The moon hung low over Greywall Street, casting silver shadows across the cracked sidewalks and worn-down buildings. Parked across from John’s apartment, hidden in the gloom between two flickering streetlamps, sat a plain black sedan; an older model with tinted windows that melted into the night.Inside, Jake sat hunched in the driver’s seat, leather jacket zipped tight and cap pulled low. He took a slow sip from a thermos of black coffee, his gaze locked on the dim windows of John’s apartment. Through the curtains, faint movements flickered in and out of view. Earlier, the generator’s steady hum had gone silent, plunging the place into brief darkness. But Jake didn’t flinch, his focus sharp and unshaken.On the passenger seat rested a sleek device; a compact audio receiver Jake called the “EchoLink.” Custom-built, it could record and transmit in real time. It crackled faintly, picking up background noise from the bug he had planted. Then, John’s voice came through the speakers, muffl

The afternoon sun poured into John’s small apartment, casting a warm golden light through the thin curtains of the living room. He sat on the old couch with a plate of spaghetti and meatballs resting on his lap, the rich smell of his homemade sauce filling the air. In front of him, the television—an old set he had managed to repair just yesterday—flickered with the rerun of a sitcom, its laugh track buzzing faintly through the worn speakers. The TV was probably older than John himself, but it worked fine now, proof of his talent for keeping things alive long past their time. He spun his fork through the pasta, only half paying attention to the show.John was alone in the apartment. Hannah had gone to spend the day with his mother, Clara, at her new place in Willow Heights. He was the one who suggested it, calling it a chance for them to bond. But the truth was different; he didn’t feel Hannah was safe around him anymore. Not after what happened last night, when he found the EchoLink b

John walked out of Evelyn's office, the door clicking shut behind him with a soft, final sound. The hallway was quiet, the polished floors reflecting the overhead lights like a mirror. The guards were still positioned outside, standing at attention like statues—eight of them in total, their black suits immaculate, earpieces coiled discreetly. They snapped to alertness as he emerged, their eyes locking on him with professional vigilance.He paused, scanning them, then pointed at two—a tall, broad-shouldered man with a shaved head and another with a neatly trimmed beard. "You two—follow me. The rest, stay back here. Guard the floor until I return or Evelyn dismisses you."The two selected guards nodded crisply. "Yes, sir," the shaved-head one said, falling in step beside him as John began walking down the hallway. The others remained posted, blending into the shadows like silent sentinels.The trio moved efficiently, their footsteps echoing in the pristine corridor. They reached the exe

The SUV disappeared into the city traffic, leaving chaos and wreckage behind. Smoke curled from the mangled wreck of the sedan, its hood crumpled like paper, steam hissing from the shattered radiator. One of the front wheels spun uselessly, the rubber flayed from the rim. Sirens wailed faintly in the distance, growing closer.The driver’s door creaked open with a long, tortured groan of metal. A hand, slick with blood, clawed at the ground. Slowly, painfully, one of the assassins dragged himself out of the wreckage. His face was pale and streaked with crimson; blood poured from a deep gash across his forehead, blurring his vision and matting his hair to his skull. His legs were twisted at unnatural angles, bones shattered from the crash. Every movement sent waves of agony through him, but instinct forced him forward.He collapsed onto the pavement, coughing violently, red flecks splattering the street. The other three men in the car were still inside—broken, lifele

Outside the event hall, the Prestwicks were still stuck waiting, looking like uninvited guests at a party they thought they owned. Their expensive outfits now felt like a cruel joke under the harsh sun. The Matriarch leaned heavily on her cane, her pearl gown drooping in the heat, her face tight with barely hidden anger. Winston paced nearby, his tuxedo jacket undone, muttering curses as yet another limo pulled up, letting out a tech billionaire who was scanned and welcomed inside without a problem. Eleanor’s mother fanned herself with their invitation card; the fake one of course, her diamond earrings sparkling, but none of that could hide the humiliation. They hated every second of this. The waiting. The public rejection. It stripped away their prestige, reducing the once-powerful Prestwicks to nothing more than loiterers outside the gates.Richard’s parents weren’t faring any better. Harlan Ferguson stood with his arms crossed, his silver hair a mess from running his hands through