The rain hammered New York City like it had a grudge, turning the streets into a mirror of neon and filth. Jace Caldwell leaned against a rusted lamppost in a Chinatown alley, his leather jacket slick with water, his gray eyes scanning the shadows. His Glock pressed against his hip, a cold comfort in a city that chewed up trust and spit out betrayal. The client was late. Jace hated late. At 32, he’d seen enough ambushes to know tardiness wasn’t just rude—it was a warning.His earpiece crackled. “Caldwell, you copy?” Lena Voss’s voice was sharp, like she was biting back nerves. The whistleblower he was hired to protect sounded more like a general than a scared techie. “They’re coming. Three, maybe four. Drones too.”“Got it,” Jace grunted, flexing his scarred knuckles. Two years ago, his brother Ethan died in a NexTech lab explosion, and Lena’s intel on their dirty secrets was Jace’s first lead on who to bury for it. Vengeance was a cold fire in his chest, but he kept it banked.

Jace Caldwell’s boots skidded across the rooftop’s gravel, his breath ragged as the massive NexTech drone loomed overhead, its cannons glowing like twin suns. The word “RUN” stared up at him, scrawled in blood—whose, he didn’t know. Lena was gone, the Obsidian Heart with her, and Ethan’s voice still echoed in his shattered earpiece: She’s one of them. His brother’s words cut deeper than the gash in his side, blood soaking his jacket. Lena, Ethan’s lover? A NexTech operative? The truth was a blade, twisting with every step.The drone’s hum turned to a screech, its cannons firing. Jace dove behind an air unit as the rooftop erupted, shrapnel peppering his arms. Pain flared, but his scar—the jagged black mark on his chest—burned hotter, like a brand searing his soul. His vision flickered, and that thing, The Shroud, whispered again: Move, Iron. Or die. For once, he didn’t argue.He sprinted for the roof’s edge, the drone’s lasers carving molten lines behind him. The Lotus Den’s neon s

Jace Caldwell’s world shattered in the Chinatown alley, rain mixing with blood as Ethan—his brother, dead two years—stood before him, the Obsidian Heart glowing in his hand. Ethan’s eyes burned red, mirroring The Shroud’s, his gun trained on Jace’s chest. Marcus “Glitch” Reyes smirked beside him, detonator in hand, while Lena Voss slumped against the dumpster, her shoulder bleeding, her eyes wide with shock. Jace’s scar, that black, jagged mark, screamed with heat, his senses razor-sharp, but his heart was a raw wound. Ethan, alive? Or was this another of The Shroud’s lies?“Drop the gun, Jace,” Ethan said, voice cold, not the kid who’d followed him through Brooklyn’s streets. “You’re in over your head.”Jace’s Glock didn’t waver, though his hands shook. “You’re dead,” he growled. “I buried you. Watched your ashes scatter.”Ethan’s lips twitched, almost a smile. “NexTech doesn’t let assets go that easy.” He raised the Heart, its sickly pulse syncing with Jace’s scar. “You’re marked

Jace Caldwell’s knees scraped the warehouse floor, his scar burning like a brand as Ethan—his brother, dead two years, now impossibly alive—stood in the rubble, clutching a second Obsidian Heart. Its sickly green glow pulsed in sync with the one Victor Kane held, NexTech’s silver-haired CEO smirking in his gleaming exosuit. Silas, the defector with augmented lenses, aimed his pulse rifle at Jace’s head, his betrayal a fresh wound. Lena Voss lay unconscious, blood pooling from her shoulder, the first Heart’s case at her side. The warehouse was a warzone—shattered crates, sparking drones, and the echo of tendrils retreating into shadows. Jace’s Glock trembled in his hand, his heart torn between rage and hope. Ethan, alive? Or another of The Shroud’s cruel games?“Jace,” Ethan said, voice low, his red eyes flickering like dying embers. “Put the gun down. You can’t win this.”Jace’s scar pulsed, and The Shroud’s voice slithered through his skull: He’s not your brother. Kill him. His vi

Jace Caldwell’s grip tightened on the second Obsidian Heart, its sickly green glow burning his palm, syncing with the black scar on his chest. The derelict temple’s air was thick with incense and dread, its rune-etched walls trembling as red tendrils spiraled from the altar’s third Heart, forming The Shroud’s half-manifested form—shadowy, towering, with eyes like molten embers. Victor Kane, NexTech’s silver-haired CEO, stood smug in his gleaming exosuit, the first Heart pulsing in his hand. Lena Voss slumped against Jace, her shoulder wound bleeding, her gun dangling. The girl—no older than sixteen, with red-glowing eyes and a fourth Heart clutched tight—stepped forward, her voice a blade: “I’m the last Marked. And you’re all dead.” Outside, drones hummed, NexTech assassins closing in, their boots shaking the ground. Jace’s scar screamed, his senses razor-sharp, but his heart was a raw wound—Ethan’s ash, his voice, his impossible return in that video: You’re the balance.“Who the he