The rain came down. Sharp. Cold. Relentless. Livia ran through the winding stone alleys behind the villa, her sandals slipping on the rain-slick ground. The wind pulled at her hair, whipping it across her face as her breathing grew more ragged with every step. Her chest hurt burned, like someone had cut open her ribs and left them raw in the open. She turned a corner sharply and pressed herself against a wall, crouching slightly beneath the narrow arch of an abandoned doorway. Rainwater dripped from the arch’s edge, soaking the hem of her coat. Her arms hugged herself tightly as she trembled not just from the storm, but from everything crashing inside her. Why didn’t they tell me? Her teeth clenched. She wiped her face roughly with the back of her sleeve. And then Footsteps. Not just one. Several. She froze. A group of boys maybe fivestepped into the alleyway, silhouettes blurred through the curtain of rain. Teenagers. Hooded. Grinning like wolves catching the scent of a

The world was shifting, and Caleb Quinn was at the epicenter. At the far end of the hall, a banner with twin crests hung above a ceremonial signing table. One bore the golden phoenix of NovaX. The other, the red-and-black emblem of the Zhongli Cyber Syndicate China’s most powerful underground tech empire, now legitimized under new diplomatic masks. Caleb Quinn sat at the head, flanked by interpreters, ministers. Beside him sat Xiang Wei, China’s elusive “innovation envoy,” though everyone knew the truth: he was the architect behind Asia’s most invasive surveillance networks. He didn’t smile often. But tonight, as Caleb signed the final page of the $6 billion partnership deal, he did. Xiang leaned in, voice low. “With this alliance, the world bends around you.” Caleb didn’t look up from the paper. “It already does,” he replied. Across the world, headlines exploded. "NovaX Partners With Zhongli Syndicate: Global Cyber Merge Complete." "Quinn’s Power Surpasses UN Council’s Tech

Valeria stumbled backward, coughing, her fingers scorched from the melting keys she refused to stop typing on. “No!” she screamed, throat hoarse. “NO!” Her eyes flicked to the holographic display what remained of it. The spinning globe was frozen, a blood-red mass of jagged lines. The blue veins of LUX had disappeared completely. LUX was dead. Elijah grabbed her, pulling her away from the collapsing console as another power surge erupted beside her feet. “It wasn’t going to be easy anyway,” he muttered, glancing toward the center of the room, where the primary uplink had gone dark. “But we’re not out yet. Think. What do we do now?” Valeria shook her head in shock. “We had one chance. One clean chance. And he ate it. He absorbed it like it was food.” “But you said the system still has a core, right?” Elijah asked. “The mainframe. The physical hub. If someone could get close enough to that” “to the macro computer room,” Valeria cut in, realization dawning. “Then maybe. Maybe we c

Darkness. Smothering. The air was thin, too thin. Livia thrashed inside the sack, her heart hammering against her ribs, lungs burning as muffled panic scratched at her throat. A sharp turn, a jolt, then silence. The grip around her waist released. She fell hard. The impact rattled her bones. A moment later, the sack was ripped off. She blinked rapidly, wincing as the harsh fluorescent light seared into her retinas. Her breath hitched. She was in a windowless chamber. Pale grey walls. No door in sight. No windows. Just that endless artificial glow humming above her like a broken promise. And the smell, sanitizer, rusted steel, and… something else. Something older. Like time and sickness rotting beneath the floor. Her eyes flicked around. In the far corner of the room, there was a bed. An old hospital-style cot with mechanical levers at its base and a worn green mattress. Someone was lying on it. Slowly, cautiously, Livia got to her feet, brushing dirt from her blazer. She g

The iron doors slid open with a hiss, revealing a corridor lit only by amber emergency lights. Smoke curled from the overhead vents. Shocks cracked from exposed panels. The deeper Elijah Quinn walked, the more it felt like he was walking into some trap. He gripped the his gut tighter. Every step echoed with tension. The corridor funneled into a large circular chamber—once an executive control room, now hollowed out into something far more sinister. He stepped inside. Screens covered the curved walls, all blinking with rows of global maps, missile trajectories, and biometric feeds. At the center was a throne-like chair made of chrome and black carbon-fiber. Empty. Then, the speakers crackled to life. “Elijah,” came the voice. Polished. Amused. Cold. “So you came. That’s the last thing I expected. You’re full of surprises.” Caleb’s voice slithered through the chamber like a serpent. “I guess I’ll have to stop pretending I can predict your next move,” he continued. “A shame. I