The Haven war room felt colder than usual.
The walls buzzed faintly with magnetic insulation, and the circular table at the center—usually alive with blueprints and animated feeds—sat dark. Only one section of the surface glowed: a blinking red marker over Sector Nine—the last known location of Zara.
Asher stood with his arms folded, eyes fixed on the blinking dot like it owed him answers.
Rafe leaned over the table, running a gloved hand through his thick curls. "I've looked through every archive, every map of that zone. There's nothing official about it, but the pattern fits. Hidden structure. Suppressed signals. That's where they're keeping her."
"The Crimson Depths," Mira muttered from the side. "No one's been down there in a decade. Last team that went in never came out."
Asher didn't blink. "Then we'll be the first."
Silence followed.
Rafe whistled low. "You do realize that place is practically a myth, right? It's not just locked—it's off-grid. No signal. No exits. Boobytrapped out the ass with rogue AI and forgotten tech. If she's really there... someone wants her lost."
"Which means we need to act before the trail goes cold," Asher replied. "We're not playing safe anymore."
Mira paced. "We'll need more than a suicide mission. We need intel, disrupt tech, firepower—something that can punch through static fields and surveillance shields."
"I know someone," Rafe said reluctantly. "Name's Talon. Used to be a smuggler, then went rogue. Specializes in breaking into places that don't want to be found."
Asher raised an eyebrow. "Can we trust him?"
"No. But if we pay him enough, we won't need to."
An hour later, the war room door opened again.
Wren entered, shoulders hunched, blue bangs falling in her eyes. The glow of her visor blinked like a heartbeat as she approached the table and slapped down a chip.
"Managed to decrypt a piece of Zara's bio-feed before it went dark," she said quickly. "You're not gonna like it."
The chip activated.
Zara's vitals appeared—then flatlined. A second later, they flickered again. Not dead. Just... buried.
"She's alive," Asher whispered.
"Barely," Wren said. "But whatever's suppressing her signal is stronger than anything I've seen before. We're talking deep-core tech—surface-grade suppression towers linked through archaic channels. This was premeditated."
Asher closed his hand into a fist. "Then someone planned to disappear her."
Mira's voice was ice. "The Council."
Rafe didn't argue.
Later that night, Asher stood atop the balcony outside his room, watching the lights of the Undercity flicker like dying stars.
He could feel it again—that pressure in his chest. That call. Justice. Waiting. The punishment yearning to be unleashed. He hadn't used it since Zara disappeared. Hadn't dared. Without balance, the flaw could consume him.
Mira joined him quietly.
"You know," she said, "Zara used to say the only reason you're still breathing is because your rage has a leash."
He looked at her. "She said that?"
"She did. Then she added, 'but one day he's going to rip that leash in two, and I just hope I'm not standing in front of him when he does.'"
He didn't smile, but he felt the ghost of her voice curl inside his ribcage.
"I don't want to be a leader," Asher murmured.
"You're not," Mira said. "You're a symbol. There's a difference."
By morning, the war room had changed.
The squad gathered—Rafe, Mira, Wren, and two new additions: a sniper named Silas, who had once served under Zara, and a brute-forcer named Echo, a mute Shatterborn with seismic abilities and titanium-infused skin.
Talon hadn't arrived yet, but he would.
He had to.
Asher mapped the plan with Rafe and Mira on either side. "We divide the infiltration into three phases," he began. "Disruption. Extraction. Collapse."
"Collapse?" Wren asked.
"If we get Zara, we make sure they can never use that facility again," Asher said. "Burn it from the inside."
No one objected.
They were past diplomacy now.
***
The Black Spine was not the kind of place you walked into—you descended.
Cut into the belly of the Undercity, the club sat beneath a forgotten monorail station, lit by flickering neon in the shape of a jagged spade. Smoke drifted from vents like exhaled secrets. No one made eye contact. Everyone carried a weapon—visible, on purpose.
Asher adjusted the collar of his coat as the crew entered, Rafe at his right, Mira flanking the rear, Wren already filtering data through her visor.
"This is where Talon does business?" Asher asked under his breath.
Rafe smirked. "Talon doesn't do business. He conducts symphonies. But yeah, this is his opera house."
They pushed through a heavy iron door marked by two symbols: the Spade, and a shattered eye—symbol of those who'd once been Council loyalists but had gone rogue. Talon's calling card.
Inside, sound swallowed them.
Bass rumbled through the floor. Lights pulsed red, then blue, then ultraviolet. A dozen tables circled a raised glass platform where dancers moved in fluid defiance of gravity. No rules here—just power, money, and desperation.
They found him in the back, seated in a semicircle booth made of black leather, a curved dagger spinning between his fingers.
Talon looked younger than his reputation—maybe thirty, but with silver in his hair that wasn't dye. His eyes were mismatched: one brown, the other glassy blue, cybernetic.
When he saw Rafe, he smirked. "The pretty boy returns."
"Still alive," Rafe replied, sliding in across from him. "You're slipping."
"Mm. And you brought friends." Talon's eyes landed on Asher. "You're the one causing all the tremors lately."
"I need a way into the Crimson Depths," Asher said flatly. No handshake. No pleasantries.
Talon leaned back, amused. "Straight to it, huh? You must be the Shatterborn who thinks justice is a compass and not a loaded gun."
Asher's fingers twitched.
"Relax," Talon said, sipping something purple from a crystal glass. "You don't need to threaten me. I've already agreed."
Asher blinked. "What?"
"You want in," Talon said. "I want a favor. You help me steal something from the Council's inner vault, and I'll get you into the Depths."
Mira narrowed her eyes. "What kind of something?"
Talon grinned. "An identity drive. One of the originals. They say it holds the first registration log of all Shatterborn ever recorded. Including their true names… and what the Council erased."
Silence sat at the table like a fifth shadow.
"You're insane," Rafe muttered. "That vault's locked tighter than the Apex."
"I don't need you to get me in, Rafe," Talon said, swirling his drink. "I need you to get me out. That's where you're best. And your boy here..." he nodded at Asher, "...he'll be the distraction."
Asher's eyes darkened. "You're risking lives for information?"
"I'm risking lives for truth," Talon said. "And you should understand that better than anyone, Mr. Instant Judgment."
Wren tapped her visor. "If we do this, we'll have full Council heat on us. No more hiding."
"They already know you're coming," Talon said simply. "I'm just offering a chance to hit them first."
An hour later, they regrouped at Haven.
The mood was electric. Angry. Focused.
"This is suicide," Mira snapped. "We're not ready."
"Neither are they," Asher said. "And we're running out of time. Zara doesn't have time."
Rafe looked up from the vault schematic projected onto the table. "He's not wrong. But if we do this, we burn our safe cards. The Council will put a death order on all of us."
"They already would have if they didn't think we were just a rumor," Wren added. "This will make us a revolution."
Asher stood in silence for a moment, then said, "We do it."
He looked around at his crew—his family, now.
"Mira. Rafe. Wren. You're with me. Talon leads the extraction with Echo and Silas. Once we have the drive, we get our way into the Depths, rescue Zara, and burn the place behind us."
"And if Talon turns on us?" Mira asked.
Asher's voice was steel. "He won't get the chance."
Back at the Black Spine, Talon stood on the balcony, watching the lights of the Undercity shift like a restless tide.
Beside him, a shadow moved.
"You think they'll actually pull it off?" the voice asked.
Talon didn't answer immediately. Then: "I don't know. But I do know one thing."
"What?"
"Justice is coming," he said. "And it's wearing a haunted face."