The boardroom of Cain Global was designed to feel untouchable. Floor-to-ceiling glass wrapped the fifty-second floor of Cain Tower, offering a wide view of the city below with steel, light, motion, and money. The table at its center was a single slab of obsidian imported from a private quarry, polished so smooth it reflected every face seated around it. Power liked to see itself. Luther Cain stood at the head of the table, hands resting lightly on the chair before him, posture relaxed enough to appear confident, rigid enough to hide the tension coiling in his spine. He had walked into the emergency board meeting expecting resistance, not war. But the atmosphere told him otherwise. No one spoke, no one met his eyes. Twelve board members sat in perfect alignment, their tablets dark, their expressions unreadable. Executives who had toasted him at galas. Advisors who had once called him the future of Cain Global. Now they looked at him as if he were already gone. At the far end of the

The Cain Estate looked like something from another world marble towers, automated gates, and private guards that moved like soldiers. Luther’s mind screamed trap, but he played along. If they wanted the heir, he’d pretend to be one. At dinner that night, Victor raised his glass. “To bloodlines, and to destiny.” Across the table, a woman with ice-blue eyes studied him. Celeste Cain. The legitimate heir. “You don’t belong here,” she said softly. “You’re an impostor.” Luther met her gaze and smiled for the first time. “Then prove it.” Later that night, Luther stood on the balcony, staring down at the city lights. The silver threads appeared again, faintly glowing lines stretching between people, objects, possibilities. When he reached out, one thread pulsed and snapped — and the wind shifted. A falling glass from inside the hall froze midair, then shattered the moment he blinked. He stared at his hands, trembling. “What… am I?” Then his phone buzzed — an unk

The bunker was quiet now, except for the soft hum of servers and the rain beating against the concrete walls above. Luther sat cross-legged in front of the terminal, the flash drive plugged in. Elara hovered behind him, fingers twitching as if she wanted to type faster than the machine allowed. “We have exactly three hours before Cain’s men figure out our location again,” she said. “Then it’s extraction… if we’re lucky.” Luther didn’t respond. He was focused. The code on the screen wasn’t just encryption, it was a digital map of probability, a simulation of cause and effect that his father had designed to interact with bloodline energy like his. “This… this is insane,” Luther murmured. “He turned his own research into… a weapon.” “Not his research,” Elara corrected. “Your father’s. He just wants it for himself.” Luther reached out, feeling the silver threads pulse faintly around his fingertips. As soon as they brushed the terminal, the numbers on the screen shimmered. Li

A lot was going on in the city. Every traffic light, drone, and security camera appeared to be moving in perfect time with Victor Cain's plan rather than the natural rhythm of the city. Live feeds of skyscrapers, parks, and intersections connected to Cain Global's invisible web were displayed on screens positioned throughout the warehouse. “He’s… everywhere,” Elara whispered, eyes wide. “It’s like the entire city is his weapon.” Luther’s threads flickered silver, reacting to the overwhelming storm of probabilities. Every choice, every possibility, every human movement… All converged into a complex web of paths he needed to navigate. A A “Not impossible,” Luther muttered, voice low but firm. “Just… harder.” Victor leaned against a wall, smirking. “You’ve grown stronger, Luther… faster than I imagined,” he said. “But your father… my old friend… he left behind more than just a ghost. He left a blueprint. One you don’t fully understand yet.” “My father’s work?” Luther as

The city was quiet, but only on the surface. From the top of a skyscraper, Luther scanned the horizon. Threads of silver shimmered around him, probing streets, alleys, and hidden passageways. Somewhere in the chaos of probability, Victor Cain was moving, calculating, evading, planning his next strike. Elara joined him, holding a tablet displaying traces of Victor’s residual energy from the Origin Device. “He’s not just hiding,” she said, voice tense. “He’s leaving markers. Almost like he wants to be followed.” “Good,” Luther said, eyes narrowing. “Then we follow. Every step he takes is a path… and every path leads to a choice he didn’t account for.” Victor’s hideout was unlike anything Luther had seen before. It wasn’t a building it was a constantly shifting network of probability corridors, walls rearranging themselves, and floors moving as though the very air conspired against anyone trying to enter. “He’s turned his escape into a fortress,” Elara muttered. “How are we suppose