INICIAR SESIÓNI am so grateful for being able to finally get back to my writing.
The next three months felt like a sabbatical in suspended reality. Reid and Alessandra lived quietly and cautiously, always alert beneath the surface of normalcy.Cloaked in layers of anonymization, Reid worked remotely through a maze of encrypted channels with his legal team, who helped him meticulously reclaim control of CipherCore’s intellectual property.The process was complex, riddled with legal landmines left by Vaughn’s collapsing empire. Still, it was his now. Reid wasn’t building an empire; he was reclaiming his mind and his legacy, digital brick by digital brick.The flaw Reid had buried in CipherCore’s code—the very one that set the whole chain reaction in motion—became the key for proving his true ownership in the court’s digital forensics. It was poetic justice, as Alessandra had said.Alessandra spent her free time tending to the life unfolding inside her. She read voraciously, painted the terrace’s stunning vistas whenever she could, and learned to cook local dishes.H
Trickles of rain fell on the island of Symi. It was not the cold, lashing needles of Seattle but a warm, gentle curtain that caressed the whitewashed buildings and terracotta roofs, filling the air with salt and damp earth. It was neat rain, as if the island had been dusted clean.Reid Brecken stood on the terrace of a small, vine-draped villa high above the cobalt Aegean, lost in thought as droplets traced slow paths down the bougainvillea.Six months had passed since the fuel truck roared into the muddy hills, six months since Dante West’s blood stained the Mariposa tarmac.He leaned on the railing; the titanium brace on his left leg clicked faintly in time with the rain. The surgeons in Athens had done fine work, but some things, like his soul, would always carry the scars of that night. He flexed the hand that had gripped the wrench, the knuckles still bearing pale marks where they’d met West’s jaw.The biomod alterations were gone, leaving only the familiar, if more weathered, li
Alessandra didn’t feel like parting with the briefcase; she tightened her grip on it and took a half-step back.“And then what? Will our lives return to normal? West might be dead, but his masters aren’t. The consortium still exists. They’ll want to bury this—bury us too, if they have to.”“You don’t have a choice, Mrs. Sterling,” Reyes said, her voice hardening.The other agents subtly shifted into ready stances.Reid, leaning heavily against Alessandra, struggled to sit up. His gaze slid past Reyes, toward the yawning hangar door.Outside in the waning rain, twilight shone faintly, like a gray smear across the horizon. Near the hangar’s service entrance sat the fuel truck Alessandra had mentioned earlier—its cab deserted, silent.Reid glanced back at Reyes, then at the briefcase, and West’s last words echoed in his mind: The ghost remains. And it knows your name.Handing over the briefcase meant trusting a system that had already failed him spectacularly—a system the consortium had u
West and Reid locked into a brutal tug-of-war, wrestled for the briefcase, the object that embodied their war. West, stronger, began to wrench it free. Reid, driven by pure desperation, clung on, fingers sliding on rain-slick leather..“Let go, fool!” West snarled, driving a knee into Reid’s belly. Reid cried out, and his grip faltered. West ripped the case free and raised it like a hammer, aiming to smash it down on Reid’s skull.A pistol report cracked. West flinched as a small hole opened in his suit below the sternum. His face registered shock, then slow understanding. The case slipped from his numb fingers and hit the floor with a heavy thud. He took a stumbling step back, groping the wound as blood slicked his hand.Reid looked past West. Near the hangar door, half-hidden by a forklift, Agent Reyes stood in a soaked FBI windbreaker. Reid had glimpsed her once during CipherCore’s collapse; now her face was hard with determination and her service pistol steady in a two-handed grip
Reid had no time to think. He acted. Years of bottled-up rage, the desperate need to protect Alessandra and their unborn child, and the ghost of Zain’s terrified face—all of it exploded into one ruthless will to survive.He lunged forward, not back, into the arc of the pistol. His left hand slapped upward, knocking West’s gun arm aside just as the shot cracked and the bullet tore through the air where Reid’s head had been. His right hand, clenched into a fist and powered by every ounce of fury and fear, drove up like a piston and slammed into West’s jaw with a sickening crack.West’s head snapped back and the pistol flew from his grasp, clattering across the rain-slicked hangar floor. Surprise—raw and uncharacteristic—flickered over his eyes, then vanished beneath a wave of primal fury. He staggered, blood blooming at his split lip, but he didn’t fall.Ruthless conditioning kicked in. He recovered in an instant and lashed out, not with a fist but with the reinforced corner of the brie
Reid’s mind raced as he contemplated their next move. Charging in would be suicide; they needed to ground the jet. But how?His eyes scanned the hangar for plausible tools or equipment he could use. Then he saw it—an external power cart plugged into the jet’s auxiliary port, supplying ground power while the engines spooled. The plan was reckless, but brilliant.“You’ll have to create a distraction,” he whispered to Alessandra. “Near the main hangar door will do. Just hold their attention for about thirty seconds.”Alessandra didn’t ask for details. She nodded, produced a small incendiary device from a hidden pocket—part of her prep kit—and said, “Make it count, Reid.” She melted into the shadows, circling toward the front of the hangar.Reid moved like a phantom, keeping low and using stacks of crates and parked ground equipment for cover. The roar of the jet and the pounding rain were his allies as he crept forward until he reached the power cart—a heavy unit that hummed softly. He n







