The city had turned gray by morning. News feeds buzzed with static uncertainty, stock tickers glitched in red, and an invisible tension hung over every broadcast. Somewhere between victory and exposure, Connor felt the weight of the choice before them: a single decision that could shift the entire world’s perception of truth.In the dim glow of their safehouse, the team sat around an array of screens, maps, and encrypted drives. The air was thick with the hum of processors and the faint scent of coffee that no one had actually drunk.Kirra’s fingers moved quickly across the console. “These financial trails aren’t just dirty,” she murmured. “They’re radioactive. The Architect didn’t just bankroll Helix, he’s been weaving influence through the very institutions that enforce law and order.”Warner scrolled through the files, his expression tightening. “World banks. Defense contractors. Cabinet officials from at least three countries. This isn’t corruption, it’s the infrastructure.”Conno

The safehouse was quiet except for the hum of the filtration fans. Outside, dawn had barely begun to bleed through the blinds — a weak gray light against the metallic sprawl of the city. Connor stood by the window, scanning the streets below, every muscle taut. After the Ghost Network raid, trust had become a luxury they couldn’t afford.Warner set down two steaming mugs of coffee on the table. “We’re running low on secure havens,” he muttered. “Every contact I’ve pinged either ghosts me or claims they’re under audit. The Architect’s reach is global now.”Connor nodded absently, eyes still on the skyline. “He’s not just cutting off our allies. He’s rewriting their loyalties.”The door hissed open. Kirra entered, hair pulled back, exhaustion etched into her face but her posture sharp as ever. “I found someone,” she said, voice low. “Ex-Helix. Former systems operative. He wants to meet — says he has data on The Architect’s original infrastructure design.”Connor turned from the window.

Every nation, every network, every silent conversation between diplomats and CEOs now echoed with one word, across the world: The Architect.Connor and Kirra moved like ghosts through corridors of polished deceit. Tonight, they weren’t soldiers or hackers. They were diplomats in borrowed faces, navigating a masquerade of power where smiles were veils and handshakes hid knives.The conference hall glittered in the heart of Geneva, the kind of place where money bought morality and truth was traded like currency. Screens flashed graphs of “global stability indexes” and “AI security initiatives,” each sponsored by the same corporate syndicates that had quietly bankrolled The Architect’s rise.Kirra’s earpiece hummed. “Channel four is yours, Connor. Audio feed’s clear. I’ve mapped the firewalls.”Connor adjusted his cufflink… a disguised relay node. “Copy that. Keep eyes on the ambassador.”The ambassador in question, Elena Durova, strode across the hall in a cascade of silk and arrogance.

The Titan Global Networking Summit was meant to celebrate power and innovation, but Connor Waratah saw it for what it truly was: a masquerade of greed.He adjusted the cufflinks of his charcoal suit, the engraved initials A.D. catching the light. Tonight, he wasn’t Connor Waratah… the disgraced former strategist accused of corporate espionage. He was Mr. Adrian D’Souza, an elusive investor representing a syndicate of unknown global partners. His real name was a ghost in this room.“Mr. D’Souza, pleasure to have you with us.”The hostess, young, polite, perfectly trained, smiled as she guided him toward the central lounge. He nodded faintly, scanning the crowd. Old faces, familiar wolves, and among them, Blake Marrow, Titan Group’s Director of Operations, the man who had orchestrated his downfall three years ago.Blake was laughing, his hand resting possessively on the shoulder of a junior exec. “I still can’t believe they called him a prodigy. The great Connor Waratah, the so-called

The invitation arrived in a simple black envelope, elegant and unmarked, except for a small silver seal embossed with Titan’s crest. Connor turned it over in his hand as the city lights shimmered beyond the glass. No official header, no digital trail, no public acknowledgment.Selene D’Arcy wanted to have dinner with him, privately.The note was brief: “To discuss potential partnership synergy. 8:00 PM. The Glasshouse.”Connor smirked faintly. “Partnership synergy”, corporate language for I don’t trust you, but I’m intrigued enough to pretend I do.He folded the note into his coat pocket and left without replying.The Glasshouse was fully transparent: crystalline walls, reflections of the skyline bleeding through each other like layered truths. Selene was already seated when he arrived, framed by the city’s amber glow.“Mr. D'Souza,” she greeted, standing with a measured smile.“Ms. D’Arcy.” He inclined his head. “A pleasure.”She gestured to the opposite chair. “I appreciate you acce