The city looked clean again, just on the surface. News anchors spoke of “a restored order” and “the collapse of Dundarra’s empire,” their polished tones masking what Connor already knew: when one name falls, another quietly rises.Kirra stood beside him in the Bureau’s lower surveillance lab, her reflection ghosting across the glass screens as endless lines of encrypted code streamed by. The faint hum of processors filled the air. Connor leaned closer to the monitor. “These coordinates don’t match any Bureau servers,” he said.Kirra nodded, fingers flying over the keyboard. “Because they aren’t Bureau. Whoever sent those photos used a satellite bounce sequence—private, not state. It’s ex-military tech. The same kind Dundarra used for his offshore network.”Connor’s gaze sharpened. “Then whoever’s behind this had access to Dundarra’s systems before we took him down.”Before Kirra could reply, Warner’s voice came through the intercom. “Heads up. Internal Affairs is sending an investigat

Rain had a way of making the city look honest, washing the grime off glass and steel, revealing what lay beneath. Connor Maddox stood beneath the overhang of the Old Dominion Club, watching droplets trace crooked paths down the windows. He was here under the guise of civility, but his pulse carried the rhythm of confrontation.Inside, the club was dim, all walnut and velvet, the air tinged with aged bourbon and old secrets. Director Kael Mercer sat at the corner table, silver hair neat, expression unreadable. He had once been a man Connor trusted implicitly. The kind who could make hard decisions look like acts of service.“Connor.” Mercer rose, offering a hand. His voice was calm, fatherly even. “You look tired. I told you once — the higher you climb, the thinner the air.”Connor clasped his hand briefly, then sat opposite. “And some people bring their own oxygen tanks,” he said, eyes sharp.Mercer’s smile was faint. “Still the same wit. I assume this isn’t just a courtesy visit?”C

“Rogue Operatives Leak Classified Data.”“Former Director Accuses Vigilantes of Treason.”“Connor Maddox: From Patriot to Pariah?”Every channel carried Mercer’s face — calm, measured, paternal. He stood behind a Bureau podium, voice steady as marble.“This so-called exposure of Helix Dominion is a distortion of classified counterintelligence efforts. Mr. Maddox and Ms. Vale acted without authorization, endangering global security. We are investigating their connections to international cybercrime networks.”Connor watched from the shadows of a derelict warehouse, the television light flickering across his expression. He didn’t blink.Kirra stood behind him, her arms crossed, tension cutting through every muscle. “He’s good,” she muttered. “Too good.”Warner sat at a portable console, wires snaking across crates, screens stacked like armor plates. “He’s not just good,” he said, typing furiously. “He’s rewriting history in real time. Half the data from Helix’s exposure is being reframe

Connor sat in the dimly lit operations room, the hum of servers filling the silence as Kirra scrolled through Mercer’s encrypted drives. The screens reflected in her eyes, alert and sharp, scanning for patterns that had eluded even the Bureau during their highest-profile investigations. Connor leaned back, his hands steepled beneath his chin, watching her work.“Look at this,” Kirra murmured, pausing on a file labeled Project Vantage. She clicked it open, revealing strings of financial transactions that looped through shell companies across multiple continents. “Mercer wasn’t acting alone. Whoever orchestrated all of this… they left breadcrumbs, but the scale is global. Military suppliers, offshore accounts, voting machines… someone wanted everything controlled.”Connor frowned. “And the messages?”“They’re heavily encrypted, but I’ve broken the first layer. It’s... someone calling themselves The Architect. Mercer refers to them respectfully, almost… fearfully. He talks about strategy

Rain had finally eased as Connor, Kirra, and Warner arrived at a discreet parking garage beneath the city’s financial district. The early morning fog lingered between the towering skyscrapers, shrouding the streets in a muted gray. From their vantage point, the global summit building loomed above, glass-and-steel architecture glinting even in the subdued light. Inside, the world’s most influential financiers, politicians, and corporate magnates were gathering for what was advertised as a forum on “ethical trade and market innovation.”Connor adjusted his suit jacket, glancing at Kirra. “Summit is a front. That much is obvious. The real agenda—the Architect’s agenda—is always hidden beneath layers of bureaucracy and pleasantries. We go in with eyes open, heads down, and ears open.”Kirra nodded, scanning the perimeter. Security was tight, as expected: metal detectors, armed guards, biometric scanners. “We’re not exactly blending in,” she muttered, adjusting her blazer and smoothing her