MasukDarkness swallowed the room. The hum of the generators cut out mid-breath, leaving only rain hammering the roof. For three heartbeats there was nothing—no light, no sound, not even the usual static in Eli’s earpiece.Then a whisper slid into the silence.“Move, Eli.”He froze. The voice wasn’t coming from the loudspeakers this time; it was threaded directly into his comm.“The tower. You know which one.”Eli spun toward the table where the device sat. Its blue pulse had turned steady red, a single unblinking eye.“Damian!” he called.No reply. Somewhere deeper in the building, someone shouted orders—Cole, probably—but the words were lost in the screech of a rebooting fuse box.“He can’t hear you,” Carter’s voice said. “Power surge knocked his channel. You have five minutes before they get it back.”Eli’s pulse thudded in his throat. “Why are you doing this?”“Because you still don’t know the truth. The files you opened were only the surface. I can show you the rest—if you come alone.”
For a few seconds after the blast, there was no sound at all—just white light, weightless heat, and the taste of metal on the tongue. Then reality came roaring back: the hiss of burning oil, the rattle of rain against twisted steel, the low groan of structures dying.Eli forced air into his lungs. His ears rang; every breath hurt. He rolled onto his side and saw Damian half-propped on one elbow, blood streaking his temple, coat torn open.“Damian!”A cough, rough but alive. “I’m here.”Relief hit like another explosion. Eli crawled closer, checking him over. “You’re bleeding.”“It’s nothing.” He brushed the blood away, wincing. “Cole?”Static answered from the earpiece, then—“We’re clear! Repeat, we’re clear. Where the hell are you?”“South entrance,” Damian rasped. “We’re intact.”“Copy that. Hang tight—we’re coming in.”⸻They staggered to their feet. The hangar was a ruin: fire licking
The rain had stopped hours ago, but the sound of it still lingered — a phantom rhythm that refused to die. Outside, the Hale mansion stood in quiet defiance of the night it had just survived. The drive was littered with fallen leaves and the faint glimmer of puddles, while the faintest curl of mist hung low, catching the first slice of dawn.Inside, silence ruled — the uneasy kind that follows chaos.Eli woke to the sound of footsteps somewhere down the hall. For a few seconds, he lay still, staring at the ceiling, the events of the night replaying like a half-remembered nightmare: the storm, the blackout, the intrusion, the mask on the screen.Then came the memory of Damian’s voice — low, commanding, calm even in danger — and Eli felt the echo of that presence wrap around him again like invisible gravity.He got up, pulled on a shirt, and made his way toward the sound.⸻In the study, Damian stood by the tall window, one ha
The grandfather clock in the downstairs hall struck twelve.Each chime rolled through the mansion like a slow heartbeat.Damian and Eli stood in the east-wing corridor, the faint hum of the security lights the only sound between the echoes. The air was taut, expectant. Somewhere, a window shuddered in the wind.Eli whispered, “You said we’d make the next move. What’s the plan?”Damian’s eyes stayed fixed on the shadows ahead. “We turn the game on them. If they’re watching, they think they still control the board. We let them believe that—then we close the trap.”He pulled a small device from his pocket: a signal scanner. The tiny screen flickered with faint spikes. “Hidden transmitters. I planted decoys earlier. If they’re tuned in, they’ll follow the wrong feed.”Eli frowned. “You were planning this even before the message?”Damian didn’t look at him. “You don’t survive in my line of work without planning for ghosts.”Lightning flared outside, washing the corridor in white for an ins
The house had never felt so alive in its silence. Every creak of the old wood, every faint hum of rain against glass, became amplified in the dark. Eli stood frozen, his back pressed against the edge of the sofa. The faint glow from outside barely reached the living room, carving shadows into strange, unrecognizable shapes. Cole moved first. “Stay here,” he whispered, hand slipping to the holster at his hip. “No,” Damian said quietly. His voice was low, controlled, but Eli could hear the current of tension running under it. “They want us to split up. That’s the game.” Lily’s whisper trembled from the staircase. “There’s someone *in* the house?” “Quiet,” Damian murmured. A floorboard groaned again — this time from deeper down the hall, near the study. Cole raised his gun and took a slow step toward the noise, the faint beam of his flashlight cutting through the dark like a blade. Dust motes shimmered in the narrow light, then disappeared as he turned the corner. Seconds
The house felt heavier in the daylight. Rain had passed sometime before dawn, leaving the world washed-out and gray. Eli sat at the long dining table, elbows on the polished wood, trying not to look at the broken camera that Damian had left there like an accusation. The tiny metal shell gleamed dully, its lens cracked down the middle. It was proof of intrusion—and a reminder that someone had breached the one place Damian swore was safe. Footsteps sounded behind him. Damian entered without a word, shirt sleeves rolled, jaw tight. His presence filled the room before he even spoke. “You moved it,” he said. Eli blinked. “It was—just in the way when I was cleaning.” “I told you not to touch it.” The calm in Damian’s tone was worse than anger. He reached across the table, placed the camera exactly where it had been, and dusted his fingers off as though restoring order. “It’s evidence,” he said. “It’s trash,” Eli murmured. Damian’s eyes lifted—sharp, assessing. “Evidenc







