2025-03-25 05:44:33An Abandoned Warehouse – Brooklyn – 5:07 A.M.
Ethan didn’t move. The weight of Damien Voss’s gun pressing against the back of his skull was enough to remind him exactly who he was dealing with.
Voss was a hunter. A relentless tracker with an almost inhuman ability to predict his target’s every move. Ethan had gone up against him once before, and it had cost him three broken ribs and a bullet lodged an inch from his spine. He wasn’t looking for a repeat.
Slowly, Ethan raised his hands. “You move quietly for an old man.”
Voss chuckled, his voice dark with amusement. “And you’re still too damn predictable.”
Ethan calculated. The distance between them—three feet. Voss’s finger on the trigger—relaxed, but ready. If he moved fast enough, he could—
No.
Ethan forced himself to stay still. Voss wasn’t alone. He could feel it. The shadows in the warehouse weren’t just shadows—they were men, armed and waiting.
“You’ve got the entire Bureau breathing down your neck,” Voss said, stepping closer. “You’re wanted for murder, treason, espionage—hell, probably jaywalking too. And here you are, standing in a warehouse like a sitting duck.”
Ethan smirked. “That means they’ve got nothing, doesn’t it?”
Voss’s jaw tightened. “Oh, they’ve got enough.”
Ethan turned slightly, just enough to catch the flicker of something in Voss’s expression. A hesitation. A moment of doubt.
Voss didn’t believe it.
He didn’t believe Ethan was guilty.
Ethan’s mind raced. If he could just push the right buttons—
“Tell me, Voss,” he said, keeping his voice low. “What do they have? A conveniently placed security camera feed? A few doctored witness statements? Or maybe—just maybe—they’ve got a smoking gun that doesn’t actually exist.”
Voss didn’t answer.
Ethan took a calculated risk. “You don’t think I did it, do you?”
Voss’s silence stretched.
Then, finally—
“Shut up, Cross.”
But the hesitation was enough.
Ethan moved.
A sharp twist, a downward strike—Voss’s wrist snapped to the side just as Ethan ducked, using his momentum to spin and slam his elbow into Voss’s ribs. The gun went off—a deafening BANG—but Ethan was already moving, grabbing Voss’s wrist and twisting the weapon free.
The other agents moved.
One second. Two seconds.
Ethan fired—not to kill, but to scatter. The gunshot shattered a nearby light, plunging the room into semi-darkness.
Then he ran.
Union Street – Warehouse 16 – 6:02 A.M.
Evelyn Carter was already there when Ethan arrived.
She stood near a rusted table, her arms folded, her hazel eyes sharp beneath the flickering warehouse light. Her blonde hair was pulled back in a loose bun, and she looked just as he remembered—calculating, brilliant, and two steps ahead of everyone else in the room.
“You look like hell,” she said.
Ethan exhaled. “Yeah, well, getting framed for murder isn’t exactly a spa day.”
She didn’t smile. “You shouldn’t have come.”
Ethan ignored that. “I need to know what The Dominion is planning.”
Evelyn’s fingers tightened on the edge of the table.
Then she turned the laptop toward him.
The screen flickered to life. Lines of code, encrypted files, schematics—plans for something big.
Ethan’s blood went cold.
“This isn’t just about me,” he murmured.
Evelyn nodded grimly. “They’re orchestrating something bigger. Something catastrophic.”
Ethan looked at her. “How long do we have?”
Evelyn’s voice was barely above a whisper.
“Seventy-two hours.”
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