The desert outside Dubai was silent, except for the low hum of drones circling high above, feeding Helena’s propaganda to the world. Ethan stood on the roof of a burned-out villa, the city’s fires still visible on the horizon. His body was numb, but his mind burned hotter than the ruins.The Dubai Summit was meant to be his triumph, his stage to declare himself King. Instead, Cain had turned it into a slaughterhouse. Helena now ruled the headlines, crowned as the world’s savior while Ethan’s name was dragged through the mud.Behind him, Wren leaned against the cracked wall, blade balanced across her knees. She hadn’t taken her eyes off him since they fled. Camille sat a little further away, wrapping her bleeding arm with torn cloth, her face pale and hollow. They were what remained. From the dozens Ethan had gathered, only a handful escaped.Ethan clenched his jaw. This is what Cain wanted—to strip me down to nothing. To make me kneel.Cain’s voice slithered into his skull, smooth as

The desert air still smelled of fire when Ethan’s convoy reached the safehouse. Trucks lined with stolen weapons groaned to a halt, engines coughing smoke. Survivors stumbled out, bloodied but alive. For the first time since Dubai, there was laughter—bitter, sharp, but real.Wren dropped onto the sand beside Ethan, wiping her blade clean. “That was chaos.”“It was necessary,” Ethan said, eyes still fixed on the horizon. The image of Cain’s enforcer dying under his knife burned in his mind. Necessary, yes. But Cain’s voice had lingered in his skull, whispering, praising.Before he could answer Wren, Camille shoved through the crowd, a tablet in her hands. Her face was pale. “You need to see this.”She tapped the screen. A broadcast filled the safehouse wall.Helena stood in a chamber of shifting glass, her figure draped in silk that glowed like flame. Behind her, hundreds of holo-screens flickered—faces of Council representatives, Ghost Market moderators, and world leaders tuning in. H

The desert stretched endless beneath the jet, gold dunes flashing like waves under the morning sun. Ethan sat by the window, silent, his reflection fractured against the glass. Every word Cain had spoken still rang in his ears: You were not born. You were cultivated.He clenched his fists until his knuckles whitened. Vessel or not, Cain would not own him.Across the cabin, Wren sharpened her dagger with precise, rhythmic strokes, watching him without saying a word. She hadn’t pressed him since that night, but her silence was louder than any question. Camille was buried in her holo-screens, running projections, mapping risk scenarios. Kael leaned back in his seat, smoke curling from his lips, pretending to nap though Ethan knew he was listening.The Dubai Summit loomed ahead—a convergence of tycoons, warlords, innovators, and shadow players. The perfect stage to prove his legitimacy. Or the perfect slaughterhouse if Cain had his way.Camille broke the silence. “Word’s out. Helena’s cal

The smell of blood clung to the air. Burnt wiring. Gunpowder. Human flesh. The Dubai Summit, once a palace of glass and power, now looked like a graveyard. Shattered chandeliers hung like broken bones above the survivors.Ethan stood in the center of it all, breathing hard, his gun still warm in his hand. Around him, men and women who once laughed at him clutched their wounds, their silk robes stained red, their rings coated in blood.“Monster,” one delegate spat, staggering to his feet. “You brought this!”“Cain followed you here,” another screamed, pointing at Ethan with trembling fingers. “You’re his puppet! He called you his vessel!”Murmurs spread like wildfire. Fear. Hatred. Desperation.Ethan’s jaw tightened. His body ached, his ears still rang from gunfire, but his voice came out strong and sharp.“Cain brought this,” he said. “Cain murdered your people. Cain built your Council and played you like toys. Not me.”The Russian warlord barked a laugh, even with blood dripping from

The suite was dark except for the faint blue glow of screens. Ethan stood in the middle, staring at the maps Camille had pulled from the Ghost Market traces. His face was pale in the light, eyes burning, jaw clenched. Behind him, the others shifted uneasily, as if the silence itself weighed too much.Cain’s whispers had faded, but their echo lingered in every mind. Vessel. Heir. Container.Kael finally broke the quiet, tossing a knife into the table so hard it stuck. “This waiting stinks. Cain wants us nervous, and it’s working. Let’s hit him before he hits us.”“And walk into another trap?” Camille snapped, her voice brittle from lack of sleep. “That’s exactly what he wants. We move without precision, we’re corpses by dawn.”“Better corpses than cattle,” Kael shot back.The two locked eyes, tension sparking. Wren sighed, rubbing her temples. “Enough. If Cain wants us divided, don’t hand it to him.” She turned to Ethan. “So what’s the play, King?”Ethan didn’t answer right away. He ju