“Wait.” Silas’s voice cracked before the Zenith Inquisitor even reached the door. “Wait—please.”The Inquisitor stopped, but did not turn immediately.Silas fell to his knees and pushed himself forward slightly, hands shaking against the shattered floor.“I understand,” he said quickly, too quickly. “I understand what I did wrong. I understand the system, I understand the breach—just don’t walk away.”Marcus froze shocked, behind him. He had never heard the word please leave his father's mouth, talk less of watching him beg.The Inquisitor turned halfway.Silas swallowed hard his breath uneven. “Give me a chance. One chance. I can fix this. I can recover everything.”He paused. The Inquisitor looked at him fully now.Silas’s voice broke further. “I’m not useless. I built half of what you use. I can go after him—Chris Greene—I can retrieve what he took.”That name changed the air. Chris Greene.The Inquisitor studied him for a moment then spoke calmly. “You are not in a position to of

The dining hall lights were warm, soft, almost too calm for a house that had quietly rewritten the balance of an entire city. Crystal glass reflected gold across the long table, cutlery perfectly aligned, the kind of setting that suggested control without ever needing to announce it. The silence in the room wasn’t empty—it was maintained, curated, like everything else inside the estate. Even the air seemed filtered, regulated, as though the space itself understood hierarchy.Chris stood at the head of the table as the doors opened, Adrian a step behind him, and the butler Silas positioned with quiet precision to the side. “Governor Sterling,” Chris said, stepping forward with a measured smile, extending his hand. “Welcome. I’m Chris Greene. It’s an honor to have you here.”The Governor took his hand, studying him for a second longer than necessary. He had expected luxury, even power—but not restraint of this level. Everything felt intentionally controlled, like nothing here was accide

Silas was dragged across the lawn and unto the polished floors that reflected everything he had become—mud, blood, failure—and none of what he used to be, his fingers scraping faint lines against the surface as if instinct still believed he could slow what was already decided. The doors opened without resistance as he was hauled into the dining hall and forced forward until his knees hit the ground with a dull, final sound that echoed more than it should have in a room that remained untouched by the chaos outside. The table still set, the glasses still gleaming, the air still holding that same composed stillness as if the world beyond the walls had no authority here. Chris stood near the table, calm, composed, untouched, while the Governor remained seated, his gaze fixed on Silas not with fear, not even shock, but something far more complicated. It recognition unraveling into something else entirely. Silas lifted his head slowly, breath uneven, eyes burning through dirt and humili

Chris Greene and Adrian stepped through the heavy industrial doors of the Greene Global Production Center, and the air hit them like a physical weight. It was thick with the scent of stagnant oil, cold iron, and the lingering smell of machines that had been pushed to their limits for years without rest.This wasn't a software company or a luxury office. This was a heavy-duty manufacturing plant. Chris stopped at a long, rusted cooling rack and picked up a finished component—a heavy monitor housing meant for industrial workstations. To anyone else, it looked like a solid piece of silver-grey metal. But as Chris focused, his ROM eyes activated. He didn’t need a lens; the flaws stood out like bright, angry veins under the surface of the metal."This is junk," Chris said, his voice flat and irritated. The word sounded harsh, but it was the truth.A man with hands stained black by grease stepped out from behind a dormant induction furnace. This was Elias. He looked like a man who hadn't sl

Chris woke up on the leather sofa in his office and every muscle from his neck to his calves felt like it had been shredded and stitched back together with hot wire. Seventy-two hours of manual labor, crouching over circuit boards, and hauling heavy sensors had taken their toll. His back let out a sharp, audible crack as he sat up, and for a moment, the room spun. The exhaustion was a heavy, physical weight, but as his vision cleared, he looked at the wall of monitors. The real-time data was flowing in a beautiful, steady stream of green. Production was at peak efficiency. The "Mikaelson" name, which had been dragged through the mud for years, was finally being spoken of again with genuine respect in the industrial forums. It was worth every ache. It was worth the bone-deep fatigue.He stood up and walked to the private executive washroom, washing his face so he would wake up. The reflection staring back at him was different than the man who had entered this building days ago. He was