The rally was scheduled for the afternoon.Roman showed up at the venue by eleven. The stadium parking area was already packed with cars and people. Banners flapped in the morning wind while vendors lined the edges of the crowd, selling water, caps, and buttons featuring Halden’s face. At the north end of the grounds, a stage had been set up, complete with huge screens and speakers the size of small refrigerators. About fifteen thousand people were expected, and judging by how the crowd kept growing, that number would easily be reached.Roman went in through a side gate marked “STAFF ONLY.” Carlos followed closely behind him, walking just two steps back. A slim leather bag hung from Carlos’s shoulder. Inside that bag was a printed transcript.Carlos did not ask Roman what he planned to do with it. He never questioned him or tried to understand the details. In the car earlier, he had simply handed the bag over without a word, as if he already accepted that Roman had a reason for every

The envelope showed up with no courier label, no sender details, only a silver seal Roman recognized at once. The mark of Greaves International, the private intelligence agency that dealt with problems too sensitive for official systems. Its director, Marcus Vane, still carried a debt to Roman that could never truly be settled. Six years earlier, Roman had saved his daughter during a kidnapping case that never reached the press. Messages from Vane were rare, and when they came, it was never good news.Roman opened the seal alone in his study. Inside was just one typed sheet, it was plain, stripped of anything unnecessary, written in cold, clinical language.SUBJECT: Cross, Damian. Inmate #4471-K.FACILITY: Blackwood Containment Centre, Sector 4.INCIDENT: Coordinated breach. 6 days prior. Two security officers deceased. Three inmates hospitalised. Subject Cross extracted during medical transfer. Transport ambushed 50 miles from facility. All escort personnel lost. Current location: U

The next morning, when Roman arrived at Walter Tower, the black envelope was already on his desk.He noticed it immediately as he walked in. It was placed perfectly in the centre of the leather blotter, squared up with the desk edges like someone had measured it.His office on the forty-second floor was locked down with strict security, a biometric access, a private elevator pass, and cameras that refreshed every few seconds. None of it showed anything. No alerts, no entries, no sign that anyone had come in after the cleaners left at eleven the night before.Roman put his briefcase down without touching anything on the desk. The black envelope stayed where it was. He moved around the table slowly, studying it from different sides.Then called the intercom.“Carlos. Get to my office. Now.”Carlos arrived a few minutes later. The second he saw the envelope, he stopped in place.“What is the matter?”“That’s exactly what I need you to figure out.”Roman stepped back as Carlos put on glov

The message stayed on the screen for three more seconds, bright white on black, then it disappeared.The real game is only starting.Roman sat still in his dark study room, the soft hum of the laptop was the only noise in the room. He checked the system logs again and again. There was nothing there. No sign of the message, no proof it had ever been sent. It was like it never happened at all.He shut the laptop and stepped back out onto the terrace. Lena was still lying on the lounge, the city was extremely dark below like a kingdom waiting for sunrise.“It’s finished,” he said.She reached out for her hand, and he took it. While they stood together at the railing, the wind breezed through their clothes while the night stretched wide and quiet around them.Neither of them knew that far below, in a server room hidden under the financial district, the first signs of trouble were already beginning.Three days later, on a Monday morning carefully timed to cause maximum damage, it began.Ro

The photo was lying on the doormat when Zara opened her front door at 7:12 a.m.She almost stepped on it while barefoot, holding her coffee.When she saw it, she froze.It was a blurry night photo of her laughing at a table in a restaurant. Carlos was beside her, turned slightly toward her, with his hand near his wine glass. It looked like the picture was taken from outside the restaurant window at street level.She immediately recognized the night, it was twelve days ago at Le Sillage, when he told her he wasn’t good at staying, but he was trying.She flipped the photo over. On the back, there was a message written in capital letters with black ink. No name was signed.“You look happy, but trust me, it won’t last.”Zara didn’t panic or shout. She didn’t call anyone immediately. She just stood at her door and looked down the hallway. It was empty and quiet, with nothing out of place.Then she went inside, closed the door, and locked it. She placed her coffee on the table carefully, ev