A cold drizzle fell over the massive glass dome of the Vancroft Bio-Tech Botanical Facility on the outskirts of Sector North. From the outside, the place looked like an ordinary greenhouse. But the four-meter electrified barbed-wire fence and the miniature watchtowers stationed at every corner proved this was far more than a flower garden.Sloane’s battered armored van sat hidden inside a tree-covered alley exactly ninety-five meters from the facility’s main glass entrance.Sloane remained in the driver’s seat, cold sweat coating her face as the infection in her shoulder worsened by the minute. She monitored the feed from a tiny reconnaissance drone hovering through the drizzle.“The outer security isn’t as tight as Gideon’s compound,” Sloane whispered softly through the van’s intercom. “Only two guards with short-barrel weapons patrolling outside the fence. But the thermal cameras are packed tight. If I move in myself, they’ll spot me instantly from the control room monitors.”In the

Rainstorms lashed the empty streets on the outskirts of Sector North with an intensity that felt capable of drowning the entire city. Water poured from the sky, washing away the blood pooling across the asphalt and carrying it into the dark, gaping storm drains. Thunder rumbled in the distance, blending with the hiss of rain striking the cold pavement.Sloane ran at full speed through the heavy curtain of rain. The plastic raincoat draped over her body whipped violently in the wind, its rustling swallowed beneath the roar of the storm. She ignored the agonizing pain tearing through her left shoulder, the shoulder that had been crudely amputated in an emergency procedure. The former paramedic had no time to mourn her own condition. Her focus was fixed on one thing alone, finding Karl’s corpse before the facility patrols swept the area outside the electrified fence.Under the dim flashes of lightning, beyond a cluster of wet thorny bushes, Sloane finally spotted a heap of yellow contras

One Hour Later, Camilla Vancroft’s PenthouseThe luxurious dining room that normally symbolized the prosperity and absolute authority of the Vancroft Family had now taken on a different purpose. The atmosphere was suffocating, heavy, and felt more like a cold execution chamber.The ten trusted lieutenants seated around the table were beginning to show progressive symptoms of poisoning. Cold sweat the size of corn kernels soaked their foreheads, making faces once filled with arrogance now appear pale and miserable. Some loosened their ties with panicked movements, their lungs feeling as though they were being constricted by an iron belt that kept tightening, robbing them of oxygen.Camilla Vancroft sat calmly at the end of the table as if she were watching a tedious stage performance. She glanced elegantly at the diamond-studded Cartier watch on her wrist. Behind her stood two personal guards armed with long rifles, motionless like steel statues, their fingers ready on the triggers.“O

The Panic Room now felt like an airtight steel coffin.Camilla Vancroft sat limply on the cold metal floor. Her expensive silk dress was soaked through, not with water, but with the steadily spreading pool of Julian’s blood. She clutched her lover’s lifeless body tightly against her chest, rocking him back and forth in a strange rhythmic motion, as though she were lulling a baby to sleep. Her tears had long since dried up, leaving behind only hollow sobs that scraped painfully against her raw throat.“I’m sorry... please forgive me, Julian,” Camilla whispered over and over in a voice barely audible. Her trembling fingers stroked the man’s handsome face, now pale as wax. “I saw him, I saw the Ghost hiding in your eyes. I had to shoot you, Julian. I had to...”The sanity that had once been Camilla’s greatest pride had cracked down to its deepest foundation. The paranoid delusions triggered by overwhelming fear, combined with the crushing weight of guilt, had blurred reality and nightmar

WHOOOOSSSHHH!The roar of four turboprop engines from a military C-130 Hercules cargo plane split the overcast skies above Saint-Bastian City. The unmarked aircraft landed hard on the rain-soaked runway of the Vancroft Private Airport in the Northern Sector, spraying rainwater into the air. The massive rear ramp door slowly lowered before the wheels had even fully stopped.From the dark belly of the cargo plane, dozens of armed men stepped down in a precise formation. They did not shout or exchange casual banter like Gideon’s Black Dog militia thugs. They moved in absolute silence. Every one of them wore pitch-black tactical combat uniforms with no national insignia, Level IV ballistic vests, and panoramic night-vision goggles. These were elite Private Military Company mercenaries from Eastern Europe.At the center of the formation walked a man who looked nothing like a mafia boss.Roman Vancroft. The Third Pillar. The adopted son Silas had hidden away in the Old Continent.Roman carr