The air in Sector Five’s control room felt heavy, as if the concrete walls were closing in on them. Eduardo sat in his leather chair, eyes fixed on the monitor displaying a series of high-resolution images captured by Belerik’s intel team in Switzerland. There, amid the poetic snowfall of Zermatt, Emily was laughing freely, a laugh she had not shown in the penthouse for a long time, her head resting on the shoulder of a young blond man in an expensive ski suit. Beep. Belerik slid to the next image. A Rolex Cosmograph Daytona wrapped around the blond man’s wrist. "Eighty thousand dollars, Ed," Belerik said, his voice hoarse with disgust. "Bought two hours ago at the Rue de la Gare boutique. Corporate credit card under the Elena Foundation. He didn’t even try to hide the transaction." Eduardo studied the image. He noted how Emily touched the man’s hand, how she looked at him with a spark that had long disappeared. He searched his chest, trying to summon jealousy,

Rain in Sector Seven never felt refreshing. The water that fell from the dark night sky mixed with factory soot and chemical vapor, creating a sharp, acidic stench. Eduardo stopped his black SUV three hundred meters from the abandoned fish cannery complex. The massive structure of concrete and rusted steel looked like the carcass of a sea monster stranded in the darkness. "Freya, you in position?" Eduardo whispered into the radio. "I’m on top of the old grain silo. Four hundred meters out. I’ve got visual on the side gate and the second-floor windows," Freya replied. Her voice was steady, though there was a slight catch in her breathing between words. "Ed, you should know... my stomach’s really not cooperating tonight. But don’t worry, my aim won’t miss." "Hold out a little longer, Freya. After this, you’re on full rest," Eduardo said. He glanced at the passenger seat. Gord was checking the magazine of his assault rifle, his face more serious than usual. No jokes about

Eduardo stood motionless before a large cracked mirror in the corner of the meditation room. The exposed bulb above him flickered, as if even the current feared touching whatever was being created beneath its light. Eduardo stared at his reflection, but he no longer recognized the man staring back. The hair at the sides of his head, once jet black, had turned completely white. It was a pale, lifeless white, like bone buried for too long. His skin had lost all human warmth, becoming as cold and colorless as funeral marble. But the most horrifying part was his eyes. His pupils and irises had fused into a single, solid black void, swallowing any light that tried to enter. Veins the color of pitch crept from beneath his collar, crawling up toward his jaw like the roots of something rotten. “Looking good, kid. You really look like a discount angel of death,” Grandfather’s voice echoed in his head, accompanied by the faint chime of a shattered hourglass. “Shut up

The streetlights in Sector Five flickered in uneven rhythms, casting dull yellow light across asphalt still wet from the rain. Normally, two in the morning was the busiest hour for this logistics district. Truck engines roared through the streets, dockworkers shouted over each other, and chains clanged against shipping containers. But tonight, the city seemed to be holding its breath beneath the shadow of an execution. The streets were empty. Completely silent. At the top floor of the command center, Eduardo stood staring at rows of monitors that now displayed nothing but deserted alleys and tightly shuttered bars. No gamblers. No transactions in dark corners. Vladimir wasn't attacking with bombs tonight. He was attacking with paralyzing fear. "Ed, this is seriously fucked up," Belerik broke the silence, slamming his tablet onto the desk. "Our casinos are empty. Logistics are completely jammed because our drivers are too scared to go out. Vladimir's spreading rumors th

The lights in Sector Five's medical room buzzed softly, casting a pale white glow that made Freya look like a wax statue. Eduardo sat in a steel chair beside her bed, his pitch-black eyes, a side effect of Reaper Mode becoming increasingly permanent, fixed on the IV line feeding sedatives into Freya's veins. His gloved hand held Freya's rough, cold fingers. There was no overflowing emotion. No tears. Eduardo only felt the crushing weight of a logical obligation. The child inside her was the only remaining asset tied to his future. Bang! The medical room door slammed open. Belerik burst in, breathing hard as his wheelchair crashed against the edge of a medicine table, rattling glass alcohol bottles loudly. His usually polished appearance had fallen apart. Dark circles hung beneath his eyes, proof that he had not slept in forty-eight hours. "Ed! Fuck, you need to hear this right now or we're all seriously dead!" Belerik shouted, his voice cutting thro