NEW DAWN, OLD SHADOWS[7 DAYS LATER]The Congressional hearing room was packed.Marcus sat at the witness table, flanked by lawyers he didn't want and didn't trust. Behind him, his team occupied the gallery. Aria in business formal that looked wrong on her. Leon taking notes compulsively. Danny looking like he'd rather be anywhere else. Dr. Reeves reviewing documents. His father beside his aunt Patricia, both looking concerned.At the elevated bench, fifteen senators stared down at him. Some sympathetic. Most hostile. All of them trying to understand how an eighteen-year-old cadet had stopped seven simultaneous terrorist attacks, exposed a decades-old conspiracy, and revealed technology that was supposed to remain classified forever.Senator William Harrison—chair of the Armed Services Committee—shuffled papers. "Mr. Chen. Or should I say Cadet Chen? Your rank is currently... unclear.""Marcus is fine, sir.""Marcus, then." Harrison leaned forward. "You've had quite the eventful four

HUMAN WEAPONS[10 HOURS UNTIL CONVERGENCE]Marcus stood in the command center, leaning on a crutch because his legs still didn't work right without the system compensating for damage.His team surrounded him. Aria, already planning defensive positions. Leon, mapping network traffic to predict the Wardens' approach vectors. Danny, coordinating with military units Rhodes had quietly mobilized. Thomas, checking weapons with the efficiency of someone who'd done this too many times.And in the corner, silent and watching, was Maya. Awake. Aware. Terrified."The network is using me," she said quietly. "I can feel them. Six minds connected to mine. They know where we are. What we're planning. Everything I know, they know.""Then we don't tell you the plan," Marcus said. It sounded harsh. Was harsh. But necessary. "You stay in isolation. Sedated if needed. We cut the information flow.""They'll still come. They don't need me anymore. I already led them here." Maya's hands shook. "I'm sorry. I

THE FATHER'S CHOICE[FIVE HOURS TO INTEGRATION COMPLETION]The private jet screamed across the Atlantic at maximum speed.Marcus sat in the cockpit beside the pilot Rhodes had "borrowed" from a black ops unit. Behind him, the team prepped weapons, reviewed Swiss facility schematics Leon had hacked, and tried not to think about what they were flying into."This is suicide," Aria said for the third time. "Black site. Foreign soil. Minimal intelligence. And we're going after a man who's choosing to become a Warden.""We've done worse," Marcus said without turning."When? When have we done worse than this?""Camp David. The Box. Jefferson High. Pick one." Marcus finally looked back. "We've been outgunned and outplanned since day one. This is just Tuesday with a Swiss accent.""Tuesday usually doesn't involve kidnapping a congressman from a foreign military facility.""Former congressman. And we're not kidnapping. We're rescuing." Marcus pulled up thermal imaging of the facility. "Whether

HUMAN EQUATIONS[Sixteen hours, forty-one minutes until congressional testimony]The jet leveled out at thirty-eight thousand feet and the team got quiet.Not the comfortable quiet of people who were tired. The operative quiet. The kind that settled in when everyone was running the same calculations and nobody wanted to be the first one to say the numbers didn't work.Marcus let it sit for sixty seconds. Then he stood up."Talk to me."Aria looked up from the tactical display. "Geneva security architecture. The facility isn't registered as a research site. It's listed as a private financial data center. Five-star rated, ISO-certified, about four thousand security cameras, and biometric checkpoints at every transition point." She paused. "And that's what they show publicly.""What are they hiding?""Probably military-grade intrusion detection and a minimum of two dozen private operators on site. Maybe more." She zoomed the display. "There's also a dormant integration suite in the sub-b

What Winning Costs[Atlantic — somewhere over open water]Marcus didn't sleep on the flight back.He told himself it was tactical awareness. Habit. The ingrained discipline of a man who'd learned that the hours after an operation were when you were most vulnerable—adrenaline metabolized, threat assessment lowered, the body making its case for rest at exactly the moment rest was least safe.That was the story. The truth was quieter and worse: every time he closed his eyes, he reached for the system. A reflex. The way you reach for a light switch in a room you've lived in for years, in a house you no longer own.Nothing there. Just the phantom pulse of pathways that led nowhere.He watched the team instead.Aria had fallen asleep in her seat the way she did everything—precisely. Arms folded, head at an angle that wouldn't put strain on her neck, breathing slow and even within minutes. Combat sleep. The kind you could come out of in under a second. Thomas was beside her, not sleeping but