Rain pounded the city streets like a drumbeat of doom. Lightning split the sky above the downtown skyline, illuminating the skyscrapers for a fraction of a second. Vincent Drake darted across the slick pavement, his coat flapping behind him. The neon signs reflected on the wet asphalt, casting everything in a surreal glow. He wasn’t late for work, he was late for survival.Ahead, a screech of tires made him freeze mid-step. A silver sedan, spinning out of control, careened straight toward a crowded crosswalk. Pedestrians screamed and scattered like startled birds. Instinct kicked in. Vincent didn’t hesitate. He lunged forward, tackling the nearest man out of the car’s path just as the vehicle clipped the curb.Time seemed to stretch. The man tumbled onto the pavement, coughing, eyes wide in terror. The car slammed into a lamp post with a deafening crunch, shattering glass spraying across the street. Rain mixed with blood. Heart hammering, Vincent scrambled to pull the man away from th

The first rule Vincent learned was simple:Fate always collects its debt.He learned it before sunrise.Vincent stood on the rooftop of his apartment building, city lights flickering beneath him like dying stars. The wind cut through his jacket, sharp and cold, but he barely felt it. His eyes were locked on the street below.A black SUV idled near the curb.It had been there for twelve minutes.Too long.Vincent focused on the driver.The vision struck instantly.Gunshot. Close range. Execution style.Target: Vincent Drake.Timeframe: Today.Vincent’s jaw tightened, but his breathing stayed steady.“So that’s how we’re playing,” he muttered.He didn’t panic. Panic was for people without options.Instead, he stepped back from the edge and went downstairs slowly, casuallylike a man heading out for coffee, not one walking into an ambush.The lobby doors slid open.The SUV engine revved.Vincent didn’t look at it. He crossed the street instead, entering a crowded café filled with morning

Vincent woke up knowing someone was going to die.Not because of a vision.Because the air felt wrong.The city outside his window was too quiet for a weekday morning. No horns. No shouting. No usual chaos. Silence like this meant something was being arranged.He sat up slowly, shoulder aching, and checked his phone.Three missed calls.All from Lara.Vincent exhaled and called back immediately.“Where are you?” she said the moment she answered. Her voice was tight, controlled, but barely.“Home,” Vincent replied. “Talk.”“I found something,” she said. “Something real. Documents. Transfers. Deaths that were ruled accidents but weren’t.”Vincent closed his eyes.This was the moment fate always circled back to.“Lara,” he said carefully, “whatever you found”“It ties to Darius Vell,” she cut in. “And to shell companies that don’t exist on paper but move millions. People die after the money moves.”Vincent swung his legs off the bed.“Where are you?” he asked again.A pause.“Newsroom,”

Vincent learned the third rule the hard way:When enemies can’t break you, they shop for the people around you.He realized it at 2:17 a.m.Not from a vision.From silence.Lara hadn’t spoken in over an hour. No pacing. No typing. No nervous questions. Just quiet.Vincent sat up from the chair he hadn’t slept in and looked toward the bedroom door.Still.Too still.He stood and walked slowly, quietly, every sense alert. He didn’t reach for his gun. If this was an attack, it wouldn’t start loud.He opened the door.Lara sat on the bed, laptop open, face pale, eyes unfocused.“Someone contacted me,” she said without looking up.Vincent didn’t move.“Who?” he asked.“A man who doesn’t exist,” she replied. “No name. No face. Just… certainty.”Vincent felt the familiar cold settle in his chest.“What did he want?”Lara finally looked at him. Her eyes were wet, but steady.“To make me stop,” she said. “To walk away. To publish nothing. To forget you.”“And?” Vincent asked.“They offered me

Vincent woke up to the sound of breathing.Not his.Someone else’s.Steady. Controlled. Close.He tried to move and pain flared across his ribs like fire. He hissed and stopped.“Don’t,” Lara said immediately. “You’ll undo about six miracles at once.”Vincent opened his eyes.White ceiling. Hospital lights. Machines humming softly like the world trying to pretend everything was normal.“You stayed,” he said.Lara let out a shaky laugh. “You fell three floors and blacked out on live television. Where exactly was I supposed to go?”Memory came back in fragments.The elevator.The snap.The blank space where fate should have been.“How long?” he asked.“Two days,” Lara replied. “Long enough for the city to decide you’re either a messiah or a weapon.”Vincent closed his eyes.“That bad?”“That loud,” she corrected.She turned the tablet toward him.Every channel. Every site.His face.Frozen frames of him on the tracks. Of him running into smoke. Of him falling.Headlines argued with each