Dusk.
Birds retreated to their nests, the golden sun folding itself behind the skyline as shadows grew long across the city. The day exhaled its final breath, and in its silence, the underworld came alive.
Above the clean streets and polished buildings, the surface looked asleep. But beneath—the veins of power, blood, betrayal—stirred awake. Deals were being made. Guns were being loaded. Loyalties tested. And at the center of it all, two kingdoms poised for collision.
Inside a sleek, high-rise tower built more like a fortress than an office, Tyson leaned over his mahogany desk, eyes fixed on the blueprint spread before him. His expression was sharp, jaw locked, a storm of calculations behind his dark eyes.
Across from him stood his father—taller, colder, with a presence that demanded silence. And beside him, Jack, Tyson's trusted associate, a man whose loyalty had never wavered but whose smile always seemed one layer too calm.
"The hit's confirmed. She's coming tonight," Jack said quietly, eyes flicking between the men.
Tyson didn't flinch. "Let her come."
His father crossed his arms. "You're sure about this tactic? No guards? No eyes?"
"We don't need eyes when the ears are everywhere," Tyson replied. "Every base that once housed our weapons has been emptied. Most of them are sealed from the inside. Others—" he tapped the blueprint—"rigged."
"Bombs," Jack muttered. "Top-level only."
"Exactly," Tyson said. "No one's stationed. No one will be sacrificed. If she steps in, she'll either find nothing—or she'll find hell."
His father raised an eyebrow. "You're trying to break her spirit."
"I don't need to break it," Tyson said darkly. "Just bend it enough to remind her who she's dealing with."
Jack tilted his head. "You think she'll still come after seeing how the last three locations were ghosted?"
"She has to," Tyson murmured, standing up straight. "If she doesn't, she'll look weak. And Tesmee Michaelson doesn't do weak. She'll come because she wants to prove she's two steps ahead. She'll come because she thinks she still holds the cards."
His father's gaze lingered. "And what if she's not alone?"
"She never is. The sniper. The assassin. The ghost behind the screen," Tyson said. "I've read her pattern. But this time, she's not walking into a challenge. She's walking into a graveyard."
Meanwhile, across the city, under a flickering streetlight and the stillness of a silent lot, a sleek black BMW M8 GTR sat tucked in the shadows. Its body gleamed like oil under the moonlight, and the soft red glow of the headlights pulsed like a heartbeat.
Inside, Tesmee sat in the driver's seat, arms crossed over the steering wheel, her laptop propped open before her. On the screen, lines of encrypted code flickered as she shared visuals with Lyra, her hacker.
"Zoom in on the South sector again," Tesmee murmured.
Lyra's voice came through, calm but clipped. "Still no sign of movement. No guards. No thermal signals. No transmissions. Either this is the cleanest ghost site we've seen, or—"
"—or it's a damn trap," Tesmee finished, eyes narrowing.
She glanced around the parking lot. It was too quiet. The kind of quiet that wasn't natural. The kind that felt scripted.
Her fingers tapped anxiously against the steering wheel. Her chest rose and fell in uneven rhythm. It wasn't fear—not exactly. It was something else.
That inexplicable unrest before you step onto a stage. The shaking certainty that something will go wrong, even when every line has been rehearsed. Her hands were steady, but her heart skipped beats like a scratched vinyl.
"Why does this feel wrong?" she asked under her breath.
"Because it is," Lyra replied. "Tyson's not playing the same game anymore. He's not defending the weapon—he's burying it."
Tesmee's jaw clenched. "Which means getting to it will cost us more than just bruises."
"Or he's already moved it again," Lyra said. "What we're seeing might be nothing but a shell. Just like the last three."
Tesmee stared at the screen, expression unreadable. "He's baiting us. He wants us to make the first mistake."
"Then maybe we pull back. Reroute."
But Tesmee shook her head slowly. "No. We go. We just don't go blind."
A short pause passed.
"You want the assassin and Blake in first?" Lyra asked.
"No. We go dark first," Tesmee answered. "You scan for heat after every move. Blake gets eyes on the rooftops. If Seig sees even one inconsistency inside, he pulls back. No silent heroism."
"And if there's nothing?" Lyra asked.
Tesmee looked out at the city, eyes shadowed in thought. "Then we find out why he wants us there so badly."
The weight in her chest wouldn't lift. A tension curled deep in her spine, instinct screaming in a language her logic couldn't decode.
Tonight wasn't just another heist. It wasn't a battle for territory. It was something else. She could feel it, like a storm waiting behind clear skies.
She closed the laptop and exhaled slowly, hands gripping the steering wheel.
"Let's move," she whispered.
Lyra's voice came back firm. "You got it, boss."
As the BMW roared to life and slipped out of the shadows, the city above remained silent. But beneath it all, threads were tightening. Paths were crossing. And as dusk melted into night, the calm before the collapse drew its final breath.
