the obsidian proxy
The city was alive out there, unaware of the silent war that had just claimed his life as collateral.
When he emerged into the alley behind Thorne Tower, the night hit him like a shockwave. Rain had begun to fall, a fine mist that soaked his hair and plastered his clothes to his body. The neon signs of the financial district glared down, their colors smeared into the wet concrete, painting his path in blood-red and electric blue.
Somewhere in the distance, a siren wailed. He knew it wasn’t for him—yet.
He moved through the city like a ghost, slipping into shadows, avoiding cameras, ducking into service passages that led to nowhere. His mind replayed Julian’s face again and again, the precise