The door flew off its hinges with a deafening blast, smoke and splinters filling the air.Max lunged forward, teeth bared, a growl tearing from his throat. Eliot reacted without thinking—he grabbed Wynn by the collar and shoved him behind the kitchen island.“Stay down!” he yelled, already pulling up the system interface with a flick of his wrist.[System Alert: Five intruders detected. Targeting weapons identified. Initiating defense protocol…]Eliot moved like a shadow, smooth and sharp. His senses heightened—he could hear their boots scrape the tiles, feel the tension in the air like static.“Don’t move!” one of the masked men shouted, stepping through the smoke, gun raised.Eliot didn’t listen.In a blink, the lights went out. A strobe of red emergency beams pulsed along the ceiling as the system rerouted the power.[System Activated: Shadow Step – duration 10 seconds.]Eliot’s body flickered, moving faster than the eye could follow. He ducked under a wild bullet, slid across the

Eliot reached home, but something in him didn’t settle.He dropped his keys on the counter, loosened his tie, and sat on the edge of the couch. But his mind wouldn’t stop spinning. It circled around Marcus’s face, Lana’s name, and that smug grin that had haunted him since graduation.Married. They were married.The house was quiet, yet his heart thumped loud, steady, and heavy.He leaned forward, elbows on knees, hands locked together.How did this happen?He had to know. The past couldn’t just reshape itself without leaving a trail. The system—he still had that. Maybe it could dig where he couldn’t.He sat up and spoke into the silence.“System,” he said. “Find out how Marcus ended up marrying Lana Roarke. Everything. I need the full story.”The familiar soft hum responded in his ear.> [Request received. Gathering historical data, private sources, and public records. Please wait...]The pause felt like forever.Eliot stood, pacing the living room in slow, tight steps. The air felt w

The air in the underground tech expo buzzed with energy—neon lights, metallic smells, low hums of servers, and the quiet intensity of those who lived behind screens. It was like stepping into the bloodstream of the digital world. Hidden in the old train tunnels beneath the city, this wasn’t a place most people knew about. But Eliot did. And today, he wasn’t alone.Dr. Wynn walked beside him, his face lit by flickering screens and holograms. He wore a dark coat over his usual lab attire, blending in just enough to avoid attention.“Are you sure this is safe?” He asked, scanning the crowd.“No,” Eliot replied, adjusting the small black case he carried. “But it’s necessary.”They weaved past booths of odd gadgets and experimental tech—some harmless, others clearly illegal. Hackers hunched over laptops. Coders pitched ideas in hushed tones. Everyone here lived by one rule: information was currency, and trust was expensive.At the far end, beneath a rusted sign that read “SYNTAX WARDEN”,

Silence hung in the air like a storm waiting to break. The GenX screen glowed behind Calven Roarke, displaying looping animations of a sleek, intelligent world. A city of light and connection. The future. Applause rang out again, polite and proud. But Eliot didn’t clap. Neither did Lana. From the VIP table, Eliot's eyes were cold, locked on the man on stage. He wasn’t here to be amazed. He was here for the truth. Back underground, Dr. Malcolm Wynn stared at the screen mirrored in their secure terminal. His hand hovered over the keyboard. “Three decades of lies,” he muttered. Renna leaned in, her voice low. “You sure this is it?” Wynn looked tired. Worn down, like a man who’d carried a boulder uphill for years and had finally reached the top. “I didn’t build GenX for this,” he whispered. “I built it to change the world… not to feed Roarke’s ego.” He hit ENTER. Upstairs, the lights on the stage flickered. At first, people thought it was a glitch. A small hiccup in

The hospital lights were too white—too sharp, too clean, like they didn’t belong in a night like this.Lana Roarke stood outside the emergency room doors, arms wrapped tightly around herself, her father’s blood still drying on her palm. She had forgotten how to cry. The tears had stopped, but the panic hadn’t. It pulsed through her chest like a second heartbeat. Her heels clicked softly on the sterile floor as she paced, then stopped. Then paced again.Inside, through the glass, doctors moved fast. Machines beeped. Nurses called out short, clipped orders. Calven Roarke lay on the gurney, limp, eyes closed. Tubes in his nose. Chest rising slow. He looked smaller than he ever had. As if the weight of all his secrets had finally pressed him down into the mattress.Marcus stood near the wall, his phone in hand, clenched so hard his knuckles had gone white. He wasn’t calling anyone. There was no one to call. Not yet. Not until they knew. He glanced at Lana, who hadn’t spoken since they arr