The chandeliers of the Stratton Grand Ballroom sparkled like a constellation above a crowd of suits and sequins. Waiters drifted between clusters of Milwaukee’s elite, their trays heavy with champagne.In the far corner, near the buffet table, Landon Hale stood alone, gray suit, no tie, a nervous smile that didn’t reach his eyes. He wasn’t supposed to be there, not really. The invitation had said “family only,” but Emily had insisted he come. Now, she hadn’t spoken to him in over an hour.“Hey, Hale,” a voice called. Todd Stratton, Emily’s cousin, slick hair, sharper grin. “Did you park the cars yet, or are you still pretending you’re family?”A few nearby guests chuckled. Landon’s fingers tightened around his glass. “I’m just taking a break.”“From what?” Todd raised an eyebrow. “You don’t have a job, man. Unless being Emily’s charity project counts.”The laughter grew. Landon looked for his wife, hoping she’d say something, anything, but she was across the room, smiling up at Blak

The snow had melted overnight, leaving Milwaukee’s streets slick and gray. Landon walked fast, hands jammed in his pockets, the cold air cutting through his coat.He couldn’t stop thinking about the voice from yesterday, Remember. The word echoed like a drumbeat inside his skull. Maybe it had been stress, maybe a breakdown. But deep down, he knew better. At the corner, a car horn blared. Landon blinked and jerked back just in time as a delivery van screamed past him, missing him by inches. “Watch it!” the driver shouted.Landon’s heart pounded. A second earlier, he knew that was going to happen. Not guessed, knew. The sound, the smell of exhaust, even the shape of the driver’s face had flickered through his head before it happened. He stood on the sidewalk, staring after the van. “What the hell.”People brushed past, muttering. He shook his head, trying to clear it. His phone buzzed again, no number, just another message: “Calibration: 7%.”Landon’s throat went dry. “No,” he whispe

The night was a black mirror. Lake Michigan stretched out like an endless sheet of ink, the old lighthouse blinking red every few seconds. Wind lashed the pier, biting through Landon’s coat, but he hardly felt the cold. He was early.The message from Claire had said “Pier 6. Midnight. No electronics.” He’d left his phone in a locker two blocks away, though the thing had still pulsed faintly even after he shut it off, like a heart unwilling to stop beating.Now, the pier creaked under his boots as he stared out at the dark water. The whole city was silent behind him, a thousand lights reflected in the waves.“Didn’t think you’d actually come,” said a voice from the shadows.Landon turned. Claire stepped out of the darkness, coat whipping around her, face half-lit by the lighthouse’s glow. “You don’t seem like the trusting type,” she added.“I’m not,” he said. “But I’m out of options.”“Good answer.” She looked him over. “You’ve changed. Energy output’s higher.”“I don’t even know wha

The Stratton estate was cordoned off by dawn. Blue and red lights washed over the snow like watercolor stains. Reporters huddled behind yellow tape, cameras flashing, breath misting in the frigid Milwaukee air.“Police are still trying to determine what caused the electrical failure and injuries at the Stratton residence late last night,” a young reporter said into her mic, hair whipped by the wind. “Sources say the family is refusing to comment, but witnesses claim there were… unusual lights.”A camera drone buzzed overhead, capturing wide shots of the dark mansion. For all its luxury, it looked like a haunted shell.Detective Elena Brooks stepped out of her unmarked sedan, clutching a paper cup of coffee. She hated winter, hated rich people’s scandals, and most of all, hated that her first case of the year smelled like nonsense. A rookie officer jogged up. “Detective, you’ll want to see this.”Inside the mansion, the air was thick with the scent of ozone and fear. The fireplace w

The Stratton Gala had left Milwaukee buzzing. Social feeds exploded with clips of Landon Hale walking out into the night, calm and untouchable, while the Strattons burned in their own shame.A man the city once mocked had become a ghost everyone suddenly feared, but Landon didn’t bask in it. He was already working.Claire tossed the remote aside. “You’re viral,” she said. “Half the city thinks you’re an avenging angel, the other half thinks you staged it.”Landon stood by the window of the rented penthouse, overlooking the skyline. The lights shimmered like veins of power he could already feel pulsing toward him. “Let them think,” he said quietly. “Perception is leverage. Fear is currency.”She crossed her arms, studying him. “You sound like a CEO already.”He turned. “That’s the idea.”On the coffee table lay a spread of documents, company reports, stock charts, and a photo of Westhill Dynamics, a struggling logistics tech firm that once supplied the Strattons’ empire. Claire had p