At first, I tell myself she’s just lying low. After everything I did—after exposing The Oath and setting the world on fire—she had to disappear before they came for her too.But the doubt creeps in, slow and insidious.What if she’s not hiding?What if she’s given up on me?What if I finally became the man she feared I would?---The city feels hollow without her.I move through the streets like a ghost, keeping to the edges, my face buried under the shadow of my hood. There’s a war raging beneath the surface of this city, one I started, and now I’m nothing more than a casualty waiting to happen.But every alley, every flickering streetlight, every damn coffee shop reminds me of her.Of the way she used to walk beside me, always a step ahead, as if she was daring the world to catch up. Of the way she used to argue with me, her fire pushing back against my storm, never afraid to challenge me, to make me s

HuntedThe first bullet punches through the wall an inch from my head.The second one buries itself in my shoulder.Pain sears through me like fire, but I don’t stop. Can’t stop. My feet are already moving, shoving me forward as more gunfire rips through the room. Splinters explode from the wooden doorframe as I throw myself through it, crashing into the next room. My shoulder screams and hot blood trickles down my arm, but adrenaline keeps me upright.The safe house is compromised.They found me.I don’t know how—maybe I was sloppy, maybe I stayed too long in one place—but it doesn’t matter now.The Oath’s ghosts are here, and they don’t miss twice.---I hit the ground hard, rolling behind an overturned desk just as another barrage of bullets shreds through the walls. Dust and plaster rain down around me. My breathing is ragged and sharp, but my mind stays cold. Focused.Three of them. At least. Maybe four.Their movements are too calculated, too precise. Former Oath operatives. Peo

Riley’s DepartureThe silence in the apartment is deafening.Riley is gone.I stare at the empty space where her bags used to be, my fingers tightening around the crumpled note in my hand. The words glare up at me like a scar I never saw forming:"You became the thing you swore to destroy."The air shifts, heavy with absence. It’s funny how a place can feel different the second someone leaves it for good. The walls press in. The air turns stale. My breath, once steady, is jagged and uneven.I drag a hand through my hair, my chest tightening as I force my body to move. The apartment is still the same. The coffee mug she left on the counter had lipstick smudged along the rim. The faint scent of her perfume clinging to the cushions. The jacket she never took with her, draped over the back of the chair.But she’s gone.The realization crashes into me like a fist to the ribs.My feet move before I can stop them. I tear through the apartment, checking rooms like an idiot, as if she could be

The First MissionI don’t give the order.Not directly.That’s how it works now. I sit at the top of the chain, but my hands don’t touch the strings. Someone else pulls them for me. A name is whispered, and the machine moves on its own.Still, I watch.The screen in front of me displays grainy surveillance footage—a dimly lit alleyway behind a bar in Prague. A man paces, checking his phone every few seconds. His breath is visible in the cold night air. He doesn’t know he’s being watched.Doesn’t know he won’t be leaving that alley.I pressed my thumb against the corner of my lip, a habit I developed when trying to convince myself I was in control."How much time?" I ask, my voice steady.A voice crackles through the speaker. "Less than two minutes."Jackson stands in the corner of the room, arms crossed, back rigid. He won’t look at me, not directly. He doesn’t have to say anything—I can feel his disapproval radiating like heat."You can stop this, you know," he mutters.I glance at h