The stale taste of cheap coffee clung to Ares Kane’s tongue as he stood outside the courthouse. The city had changed since he’d last walked its streets as a free man, but the scent of power — old marble, polished wood, and lies thick enough to choke on — stayed the same.He rolled his shoulders beneath the jacket that hid the scars across his back. The world thought he was dead. The world thought he was nothing. Let them. It kept him alive. It gave him time to watch, to learn, to sharpen every jagged edge they’d left inside him.A passing lawyer brushed his shoulder, muttering an apology without looking up. Ares didn’t move. He watched the man hurry up the steps, briefcase swinging like a judge’s gavel. Here, truth was currency only the powerful could afford. The rest paid with their souls.He stepped through the courthouse doors as drizzle tapped the stone behind him. Inside, security guards gave him the look they saved for nobodies who didn’t belong. He didn’t glance back. If they k

Ares Kane stood outside the courthouse long after the last light inside flickered out. The marble steps beneath his boots felt colder than the desert nights he once called home. He could still hear Duke’s panicked voice echoing off the walls … the way the judge’s face drained of color the second he made that quiet phone call. The same phone call that told the city - the God of War walks again.But the city didn’t know him yet. Not truly. They only knew whispers. Rumors. Shadows.Ares watched a lone street sweeper push a broom across the courthouse plaza. The man didn’t see him standing in the dark. Nobody did. That was fine. That was how it needed to be for now.He pulled the collar of his worn jacket tighter, the smell of oil and gasoline still clinging to him like a badge of shame. He liked it, in a way. It reminded him he was still half human, half ghost. And ghosts had work to do.…Back at the auto shop, the night shift was gone. The rusted metal shutter squealed as Ares forced i

The bunker smelled of oil and old secrets. Somewhere above, rain hammered rusted metal sheets, each drop echoing like a drumbeat in Ares Kane’s skull. The old space heater wheezed in the corner, its orange coils struggling against the damp chill creeping through the cracked concrete walls.On the crate in front of him, the laptop’s screen flickered once, twice, then dissolved into static. Mira shut the lid with two fingers, her face pale in the single bare bulb that swung overhead.For a moment, there was only the storm and the low hum of the heater trying to fight it off.“Rourke’s dead,” Mira said finally. Not a question - a verdict. She knew it the moment the confession hit the wires. The moment the silence on the other end of the phone stayed silent too long.Ares didn’t flinch. He sat still on the rickety chair, elbows on his knees, hands folded tight enough to whiten the scars along his knuckles. On the crate beside him, an old, dog-eared photograph lay face up - his sister at s

The motel room reeked of mildew and stale cigarettes. Ares Kane sat hunched on the edge of the creaking bed, boots still laced, elbows resting on his knees as rain tapped against the grimy window. The old wall unit rattled every few seconds, blowing air that smelled like damp paper and old secrets.On his lap, the battered laptop flickered with lines of code and offshore account numbers bleeding onto the screen from the flash drive Mira had lifted off a dead courier. Every few seconds, a file blinked open, revealing years of dirty money and hush payouts Hale thought he’d buried deep.Behind him, Mira sat on the stained carpet, knees tucked to her chest. Her tablet balanced on her thighs, casting a blue glow on her tired face. Half a sandwich rested untouched on the nightstand next to her battered boots.“You ever sleep anymore?” she asked, her voice rough from too much bad coffee.Ares didn’t answer. He dragged a hand across his unshaven jaw, the stubble scraping against his palm. Thi

Ares shoved Finch forward, boots slipping on the slick dock planks. Mira stayed close, her shoulder brushing his as they cut through the maze of containers stacked three high like forgotten tombs. Behind them, the safe house they’d borrowed - and bled in - flickered with muzzle flashes and the bark of Hale’s mercenaries calling out in clipped, panicked code.They didn’t have time to savor it. Not yet.“Keep moving,” Ares rasped. His voice cut through the slap of waves and Finch’s ragged gasps.Finch stumbled on a stray coil of rope. Mira grabbed the back of his hoodie, yanking him upright. Her pistol swept the shadows automatically, eyes flitting between blind corners and the pale, rising dawn beyond the shipping yard’s rusted gates.“Tell me that drive’s clean,” she hissed.Finch clutched the small metal shard like it was the last lungful of air he’d ever get. “Wiped the tails. Triple ghosted. It’s pure.”Ares didn’t break stride. “You swear on that?”Finch flinched at his tone - not