Se connecterSilas Hale sat in the back of the black SUV, his gloved hands resting perfectly still on the silver head of his cane. To anyone watching, he looked like a man carved out of old, dark wood. He didn't blink as the rain lashed against the bulletproof glass. He didn't flinch as the driver took the corners of the Mission District with a sharp, violent speed.For forty years, Silas had lived in the spaces between the seconds. He had been a ghost, a name whispered in boardrooms, a shadow that moved money and lives across the globe. He had survived the death of his own era—the world of paper, ink, and secret handshakes—and moved into the world of light and speed. He had watched from his hidden estates as his family grew soft. He had watched as Eleanor turned his empire into a shield for her own fears. He had watched as Jason turned it into a playground for his own ego.He was not angry. Anger was a waste of energy. He was simply disappointed. He viewed his family like a watchmaker views a bro
The apartment was small, cramped, and smelled of stale coffee and hot electronics. It was located on the third floor of a building in downtown San Francisco, hidden behind a neon sign that flickered in the rain. Inside, there were no lights except for the glow of twelve computer monitors; this was the "nest" of the Disconnect: a group of people who lived in the spaces between the rules.Jax sat in the center of the glow. He was twenty-four years old with messy hair and eyes that hadn't seen a full night’s sleep in a week. To the rest of the world, Jax didn't exist because he had no bank account, no driver’s license, and no social media profile; however, to those who knew where to look, Jax was the best "eye" in the city.On his main screen, a simple graph of weather data from Oakland was dancing. The wind speed was jumping in a pattern that made no sense for a storm."Did you see that?" Miri asked. She was sitting at a desk made of old wooden pallets, her fingers flying across a keybo
The air in the living room felt like it had been turned into stone. Silas Hale stood by the open door while the rain misted behind him like a silver curtain; he didn’t look like a man who was almost a hundred years old. Instead, he resembled a statue made of ancient wood: thin, hard, and impossible to break. His eyes were not like Jason’s, for Jason’s eyes were full of heat and anger, whereas Silas’s eyes were like two pieces of glass at the bottom of a frozen lake. They saw everything, but they felt nothing.In the corner of the room, tucked away near the shadows of the dining table, Adrian sat perfectly still. His laptop was still open, but the screen was dark; he knew that any move he made would be watched. Silas had already shown that he owned the guards, the house, and perhaps even the very air they were breathing.Silas was talking to Samantha in a low, smooth hum. He spoke about "future" and "legacy" as if he were describing a garden he planned to plant; he didn't seem to care
"He's at the safe house," Franklin whispered. "He drugged the guards. He walked right past them like they were statues. He sent me here to give you a message, Jason. He said he’s disappointed."The air in the small room suddenly felt very thin. Jason felt the world tilt. His grandfather, Silas Hale, was the stuff of legends. He was a man who didn't believe in love, or loyalty, or family. He believed in systems. He believed in building machines that could last for centuries. To Silas, people were just parts. And if a part was broken, you threw it away."What did he say?" Jason asked, his voice a ghost of itself."He said you were a 'small vision,'" Franklin replied, reciting the words like a death sentence. "He said you let a woman and a university researcher take down an empire because you were distracted by your own emotions. He said you were a liability."Jason felt a surge of primal anger. "I built the company into a global powerhouse! I tripled the net worth! I did everything—""Y
The walls of the federal holding cell were painted a color that was supposed to be calming. It was a pale, sickly green that reminded Jason of a stagnant pond. There were no windows, no walnut desks, and no high-speed data feeds. The only sound was the constant, low hum of the ventilation system and the distant, metallic clang of doors opening and closing.Jason sat on the edge of the narrow cot, his hands folded in his lap. He was wearing an orange jumpsuit that felt like sandpaper against his skin. For a man who had spent his entire life in tailored silk and hand-stitched leather, the weight of the cheap fabric was a constant insult. But it wasn't the clothes that were breaking him. It was the silence.He had spent the last forty-eight hours trying to calculate a way out. He had run the numbers a thousand times in his head. He thought he knew every variable. He thought he knew who had betrayed him and why. He blamed Samantha for her defiance. He blamed Adrian for his persistence. He
The letter slipped from my fingers, fluttering to the floor. Nora let out a small, choked sob. Adrian grabbed the pocket watch and popped the back open. Inside, there was no clockwork. Instead, there was a small, glowing screen—a tracker. It was showing three red dots.One dot was in the safe house.One dot was at the federal holding center where Jason was being kept.And the third dot—the one moving fast—was already at the base of the hill."He's alive," I whispered. "Jason’s grandfather. The man who started everything. He’s the one who gave the money to Maria. He’s the one who let Nora stay on that land.""He didn't save us," Nora said, her voice filled with a sudden, cold realization. "He used us. He used you to destroy Jason and Eleanor because they were failing. He wanted them gone so he could start over.""With the baby," I said, a wave of nausea hitting me.The New GameThe realization hit me like a physical blow. The last six months hadn't been a battle for the truth. It had b







