"Steady enough to snap your neck if you’re playing me, Anastasia," Silas muttered, his thumb resting near the safety of his sidearm."If I were playing you, we’d be three miles away, watching this place burn from a safe distance," she snapped, pulling a sleek, matte-black handheld device from her coat. She didn't look at him; her eyes were locked on the security camera swiveling toward the loading bay entrance. "The junction box is behind the third row of crates. Move."Silas didn't waste time on a retort. He lunged into the shadows of the shipping containers, his footsteps silent on the damp concrete. The air here was heavy with the smell of brine, diesel, and the underlying, sickening ozone scent of the gala’s high-powered electrical grid. He reached the junction box and ripped the housing cover off, the metal groaning in protest."Talk to me," Silas hissed into his comms, his voice low and jagged. "I'm looking at the relay. It’s a mess of fiber-optics and copper. How much juice do

The red leads sparked, the sudden discharge of static biting into Silas’s fingertips like a swarm of angry wasps. He ignored the sting, jamming the bridge together and feeling the heavy, pneumatic groan of the service lift door as the lock disengaged."I'm in," Silas hissed, vaulting over the crates and hitting the service corridor in a low, predatory crouch. "Camera loop is active. You have your window. Move."Anastasia materialized from the shadows of the loading bay almost instantly, her movements fluid and devoid of wasted energy. She didn't look at him; her gaze was already fixed on the keypad near the elevator doors. She slotted the black drive into the port, her fingers dancing across the interface."One hundred and seventy seconds remaining," she said, her voice a clipped, monotone tally. "The basement level is a maze of HVAC controls and server racks. Dorian is being held in the sub-basement, sector four. It’s the high-security containment wing. They’re using it to keep the '

The metallic slam of the precinct heavy-duty doors echoed like a gunshot, signaling the end of Silas’s career. He didn't turn back. He didn't look at the Chief, whose face was a bruised map of suppressed rage and cold, administrative betrayal."Hand over your badge, Vane," Chief Miller barked, his voice vibrating with the hollow authority of a man who had already cleared his desk for the new guard. "And your service weapon. You’re done. The department is issuing a press release within the hour. You didn't just break protocol at the gala; you ignited a diplomatic incident. Riven’s lawyers have already been on the phone with the Mayor. You’re a liability we can no longer afford."Silas stared at the polished mahogany of the Chief’s desk. He felt the weight of his sidearm in his holster—a burden he had carried for fifteen years. Slowly, methodically, he unclipped it. He slid it across the surface. It looked small, insignificant against the backdrop of the massive, looming corporate archi

"His blood pressure is climbing, Silas. That’s a stress response. He’s dreaming of the extraction, and his body is trying to fight off shadows that aren't there anymore." Anastasia didn't look up from the monitor, her fingers dancing across the touch-sensitive panel to dampen the alarm threshold.Silas stepped away from the shadows of the corner, his boots silent on the linoleum. "Keep him under. If he wakes up and realizes he’s trapped in a clinic instead of on the field, his heart will spike again. We can’t afford to lose him now.""We can’t afford to keep him here at all," she retorted, finally meeting his gaze. Her eyes were hard, the calculated detachment she’d worn since the gala slipping just enough to reveal a jagged edge of genuine concern. "The department didn't just suspend you, Silas. They scrubbed your digital identity. My private access at the agency—the one I used to track the Riven extraction team? It’s been flagged and locked. We are ghosts, and ghosts don't have medi

"Move him? Look at him, Silas!" Anastasia pointed at the tangle of wires taped to Dorian’s chest, her hand trembling—a rare, involuntary betrayal of her icy composure. "He’s a walking trauma ward. If you pull those leads, he goes into cardiac arrest. If you leave him, we’re sitting ducks for the first cleanup crew Riven sends to sanitize the crime scene."Silas didn't flinch. He walked to the storage locker at the foot of the bed, his movements predatory and precise. He tore the seal off a sterile kit, pulling out a handful of pre-filled morphine injectors and a portable saline drip. "I’m not suggesting we walk him out. I’m suggesting we turn this room into a fortress for the next six hours while I burn every bridge I have left in this city.""You’re being reckless," Anastasia snapped, stepping into his path. She was taller than him by a fraction, her eyes burning with a mixture of fear and fury. "The department has already issued a kill order on your credentials, Silas. You start usi