POV: ETHANThe glowing screen was still there when I blinked. I stared at it, my brain trying to catch up with what I was seeing. Numbers and bars and text that looked like they came out of a video game, except I could feel it somehow. Like the information was being downloaded directly into my skull.[HEALTH: 23%] [STRENGTH: 12%] [INTELLIGENCE: 78%] [CHARISMA: 45%] [FINANCIAL RESOURCES: $0]Twenty-three percent health. Yeah, that sounded about right for someone who'd been crushed in a car accident and emotionally destroyed in the same day.More text scrolled across the blue interface;[THE VENGEANCE SYSTEM ACTIVATES ONLY FOR THOSE WHO HAVE SUFFERED ULTIMATE BETRAYAL. YOU HAVE BEEN CHOSEN. USE THESE TOOLS TO RECLAIM WHAT WAS STOLEN.]I should've been freaking out. Should've been calling for a nurse, telling them I was seeing things, begging for a psych eval. But instead, I just... stared. Because what the hell else was I supposed to do? My fiancée had left me for my best friend, they'd

POV: Ethan ColeI woke up twelve hours later and felt like I'd been hit by a truck. Again.The safe house bed was surprisingly comfortable, but my body hadn't gotten the memo. Every muscle ached, my ribs throbbed with each breath, and my broken arm felt like it was on fire. The pain suppressant skill kept me from screaming, but it didn't make any of this pleasant.I forced myself to sit up, which took about five minutes and way more effort than it should have. The protein bars stocked in the kitchenette tasted like cardboard mixed with sadness, but I ate three of them anyway and drank enough water to make my stomach slosh. My body needed fuel if it was gonna heal, and I needed to be functional for what came next.I head to the computer work station and set up the monitors in a configuration that made sense, one for news coverage, one for social media, one for the system interface. My personal war room in a converted warehouse. I almost smiled.The first news coverage I saw made my bl

POV: Ethan ColeThe guard with the syringe moved toward Mom's IV line.'No. Not happening.'I didn't think. I just moved.The system's combat training kicked in and I could see everything, where to hit, how to move, when to strike. The guard didn't even see me coming. I hit his throat with my palm and he stumbled backward, choking. The syringe flew out of his hand and shattered against the wall.'Fucking hell,' I thought as relief flooded through me. 'At least Mom's safe from that.'But I didn't have time to celebrate because the second guard was already swinging a baton at my head. The system showed me the attack before it happened. I ducked under it and kicked his knee hard. There was a loud pop and he went down with a grunt of pain.'Holy shit. I actually did it. I took down two trained guards.'My broken arm hurt like hell but the pain suppressant skill kept it manageable. I could fight through it.Daniel's face went pale as he watched his hired muscle collapse on the floor. The

POV: Ethan ColeMaya led me through the city like she was running from the FBI. Three different subway lines. Back alleys I didn't even know existed. She checked reflections in store windows, doubled back twice to see if anyone was following us.'She's good at this. Really good.'I let her take the lead and used the time to watch her, the system constantly feeding me more information about her.[MAYA SANTOS - BACKGROUND DATA] [PARENTS DECEASED - SUSPICIOUS FIRE, AGE 12] [FOSTER CARE SYSTEM - 6 YEARS] [COMMUNITY COLLEGE + NIGHT LAW SCHOOL] [CURRENT STATUS: UNDERPAID, OVERQUALIFIED]'She worked three jobs to put herself through law school and still ended up as a paralegal because she doesn't have the right connections. No wonder she's investigating Morrison. She hates people who abuse power.'We ended up at a twenty-four-hour diner in a neighborhood where most of the business happened in dark corners and cash transactions. The kind of place where nobody asked questions and the cops didn

POV: Maya SantosI've survived a lot in my twenty-six years. Foster care, poverty, three jobs while going to law school, eight months investigating Morrison Pharmaceuticals knowing they'd kill me if they found out. I survived all of it by trusting my instincts. And right now, every instinct was screaming that Ethan Cole was hiding something big.I watched him struggle with some internal debate. He moved and talked weirdly, knew things he shouldn't know. His gray eyes showed genuine conflict, but it wasn’t the fake kind I'd seen from lying witnesses. It was just…. Strange. I couldn’t get him.He'd moved differently since the diner attack. Fluid, and precise, like someone with years of combat training, not a corporate CEO who built companies in boardrooms. What kind of a CEO navigates the city like he has a GPS in his brain. He'd shown me financial evidence I couldn't get despite months of obsessive work. And sometimes when he looked at empty air, his eyes tracked something invisible.