The Silent Dominion

Washington, D.C. – 2:37 A.M.

The room was silent except for the rhythmic ticking of an antique clock mounted on the far wall. It was an elegant space, fitted with mahogany furniture, dim lighting, and a massive glass window that overlooked the darkened city skyline. From this height, Washington, D.C., looked peaceful—sleeping.

But peace was an illusion.

At the head of the polished conference table sat Viktor Raines, his presence commanding despite the quiet. The billionaire financier wore a custom-tailored suit, his salt-and-pepper hair slicked back, his sharp blue eyes unreadable. He had built his empire on secrecy and control, and tonight was no different.

Six figures sat across from him, their identities obscured by shadow. Politicians, intelligence officers, corporate tycoons—powerful individuals who had long since stepped beyond the reach of the law. They were The Dominion, a clandestine network that had puppeteered global affairs for decades.

Raines tapped his fingers against the table once. A large monitor flickered to life behind him. The screen displayed the image of a man—dark-haired, broad-shouldered, lean muscle beneath a fitted black suit. He was staring into a security camera, unaware that his face was now being studied by the most dangerous people in the world.

Ethan Cross.

A former CIA black ops specialist, Ethan had spent years off the grid after a botched mission in Prague turned him into a liability. He was supposed to be dead.

And yet, here he was.

“Why is he still breathing?” Raines asked calmly, his voice carrying a razor’s edge.

The only woman at the table, Director Celeste Morgan, shifted uncomfortably. She was the current head of Sentinel, The Dominion’s most secretive initiative. A woman known for her calculating mind and ruthless efficiency.

“We underestimated him,” she admitted. “We assumed he wouldn’t get involved.”

Raines’s expression darkened. “That assumption just cost us our secrecy.”

Another figure spoke up—General Tobias Mercer, a high-ranking official with connections deep inside the Pentagon. His thick frame barely fit inside his military-issued jacket, and his tone was laced with irritation.

“Cross is a problem,” Mercer said. “We need a permanent solution. Now.”

Raines studied Ethan’s image on the screen. The former operative had been digging—getting too close to Sentinel. Worse, he had help.

Dr. Evelyn Carter.

The moment her name appeared on the screen, the air in the room grew colder.

“She was our most valuable asset,” Morgan muttered. “Until she defected.”

“She didn’t defect,” Raines corrected. “She discovered the truth.”

That single statement settled over the room like a death sentence.

Morgan took a slow breath. “Cross and Carter know too much. We have two options—neutralize them immediately, or discredit them so severely that no one will believe a word they say.”

Mercer leaned forward. “I say we make an example out of Cross. Frame him for something catastrophic. Something that will make every intelligence agency in the world hunt him down.”

Morgan nodded. “I’ve already set the wheels in motion. He’s in New York. Unwittingly walking straight into our trap.”

Raines steepled his fingers. He had learned long ago that power wasn’t about who held it, but about who controlled the narrative.

“Then let’s make sure his story ends exactly how we want it to,” Raines said smoothly.

The Dominion had spoken. Ethan Cross was as good as dead.

The Hotel Aurora – New York City – 3:12 A.M.

Ethan’s consciousness surfaced slowly, like being dragged from the depths of an ocean. His head was pounding—each pulse like a drumbeat against his skull. The scent of iron filled his nostrils, thick and metallic.

He opened his eyes.

Blood.

It was everywhere.

His hands were covered in it, fresh and wet, smeared across the crisp white sheets of a luxury hotel bed. A cold sensation gripped his stomach as he struggled to sit up, his body sluggish and disoriented. His vision was hazy, his muscles weak.

A dead man lay sprawled on the floor beside the bed.

Ethan’s breath caught in his throat.

Senator Malcolm Hayes.

One of the most influential politicians in the country. A man Ethan had never met. And yet, here he was, murdered in the same room where Ethan had just woken up.

“What the hell…” Ethan muttered, forcing himself to focus.

There was a gun in his right hand. He hadn’t noticed it at first, but now the cold weight of it felt like an anchor, dragging him into reality. His fingerprints were all over it.

A sense of dread crawled up his spine.

This was a setup.

Flashes of memory hit him—snippets of the night before. He remembered arriving in New York under an alias, checking into the hotel under strict security measures. He had been meeting with an informant about a classified government program. Something called Sentinel.

But then—nothing.

Gaps. Missing time.

Someone had drugged him. Staged this crime scene.

Ethan’s mind raced as he assessed the situation. The body, the gun, the positioning—whoever did this wanted it to be undeniable. The second anyone walked through that door, the evidence would be overwhelming.

His heart pounded.

If this was what he thought it was, the entire city would be hunting him within the hour.

A sudden noise snapped him back to the moment.

Footsteps. Heavy. Purposeful.

Then—voices.

FBI tactical teams.

They were already here.

Ethan shot to his feet, instincts overriding the fog in his head. He had seconds to act. His escape options were limited—no weapons beyond the one in his hand, no backup, and a SWAT team about to breach the door.

Think.

The hotel room was on the forty-second floor. Too high to jump, too exposed to climb. His only option was through them.

Ethan moved fast. He snatched a glass from the nightstand and hurled it against the wall, shattering it into a thousand pieces. Then he stumbled, deliberately knocking over a chair. A distraction.

The moment the door burst open, Ethan dropped—rolling beneath the bed frame as gunfire erupted. A split-second later, he surged forward, catching the first agent off-guard. A brutal takedown.

The others reacted too slowly.

Ethan grabbed the agent’s weapon, fired two precise non-lethal shots—one to the vest, one to the leg—before sprinting for the exit.

Adrenaline took over. He dodged down a service corridor, moving like a shadow, disappearing before reinforcements arrived.

He had one chance to clear his name.

He had to find Dr. Evelyn Carter.

And he had to do it before The Dominion erased him from existence.