The taxi slowed as it entered the east industrial district. Ethan looked out the window at the abandoned buildings lining the street. Factories that had shut down years ago. Warehouses with broken windows and rusted metal siding. Everything here had been left to rot. "This is as far as I go," the driver said, pulling over. "Too dangerous to drive deeper in. Gang territory." Ethan handed him cash. More than double the fare. "Keep the change." The driver took it quickly and drove off without another word. Ethan stood alone on the empty street. The factory complex was visible in the distance. Three stories tall, stretching nearly an entire block. Most of the windows were shattered. Graffiti covered the lower walls. He checked his phone one last time. The red pin on the map matched the building ahead. Ethan put the phone away and started walking. His steps were silent despite the cracked pavement beneath his feet. He moved through the shadows, keeping close to the walls of the ab

Victor's hand trembled slightly as he held the knife against Claire's throat. Ethan stood fifteen feet away, his expression unchanged. His eyes moved quickly, assessing. Distance. Angles. The tension in Victor's grip. The position of the blade. Too far to close before Victor could cut. But not impossible. "Drop to your knees!" Victor shouted, his voice louder now, more desperate. "Get on your knees or I swear to God I will kill her right now!" Ethan did not move. "Did you hear me?" Victor's voice cracked. "On your knees!" "No," Ethan said calmly. Victor's eyes widened. "What?" "If you were going to kill her, you would have done it already," Ethan said, his tone flat and factual. "You need her alive. She is your only leverage. The moment she dies, you have nothing." Victor's jaw clenched. "You think I will not do it? You think I am bluffing?" "Yes." The single word hung in the air between them. Victor's face flushed red. "You are wrong. I will cut her throat right here, rig

The medics worked quickly. They cut the ropes binding Claire's wrists and examined the cut on her throat. It was shallow, barely more than a nick, but they cleaned it carefully and applied a bandage. "You should go to the hospital," one of the medics said. "Get a full examination. You might have internal injuries—" "I am fine," Claire said firmly. "Miss Sterling—" "I said I am fine." The medic sighed but did not argue further. Across the factory, police had arrived. City police, not military. They moved through the scene, photographing evidence, bagging weapons, taking statements. Victor Kane was being led out in handcuffs, flanked by four soldiers. He walked with his head down, his massive frame slumped in defeat. No protests. No resistance. Just silence. Richard was different. He was screaming. "This is a mistake! I am a victim here! That man—" he pointed at Ethan with his zip-tied hands "—he is the one you should arrest! He attacked us!" Two police officers dragged him t

"Ethan Cross," Ethan said. The security guard pulled out a tablet from inside his jacket and scrolled through the list of names. His finger moved down the screen slowly. Then it stopped. "Ethan Cross," the guard repeated, looking at the screen. He looked up at Ethan. Then down at the tablet. Then back at Ethan again. His eyes moved from Ethan's plain white shirt to his simple black pants to his worn shoes. The guard's expression changed. His polite professionalism disappeared, replaced by suspicion and contempt. "Sir," the guard said, his tone no longer respectful. "This is a private event. For invited guests only." "My name is on the list," Ethan said calmly. "Anyone can say a name," the guard said. "Do you have identification?" Ethan reached into his pocket and pulled out his ID card. He held it out. The guard did not take it. He barely even glanced at it. "That could be fake," the guard said dismissively. "It is not fake," Ethan said. "Check the name. It matches." "I

Harrison Cole stepped down from the podium and walked directly toward Ethan, his arms outstretched. The entire ballroom watched in stunned silence. Harrison reached Ethan and clasped his hand firmly, shaking it with genuine warmth. "Mr. Cross," Harrison said, his voice loud enough for everyone to hear. "I cannot tell you how grateful I am that you came tonight." He turned to address the crowd, still holding Ethan's hand. "Ladies and gentlemen, many of you know me. You know I am not a man who exaggerates. So when I tell you that this young man saved my life, I mean it literally." The whispers grew louder. Harrison continued. "weeks ago, I collapsed at my herbal medicine store. My heart had stopped. And this man performed a medical technique I had never seen before. He brought me back. He healed an injury I carried for twenty years." The crowd stared at Ethan with new eyes now. Shock. Confusion. Curiosity. "Please," Harrison said, gesturing toward the stage. "Join me." Ethan wa