LOGINThe interior of the stolen V-22 Osprey smelled of ozone, hydraulic fluid, and the distinct, copper-sweet scent of cooking meat.
It was Jack Sterling.
Jack lay strapped to the cargo floor, his body convulsing against the nylon webbing. The roar of the tilt-rotors outside was deafening, a constant mechanical scream that vibrated through the metal deck plates, but for Catherine, the loudest sound in the world was the wet, rattling gasp tearing through her husband’s throat.
"Temperature is rising! Forty-one point five... forty-one point eight!" Robert Sterling’s voice cracked, betraying a panic the former head of the Sterling family had never shown in boardrooms. He was kneeling beside Jack, his expensive suit ruined by grease and blood, his hands trembling as he tried to insert an IV line into Jack’s left arm. "I can't find a vein. The blood... it’s too thick. It’s coagulating instantly."
"Jack? Jack, look at me." Catherine was
"Boss, you need to see this."Ben Carter’s voice broke the silence of the recovery room. Jack was sitting on the edge of the bed, Catherine bandaging his arm. He looked up.Ben was holding a tablet. His face was ghostly pale."He’s live," Ben said. "Global frequency. Every channel. Every streaming platform. Even the digital billboards in Times Square."Jack took the tablet.The screen showed a panoramic view of the night skyline of New York City. The camera panned down to the helipad of the Sterling Tower—the building Jack had built, the symbol of his power, now occupied by his shadow.Cain stood in the center of the helipad.He wore a suit identical to the one Jack had worn the day he took the company public. But Cain wore it differently. There was a looseness to his posture, a terrifying, languid grace. The wind whipped his hair, but he didn't blink.In his hand, he held a small, wooden object. A carved wolf."Citizens
The safe house in Barrow was a repurposed Cold War listening post, buried twenty feet beneath the permafrost. The walls were lined with lead and soundproofing foam, designed to keep secrets in and the cold out. But tonight, it couldn't keep out the screams.In the center of the sterile medical bay, Jack Sterling was strapped to a titanium surgical table. The restraints were thick leather, reinforced with steel cables—the kind used for transporting large predatory animals."Heart rate is erratic," Robert Sterling said, his voice tight. He was standing over a centrifuge that spun with a violent, high-pitched whine. Inside the glass vials, the "Wolf King" bone marrow—a thick, iridescent silver substance—was being mixed with a volatile chemical compound. "The reaction is exothermic. The serum is boiling, Elena.""It has to be hot," Elena replied, her hands steady as she prepared a syringe the size of a caulking gun. "If it cools below forty degrees Celsi
Barrow, Alaska. Utqiagvik. The northernmost point of the United States.It was a place where the sun didn't rise for sixty days a year. A graveyard of whaling ships and frozen dreams. The town looked like a scattering of toy blocks thrown into a freezer—prefabricated houses on stilts to keep them from sinking into the melting permafrost, satellite dishes encrusted with rime ice, and streets that were just packed snow.The Snowpiercer ground to a halt inside a derelict subterranean military depot three miles outside of town. The brakes screamed like banshees, sending showers of sparks into the dark cavern."Atmospheric temperature: minus forty-five," Robert read from the console. "Wind chill: minus sixty. If you have exposed skin, it freezes in thirty seconds.""Perfect weather for a business meeting," Jack said, pulling on a heavy white parka. He winced as he slid his arm into the sleeve. The sling was hidden underneath. To the outside world, he had to look
The rhythm of the Snowpiercer was a hypnotic, metallic heartbeat. Clack-thrum, clack-thrum, clack-thrum.Jack Sterling sat in the officer’s quarters of the converted nuclear train, his body slumped against the cold steel wall. The adrenaline from the drone attack had long since evaporated, leaving behind a residue of exhaustion so deep it felt like his bones had turned to liquid lead.His right arm, the limb consumed by the black rot of entropy, throbbed with a dull, sickening heat. Even through the layers of bandages and the lingering chill of Catherine’s ice, he could feel it—the hungry void gnawing at his cellular structure."You need to sleep, Jack," Catherine’s voice was soft, barely audible over the rumble of the tracks. She was sitting across from him, cleaning the soot from her face with a wet rag. Her eyes were red-rimmed, heavy with fatigue, but fixed on him with that fierce, protective intensity that had become her default state.
The tunnel entrance beneath the reindeer trough wasn't just a root cellar. It was a heavy blast door made of reinforced steel, stamped with the faded emblem of the Canadian Department of National Defence, circa 1965."Hailey," Jack gasped, his breath misting in the frigid air as he and Ben lowered Marcus onto the concrete floor of the airlock. "Tell me this goes somewhere.""The deed said 'Cold War Supply Line'," Hailey said, her voice echoing in the cavernous space. She frantically typed a code into the keypad. "It was part of the DEW Line project. An underground rail system to move ICBMs between silos without Soviet satellites seeing them. It should connect all the way to the Arctic coast."The massive gears groaned, and the blast door slammed shut, sealing out the howling wind and the approaching drone swarm.Silence. Then, the hum of ancient fluorescent lights flickering to life.They were standing on a concrete platform. In front of them, resting on rus
The wind howling through the cracks of the "Santa’s Reindeer Experience" barn sounded like a dying animal. Outside, the Canadian wilderness was a blur of white darkness, the temperature plummeting to forty degrees below zero.Inside, the mood was a different kind of cold."They found us," Hailey whispered, her fingers freezing over her keyboard. The screen of her improvised command deck was flashing red. "I thought routing the money through the Lazarus Protocol would hide the IP, but Cain… he wasn't tracking the money. He was tracking the speed of the transaction.""He anticipated the bounce," Jack said. He was sitting on a crate of reindeer feed, his blackened right arm resting in a sling made from a torn parachute. His face was pale, beads of sweat standing out against his skin despite the freezing air. The entropy in his blood had been stalled by Catherine’s ice, but the pain was a constant, grinding noise in the back of his skull. "He knew I wou







