The Devil In White
Half my men gone in one night, not because of weakness, but because of betrayal.
“Any survivors?” I ask finally.
Luca nods toward two men kneeling in the dirt, coughing. “Barely. They said the attackers were wearing masks. No insignia. Military precision.”
I crouch beside a blackened wall, running my fingers over a metal panel. Something catches my eye, carved deep beneath the soot. A mark.
A triangle split by a single line. My father’s symbol.
The one he used for unofficial alliances, the kind he never recorded, the kind meant to vanish if he did.