The silence inside the warehouse turned heavy. The kind that breathes.Cole’s eyes narrowed as he looked toward the far corner, past the maze of crates and rusted beams. He didn’t move; his body remained still, but his senses reached far beyond the dark.Fiona felt it before she saw it, the prickle on her skin, the way the air seemed to change.“Cole?” she whispered.He didn’t answer. He just stepped slightly in front of her.A faint creak echoed from the rafters above. Then, the soft whine of static. A red light blinked once, twice, from the shadows.A hidden camera.Cole’s gaze locked on it, cold and precise. He reached into his coat and pulled a small metallic chip, pressed it between his fingers, and flicked it into the air. It struck the light dead center. A spark flashed, and the red glow died instantly.But it was too late.Whoever was on the other side had already seen what they needed to see.Cole exhaled slowly, his voice almost a growl. “Trojan.”Fiona blinked. “Trojan?”He

The next morning came with a thin fog rolling over the estate grounds, blurring the garden, muting the color of the flowers. It was the kind of morning that felt too quiet, as if the world itself was holding its breath.Fiona stood by the window, watching mist curl through the trees. Cole was outside, inspecting the perimeter with two of his men. He moved with the same calm precision as always, but something in his shoulders looked heavier now, as if Trojan’s voice still lingered somewhere in his mind.Fiona pressed her fingers to the cold glass. The weight of everything since that night hadn’t left her. The warehouse, the photograph, the call, all of it tangled inside her like a web she couldn’t escape.Part of her wanted to believe Cole could fix this. Another part whispered that maybe he was the reason it had started in the first place.She hated that thought. But she couldn’t make it stop.When Cole finally came back inside, his expression unreadable, Fiona turned toward him. “You

Morning came grey and cold, the kind of dawn that seemed to drain the color out of everything. Cole hadn’t slept. He stood by the window, watching the fog roll over the grounds like breath on glass.Blake’s report from the night before still echoed in his head. Trojan was close, too close.Cole’s hand rested against the windowpane. Somewhere beyond the trees, a man he once called brother was watching them, whispering poison through invisible wires.He turned when he heard soft footsteps behind him. Fiona entered the room, dressed simply, her hair pulled back. She looked like she’d barely slept either.“Coffee?” she asked, her voice steady but distant.“Thanks,” he said, taking the cup. Their fingers brushed briefly. Even that touch felt unfamiliar now like a gesture they’d forgotten the meaning of.“You were up all night again,” she said.“I had things to monitor.”“Always things,” she murmured, half smiling, half tired. “Always secrets.”He looked at her. “You think I enjoy this dist

The drive back from the Swiss estate was silent.Fiona sat angled toward the window, watching raindrops chase each other down the glass. Cole drove with the stillness of someone who’d been awake too long, his jaw tense, his thoughts louder than the hum of the engine.When they reached the estate, Fiona went straight upstairs. Cole didn’t follow. He stood in the foyer for a while, the echo of the night’s conversations looping in his head: Mason’s name. Redmont. Stacy Swiss.He hadn’t heard Mason’s name spoken aloud in almost four years.The man had been there when it all fell apart, when Redmont burned and their system went rogue. Mason was more than a comrade; he’d been a brother in arms. But when the dust settled, the reports said Mason didn’t make it. Cole made himself believe that because it was easier than imagining the alternative, that Mason had lived and seen everything collapse.Now Mason was alive. And waiting.Cole found Blake in the security room.“Pull every feed from the

The rain outside the diner had stopped, but the glass still trembled softly with the weight of passing trucks.Inside, the hum of the old refrigerator filled the silence. Cole and Elvis sat across from each other, neither man touching his coffee.Cole studied him carefully. Elvis looked older, the sharpness in his face dulled, but his eyes were still alert, the kind that had seen too much and learned to stay alive anyway.Finally, Cole broke the silence.“Explain what you meant. I’m the strings?”Elvis took a slow breath. “You remember Redmont, right?”Cole’s jaw tightened. “Every detail.”“Then you remember the system we built, the prototype Trojan wanted to test.”Cole’s fingers drummed once on the table. “The behavioral neural model. It was supposed to predict insurgent activity. A tactical pattern engine.”Elvis nodded. “Supposed to. But that wasn’t the real goal.”Cole frowned. “We were building predictive intelligence, not”“Not control?” Elvis cut in quietly. “You sure?”Cole f