The shoe pressed down on Marcus Webb's back, grinding his face against the cold marble floor."Clean it properly, old man."The voice belonged to Viktor Volkov. Marcus knew it instantly. He'd been memorizing that voice for five years. Every inflection. Every laugh. Every word Viktor had ever spoken on the recording Marcus carried in his head.Marcus stayed still. His janitor's uniform was soaked through with cleaning solution. The lobby of the Grand Plaza Hotel gleamed around them—chandeliers, gold trim, rich men in expensive suits stepping around the mess like he was furniture.Viktor laughed and walked away with his entourage. Three bodyguards. A lawyer. A woman in red who held Viktor's arm like it was made of gold.Marcus pushed himself up slowly. His left leg trembled. The bullet fragment near his spine sent a lightning bolt of pain down his thigh. He bit the inside of his cheek until he tasted copper.Five years of hiding. Five years of watching. Five years of being invisible whi

The door creaked open at 2:47 AM.Marcus had been waiting for two hours. His body was pressed flat against the roof of the storage facility's main building, invisible against the gravel. Below him, two guards made their rounds. Flashlights cut through the darkness in lazy arcs.He'd been watching this place for three weeks. Knew their patterns. Knew their blind spots. Knew exactly when the shift change happened.Viktor's storage unit was in Section D. Number 47. A fortress of reinforced steel and biometric locks. Marcus had memorized the layout from the blueprints he'd stolen from the city archives.The guards passed beneath him. He dropped.His left leg buckled on impact. He caught himself with his hands, rolled behind a dumpster, and waited. The guards didn't turn. They kept walking, laughing about something, completely oblivious.Marcus moved through the shadows like water. Five years of hiding had taught him to be invisible. Not just physically—mentally. He made himself forgettabl

Viktor Volkov stared at the security footage on his tablet.The screen showed a man in a black jacket moving through the storage facility like a shadow. Quick. Precise. Lethal. Two of Viktor's best men lay unconscious on the floor. The man had taken them down in seconds.Viktor rewound the footage and watched again. There was something familiar about the man's movements. The economy of motion. The way he used his environment as a weapon.No wasted energy. No hesitation.Viktor's blood turned cold.He'd seen that style before. Five years ago. On a battlefield in Eastern Europe. A man who moved like smoke and killed like lightning.The Ghost.Viktor set down the tablet. His hands were steady, but his heart was racing. The Ghost was supposed to be dead. Viktor had personally confirmed the kill. A helicopter crash. Burning wreckage. No survivors.And yet.He picked up his phone and dialed. The call connected after one ring."Leonid," Viktor said. "We have a problem."Leonid Petrov's voice

The address led to a small house on the edge of the city.Marcus stood across the street, watching. The house was modest—white paint peeling, a small garden overgrown with weeds. A woman in her sixties sat on the porch, drinking tea and staring at nothing.Sergeant James Heller's mother. Marcus remembered James. Young. Eager. A good soldier who'd died screaming in the fire.Marcus's throat tightened. He forced himself to move.The woman looked up as he approached. Her eyes were sharp, suspicious. "Can I help you?""Mrs. Heller?"She nodded slowly. "Who's asking?"Marcus sat down on the step beside her. His leg screamed in protest. He ignored it. "My name is Marcus Webb. I served with your son."Mrs. Heller's face went pale. "James never mentioned you.""He wouldn't have. I was his commanding officer."She stared at him for a long moment. Then her eyes filled with tears. "They told me he died in a training accident. But I never believed it. He was too careful. Too smart."Marcus looked

The Iron Tower loomed against the night sky like a tombstone.Marcus stood in the shadows of the building across the street. His leg was trembling. His hands were steady. His mind was clear.Darnell was inside. Viktor had him. And every second Marcus waited was a second Darnell suffered.He checked his phone. No messages. No calls. Viktor was waiting. Testing. Watching to see what Marcus would do.Marcus pulled out the burner phone he'd given to Mrs. Heller. One contact. He dialed."Hello?" Her voice was shaky."Mrs. Heller. It's Marcus. I need you to do something for me.""What is it?""Call the police. Tell them there's a hostage situation at the Iron Tower. Tell them Viktor Volkov has a man trapped inside. Tell them you have evidence of murder."Silence. Then: "Will they come?""They'll come. But not fast enough." Marcus hung up.He crossed the street. The main entrance was guarded by four men in gray jackets. All armed. All alert.Marcus didn't try to be subtle. He walked straight