Southern Tavara, outskirts of the abandoned Eloran Research Facility
The night air was crisp, scented with damp earth and rusted metal. Hidden in the belly of Tavara's forgotten industrial zone, the Eloran Facility stood like a decaying beast—its walls cracked, vines creeping through shattered windows, and its silence thick with secrets.
Nora crouched behind a half-collapsed wall, her breathing measured. Her senses were sharp, eyes glinting as she surveyed the area. Her fingers moved across the compact device in her palm, scrambling surveillance feeds and creating phantom signals across five sectors.
She had twenty minutes before reinforcements would arrive — not for her safety, but to ensure she didn't leave alive.
Her mind raced as she patched into Damien's private comms. "Approaching rendezvous. Hostiles active. Extraction needs to be immediate."
Back at Damien's underground command center, tension rippled across the room. He watched her body cam feed on the central screen. She was bruised but composed, her discipline both mesmerizing and agonizing to witness.
"Phantom Squad is in motion," Damien said, his voice clipped. "Five minutes out. Hold position, and keep the neural shield up."
Nora smirked faintly. "Always do."
Behind her calm, Nora was calculating a hundred outcomes per second. She'd spent years mastering the art of survival. Cultivation had sharpened her body. Code had refined her mind. But it was instinct — raw, untamed — that would keep her alive tonight.
A sudden flicker in the shadows. Movement.
She ducked. A silencer hissed — the bullet whizzing past her head, embedding itself into the cracked cement behind her. She rolled, kicked up, and launched a blade that embedded itself into the attacker's neck.
Two more emerged. Nora's hands blurred — a flurry of strikes, each one devastatingly precise. In under thirty seconds, the attackers were down.
She didn't stop to celebrate.
At that moment, a sleek black hover-vehicle descended silently from the sky, its surface reflecting the moonlight like ink. The doors opened with a hiss, and out stepped the Phantom Squad — elite operatives in full gear.
"Dr. Kessler," their leader said, using her public alias. "Let's move."
As they ushered her in, Nora glanced over her shoulder, her gaze lingering on the facility. There were things she hadn't told Damien yet—fragments of intel that could shift the entire war.
But now wasn't the time.
Back at the estate, Damien stood alone in his private chamber. The glass walls offered a panoramic view of Tavara's skyline, the city's glow flickering like embers.
He held a worn photo in his hand — one of his father standing beside men he now knew were enemies. Betrayal ran deep in the veins of power. Damien had grown up learning to strike before he bled. But this… this felt different.
Nora had become more than an ally. And that was dangerous.
The doors opened behind him.
"She's safe," Marcus reported. "No casualties. But she brought something with her."
Damien turned slowly. "What?"
"Proof. Of who's backing the Syndicate."
Damien's pulse quickened. "Show me."
Moments later, in the war room, Nora stood before him, a datapad in her hand. She looked different — battle-worn, blood on her cheek, hair tousled. But her eyes… her eyes were the same—unyielding and sharp as steel.
She placed the datapad on the table and tapped it. The projection showed a series of coded signatures and financial transactions linking the Syndicate to a name neither had expected to see.
"The Blackridge Corporation," Nora said. "And their Tavaran liaison is a member of Parliament."
Damien's jaw clenched.
"That's not all," Nora added, stepping closer. "They're also tracking someone… using biometric data tied to high-ranking bloodlines. It might be you."
A cold silence fell between them. Nora didn't say what they were both thinking: If they could track him, they might already know who he truly was.
Damien didn't blink. "Then we hit them first."
She nodded, her voice soft. "Together."
But under that calm, both carried unspoken truths. Nora had glimpsed a coded transmission—Damien's personal channel. And Damien had found an encrypted drive in Nora's gear.
Neither had confronted the other yet.
Because trust, like power, was always earned in war.