The morning rain over Ironport fell, washing over the cold marble tombstones of the city's elite cemetery. Black umbrellas formed a sea of dark silk across the hillside.Ezra Foster’s funeral was not a place of grief; it was a gathering of vultures.At the centre of the crowd stood Maverick Foster. Dressed in a tailored black suit, his sharp jawline clenched until his muscles throbbed, he stared down at the polished casket holding what was left of his father. Maverick had flown into the city just hours ago on a private jet. Beside him, his mother Nancy sat in a high-tech wheelchair, her face pale, her lower body paralysed from Gabriel’s previous attack. Her eyes were filled with terror.Maverick leaned down, his gloved hand gripping the armrest of his mother's wheelchair. "Look at me, Mom," he whispered, his voice trembling with a mixture of grief and fury.Nancy slowly turned her head, her thin lips shaking. "Maverick, leave," her voice barely above a whisper. "Get on the plane an

The door of Arthur Fletcher’s dockside office rattled violently as it was slammed open.Derek Combs, the senior acquisitions manager for Reed Freight, stepped into the room. He adjusted his silk tie. Derek looked around the small room with disgust, holding a silver-trimmed pen in one hand and a thin leather folder in the other.Arthur Fletcher sat behind his desk, his shoulders hunched. Beside him, his adopted son, Julian, stood protective and tense, his fists clenched at his sides."What is the meaning of this?" Arthur asked, his voice gravelly from exhaustion. "This is private property, Mr Combs."Derek chuckled. "Private property? Arthur, let's be honest. This glorified rusty shed isn't worth the land it's built on. The roof is leaking, your forklifts are fifteen years out of date, and your bank accounts are redder than a butcher's apron."Derek tossed the leather folder onto Arthur’s desk and leaned forward, resting both hands on the desk, staring down at the older man like an own

Customs Administration Office. Julian sat on a bench, his hands bound behind his back by cold steel cuffs. Across the room, Derek Combs was swirling a cup of water, a victory smile stretched across his face. Officer Kyle stood by the front counter, laughing loudly with his partner as they filled out the arrest paperwork. "You're going to look great in orange, kid," Derek called out, his voice dripping with mockery. "Maybe your old man can send you a dollar a month for the commissary." Julian kept his head down, tears stinging his eyes. The phone had been smashed onto the floor, and the man with the cold eyes wasn't coming. Nobody was coming; his father couldn't help. Suddenly, the doors of the customs office didn't just open; they slammed inward. The laughter stopped instantly. Officer Kyle’s hand dropped straight to the butt of his sidearm. "What the hell." Gabriel’s eyes swept across the room. They passed over Derek, ignored the two custom guards, and landed directly

“Where did I learn?” Gabriel repeated softly, “I learned in places where surviving the night was the only rank that mattered, Dr. Vincent.”Naomi stared at him, her lips parting slightly to press further, but Gabriel gently turned away.“Your father raised you well,” Gabriel said, stepping toward the door. “Keep your head down and stay out of anything politics. The city is about to burn.”Before Naomi could demand another answer, Gabriel and his men vanished, leaving her alone in the clinic.She shook her head, trying to take away the thought that had engulfed her mind.“It’s nothing, Naomi. You’re not going to see him again. Don’t think about him.” She thought to herself.~~~Twenty-four hours later,Inspector General Donald Woods sat on a black sofa, his uniform soaked in sweat despite the air-conditioned chill. His hands trembled on his lap as he stared at the man standing by the window.Grant Castellan, the newly appointed seat on the Top Five who had stepped up to claim the void

Jody Rose spat onto the ground, his face twisted into an ugly smile. He gestured with his pistol toward three guards carrying red Jerrycans of industrial fuel."Start with the Bluecrown shipment," Jody ordered, "Douse the wood. If Arthur Fletcher won't sign the eviction papers, we'll burn his livelihood to ash right in front of his eyes."The men grinned, sloshing fuel across the crate doors. The smell of gasoline filled the air, instantly overpowering the scent of salt water."Stop!" a young voice screamed.Julian broke free from his father's weak grasp, sprinting. He threw his body straight in front of the yellow forklift parked at the centre of the loading bay, spreading his arms wide to block the path to the main shipment. His whole body trembled with terror, but his eyes burned with stubbornness."You aren't burning anything!" Julian yelled, "My father gave his whole life to build this place! You'll have to burn me first!""Julian, no! Get back here!" Arthur cried out, stumbli