The rail yard is quiet in the wrong way. No engines idle. No horns sound. Wind slides between steel cars and makes low knocks against loose chains. Sodium lights hang over the tracks and paint everything in flat yellow. Shadows sit still. Too still.Landon crouches behind a concrete barrier at the edge of the yard. His boots rest on gravel. He keeps his weight forward. His eyes stay on the central track where a short freight train waits. Three cars. Black paint. No markings.Navarro lies prone to Landon’s left. He peers through a scope mounted on a compact rifle. His finger rests along the frame, not the trigger. “Two minutes past schedule,” Navarro says.Claire kneels behind them. She holds a tablet close to her chest. The screen glows dim. Lines crawl across it. Her jaw tightens when one line bends.“Convoy is still here,” she says. “No movement inside the cars.”Jin’s voice comes through the comm, low and controlled.“I am seeing suppression fields active,” Jin says. “They are not

The train slid into Chicago before dawn.Landon Hale stood near the door. He did not sit. He watched the platform through the glass. Lights flickered in clean rows. Guards walked in pairs. They moved slow and even. No insignia showed on their armor. Their helmets reflected the floor lights. Each step matched the next.Navarro shifted his pack. He checked the strap twice. He said nothing.Claire stood by the window. She tapped her tablet once. The screen stayed dark. She looked up and watched the guards. Her eyes followed the gaps between them.Jin leaned against a pole. He listened. He tilted his head. He closed his eyes for one second. He opened them and frowned.Priya sat near the rear door. She kept her hood low. She held a small recorder in her palm. She did not turn it on.The train doors opened. No announcement played. The platform stayed quiet.A guard raised a hand. The signal was simple. The passengers waited. Another guard walked the line. He scanned faces. His visor flashe

The first sign comes before the file opens.Priya’s screen freezes for half a second. The cursor stops moving. The room stays quiet. The lights hum above the long table. No alarms sound. No warnings flash. It is the kind of silence that makes trained people stop breathing.Priya lifts her hand. She does not speak yet. Jin looks up from his tablet. He sees her fingers hover. He closes his device without a sound.Claire notices next. She is standing near the glass wall, studying a city map. She turns when no one else moves.Landon is seated at the far end of the room. His elbows rest on the table. His hands are flat. His eyes are already on Priya.The cursor moves again. Priya exhales once through her nose. She taps a key.A new folder opens. The name sits at the top in block letters. IRON ORDER: INTERNAL DOCTRINE.No logo. No symbol. No motto. Just text. Priya says, “I did not steal this.” No one reacts. She says, “It was pushed to me.”Jin’s jaw tightens. “By who.?”Priya scrolls. “I

The freight elevator stopped without warning. The lights flickered once, then held. The steel box swayed a few inches before settling. Dust fell from the ceiling seams and drifted through the air.Landon kept his feet wide. His hand hovered near the wall but did not touch it. Navarro checked the corners by habit, rifle angled low. Claire watched the floor numbers freeze between B12 and B13. No one spoke.A low hum pushed through the metal walls. It felt wrong. It was not loud, but it pressed against the ears. The hum had rhythm. It rose. It paused. It fell.Jin looked at the tablet strapped to his arm. The screen showed static, then lines of white that bent and twisted. “That is not power from the grid,” Jin said.Claire nodded once. “We are close.”The elevator doors shuddered. A thin line of light appeared between them. Landon lifted his head. His eyes tracked the seam as it widened. The doors slid open.Beyond them stretched a wide concrete hall. The ceiling was low and ribbed wit

Rain hit Chicago hard that night. The streets gleamed with reflections of neon signs, puddles rippling from the downpour. The city hummed with static tension, a low pulse beneath the roar of traffic. People were heading home or to shelter, unaware of the storm about to hit their perception of power.Claire’s eyes were fixed on the screens in the command van. Dozens of live feeds scrolled, showing alleys, rooftops, shipping yards, and intersections. Everything pointed to the same thing: the Iron Order was moving. Not quietly this time. Not like a shadow in the night. “They’re not hiding,” Claire said. Her voice was clipped, but sharp. “Look at this.”The main monitor switched to a feed from the South Loop. A figure ran through the empty street, moving faster than any human should. A god-touched criminal, the local authorities had whispered about him for months. He had deflected bullets, shattered cars with a glance, and vanished from multiple crime scenes before anyone could respo