​“James, let’s play a game. ‘Death Park’,” Tidder’s tiny, innocent child voice pleaded, her small hands tugging relentlessly at his forearm.​“No, we're absolutely not playing that,” young James replied, pulling his arm back with a soft sigh. “Mum explicitly said it's far too scary for us to be playing those kinds of games.”​“No! I really want to!” Tidder insisted, her grip tightening as she forced her weight against his arm, her eyes wide with a little girl's stubborn hope. “Come on, James. It’s just a game. You won't actually be stabbing me with a real knife.”​James looked down at his little sister, his expression softening. “I will never, ever stab you, Tidder.”​“Okay, then please let’s play it right now. Just this once,” she begged, bouncing slightly on her heels. “Please?”​James let out a defeated, running breath. “Fine. Just this once.”​“Yes! Yesss!”​“Okay, but I will be the one wearing the mask this time, and I'm holding the plastic knife,” James said, reaching down to co

​“We have the first one under complete control, and we are not going to fucking lose it,” Roman said, his fingers tightening over the edges of the ancient leather casing as he lifted the chained book from his desk. His voice carried a calculated, heavy resonance that echoed off the cold concrete walls of his office. “This book is exactly what we need to locate every single soul on this grid who knows about the existence of the stones—and what these stones truly are. We just have to play this path strategically with everyone .” ​Vener, who was still clutching her digital tablet tightly against her chest, shook her head. Her brow furrowed deeply as she tried to process the sheer scale of the manipulation he was hinting at. “What? Wait, Roman... I don’t really get what you’re trying to say. Just lay it out completely clean for me.” ​Roman turned around slowly, his eyes gleaming with a sharp, predatory focus beneath the dim office lighting. “This book is a roadmap, Vener. It holds the

​Roman slid into the plush leather driver's seat of his luxury sedan, slamming the heavy door shut against the cool night air. The engine roared to life with a quiet, expensive hum, and without throwing a single glance back at Todd, he pressed his foot to the accelerator and tore away from the abandoned shipping docks.​Todd didn't move immediately. He remained standing precisely where he was on the rain-slicked concrete, the taillights of Roman’s departing vehicle bleeding crimson across the dark puddles. He ran a rough, calloused hand through his damp hair, letting out a sharp, ragged breath that misted in the freezing air.​“Where the hell am I supposed to find you...” Todd muttered to himself, his voice dropping into a tense whisper.​He didn't waste another second. Swinging his leg over his matte-black motorcycle, he kicked the ignition, forcing the powerful machine to rumble violently into life. He twisted the throttle, kicked the gear into place, and sped away from the docks, t

​“Now, put your guns down,” Butcher commanded, a thin, synthetic smirk crawling across his rugged face. He folded his heavy arms over his chest, thoroughly convinced that Todd was trapped in an absolute corner with no mathematical escape. “And kneel.”​Todd didn't shift his weight by a single millimeter. His grip on the firearm remained stone-steady, his eyes boring a hole straight through the syndicate captain. “You honestly believe I can’t kill you right this second, Butcher? You think I’m frozen just because of those breathing statues standing behind your flank?”​“They ain’t fucking statues, Todd. They are highly trained, conditioned sector operatives with loaded weapons, waiting to erase a bitch like you from the grid,” Butcher growled, his voice rising with dark authority. “The exact second I give them the execution directive, you become a ghost.”​“Yes, they have weapons. They are carrying steel, but you are not,” Todd delivered, his voice dropping into a freezing, hollow regis

​Minutes later, the urban landscape succumbed to absolute darkness. The only luminescence in the desolate sector bled from the high-security compound belonging to Roman—a clinical, geometric monolith cutting through the night with stark, white perimeter lights.​Todd maneuvered the stolen, high-performance Lamborghini through the labyrinth of quiet streets, his eyes fixed on the digital coordinates map blinking on the console dashboard. The vehicle glided to a halt precisely in front of the fortified iron security gates of Roman’s private penthouse apartment.​Within a fraction of a second, the automated system recognized the vehicle's signature. The massive iron gates groaned as they parted automatically, sliding into the concrete walls. Todd pressed his foot down, driving the car into the compound and angling the nose sharply to park right alongside Roman’s private sedan.​The engine hadn't even finished idling down before Todd threw his door open, stepping out into the cold night a