The warehouse smelled of dust and iron, as if the walls themselves had absorbed the decades of secrets whispered inside them. Daniel stood still in the silence, letting his eyes adjust to the dim yellow light filtering through the cracked skylight. Lena was beside him, flashlight in hand, her jaw tight, her expression unreadable.They had followed the trail from the murdered informant in Queens straight to this forgotten corner of Brooklyn’s industrial district. It wasn’t marked on any official map—just another abandoned property in a city filled with them—but Daniel’s instincts told him this was more than a dead end.“Quiet,” Lena whispered, sweeping her beam across the shadows.Daniel crouched near a stack of rusting oil drums, running his fingers along the surface. His fingertips brushed against something—a thin layer of dust that had been recently disturbed. Someone had been here. Recently.“There,

The SUV skidded into the underground parking garage beneath Lucas’s apartment complex, its tires screeching against the concrete floor. The silence that followed was heavy, broken only by the faint hum of the engine cooling down.Lucas didn’t move at first. He sat gripping the steering wheel, staring into nothing. His jaw was clenched so tight his teeth ached. His knuckles were white, raw from how hard he’d gripped the wheel during the drive.“Lucas,” Erin said softly. She had been silent the entire ride, watching the city blur by, watching him unravel. Now, her voice carried both caution and urgency.He turned to her, eyes shadowed with exhaustion and something darker. “We’re running out of time,” he said, the words scraped raw.“I know.”They got out, the sound of doors slamming echoing in the cavernous garage. Erin fell in step with him, her stride brisk. The usual night sounds of the c

Elias awoke to the sound of glass vibrating. Not shattering—just humming, as if every pane in the loft apartment were trembling under a low-frequency note only the city itself could hear. For a moment, he thought it was part of a dream. But when he opened his eyes, the sensation was still there, crawling into his bones.The morning sun was hidden behind layers of gray smog. The skyline outside was distorted through the tall windows—buildings wavered, as if seen through rippling water. Elias sat up quickly, every nerve firing. He didn’t know what triggered it yet, but his instincts screamed danger.He scanned the room. No signs of intrusion. His equipment—laptop, encrypted drives, burner phones—were untouched on the desk. Still, he couldn’t shake the feeling that someone was standing just beyond sight, watching.The hum stopped. Silence slammed down. Elias was left with his own heartbeat, loud in his ears.He pulled hims

The air grew heavier as Alex descended deeper into the catacombs beneath the warehouse. Each step echoed like a hammer strike, bouncing off walls of damp stone and rusted steel. His flashlight beam cut through the darkness, revealing murals etched into the walls—figures cloaked in hoods, cities burning, and a strange sigil repeating again and again: a circle split by a jagged line, like lightning tearing the world apart.Behind him, Claire’s voice trembled. “This place isn’t just a hideout. It’s… a sanctuary. Or a temple.”Alex nodded grimly. “More like a cathedral of secrets.”They reached a massive steel door at the end of the corridor. It was covered in layers of dust, but someone had recently disturbed it—smudged fingerprints and scuff marks told their story. Alex traced the sigil engraved in its center. He’d seen it before, on the flash drive, on the photographs hidden in his father’s journal.“Help me,” Alex said, bracing himself against the door. Together, he and Claire pushed.

The chamber beneath City Hall felt like the belly of some ancient beast, the steel and concrete humming with the residual pulse of the disabled node. The glow had barely faded when the Curator stepped forward, porcelain mask gleaming under the dim light. Alex tightened his grip on the pistol in his hand, but even he knew a gun meant little against someone who controlled the very systems around them. Claire instinctively moved closer, her hand brushing his arm, and Damian’s body tensed like a coiled spring. The Curator’s voice rolled out, calm but commanding. “You’ve done well, Alex. Far better than I anticipated. Elias would be proud.” The mention of his father made Alex’s chest tighten. “Don’t speak his name.” “Why not?” The Curator tilted his head. “He was the first to see the city for what it was—a design waiting to be p