Seig adjusted the strap of his holster as he crouched low on a rooftop, his sharp gaze fixed on the building below—a supposed base Tyson once used. But tonight, it looked hollow. Too perfect. It was the kind of silence that screamed deception.
Behind him, Chan sat cross-legged with a compact laptop balanced on her knees, her drone screen feeds blinking quietly. Her short hair was tucked beneath a dark cap, and her sniper rifle was dismantled beside her, ready to be assembled in seconds.
Vhernom and Tiger had already taken higher vantage points across the zone, their scopes trained on the target's blind spots. The three of them—precision incarnate—moved as one lethal mind when the moment called.
Lyra's voice came in through the comms, calm and composed. "Still no movement, thermal's flat. But I've patched into satellite feed through a military bypass. We'll have full rooftop-to-basement mapping soon."
Seig pressed a finger to his earpiece. "Roger that. Formation is stable. We've covered all angles."
Lyra responded quickly, "Good. Keep Chan behind you and don't let Tiger or Vhernom pull fire unless confirmed. Boss wants eyes before bullets."
Seig's eyes flicked across the horizon, his voice low and cold. "We're not backing out. There's something down there. Even if it's buried under ten layers of concrete and ghosts."
Chan looked up briefly from her screen. "Just got a signal bounce on the southeast quadrant. Not power. It's something… flickering. Could be a jammer—or a disguised entrance."
"Trap or treasure," Seig muttered, his gaze hardening.
"Doesn't matter," Vhernom's voice crackled over the comms. "We're locked in."
Tiger's deep voice followed: "Orders are orders."
Seig exhaled, steady and precise. "Then we follow the rhythm. Eyes sharp. Triggers cold. Until she says otherwise."
And with that, the silence fell again. Watchful. Tense.
The calm before the collapse.
Back in the city, Tesmee's BMW M8 GTR tore through empty lanes like a panther unleashed—its black body absorbing the shadows, its red headlights slicing the streets in half. She was locked in, one hand on the steering wheel, the other holding her phone as her laptop buzzed beside her. She stared at the shared satellite feeds, her expression unreadable. The plan had moved too fast—shifted beneath her feet.
Her instincts—it wasn't fear exactly—it was that bone-deep tension before facing an unseen enemy.
Then Lorenzo's voice burst through.
"TELL THEM TO EVACUATE THE AREA!! THEY'RE SENSING BOMBS!!"
It was a bark of urgency that cut through the air like a whip.
Tesmee's foot slammed the brake. The car screeched—metal and rubber screaming against concrete. Her chest jerked forward as the seatbelt caught her. People on the sidewalk looked back, startled, but she didn't even notice them. Her heart thundered.
She reached for her comms and shouted, "Lyra!"
Lyra's voice came through instantly, steady but confused. "Boss?"
"Tell everyone to evacuate in less than two minutes! Now! Do you hear me?"
Silence.
Then Lyra's voice sharpened. "Copy that. Engaging emergency relay."
On the rooftop, Seig's eyes flicked toward the entrance of the base.
"What's happening?" he asked.
"Abort mission," Lyra's voice echoed in all earpieces. "Evacuate immediately. We've confirmed explosive sensors across multiple zones. Boss's orders. Two minutes. MOVE."
Seig didn't argue. "Tiger, Chan, Vhernom—fall back. Regroup point Delta-7."
"Already moving," Vhernom confirmed.
Chan snapped her laptop shut, packing with machine-like precision as she backed toward the ladder. Tiger's rifle was already disassembled and tucked away as he vanished into the night.
Seig gave the building one last look before whispering, "Smart move, Tyson. You buried silence with fire."
One minute.
That was all the time they had left.
The air felt thick—time dragging but speeding all at once.
The rooftops were cleared, alley shadows now empty. Chan disappeared into a van driven by one of Tesmee's men. Tiger sprinted across the parallel building, rifle secured across his back. Vhernom moved like a phantom, already blending with the city's veins.
Seig was the last to drop down the side of the structure, landing hard and fast. He didn't look back.
Then—
BOOM!!!!!!
The earth shuddered.
A thunderous explosion erupted behind them, splitting the silence with an unholy roar. The entire base ignited in a violent cascade of orange and white fire—blinding, brilliant, consuming.
A flame so bright it painted the night sky like false daylight. The shockwave flung dust, shards, and the very breath of the street into the air. Glass shattered across the block. Cars rattled. Alarms screamed like distant cries for mercy.
And then, silence again.
But it wasn't peace—it was the silence of loss.
Of confirmation.
Of a trap that was never meant to be survived.
From inside her car, Tesmee's fingers tightened around the wheel, her jaw clenched. Her red headlights reflected the inferno still burning in the rearview.
She exhaled once, sharp and controlled. Then pressed the comms.
"Let's meet at Delta 7. Now."
"Roger that," Seig answered, voice low.
Lyra responded next. "Copy, Boss. Everyone's safe. No injuries."
"Good," Tesmee said, her voice cool, but beneath it was steel. "I want full visual on Tyson's next move. If he wants to play fire, we'll bring him a storm."