The morning sun barely touched the crumbling windows of the safehouse. Dust particles danced in the air as Nam awoke with a start, his hand gripping the pistol beside him. The night had offered little rest—only fragmented thoughts and unfinished plans.
He moved to the small desk and unfolded the map Lena had slipped into his coat pocket. Red circles marked locations across Europe and the Middle East—places where whispers of "Blackout" had surfaced. But one stood out above the rest: Bucharest.
A knock—three short, one long.
Nam's body tensed. That was the code Lena promised to use. He opened the door cautiously.
A man in his late forties stood there, sharp-eyed and battle-worn. His name was Malik, a former MI6 operative turned ghost agent. Lena had once described him as "a man who knows where all the bodies are buried—and which ones might rise again."
"You're either brave or stupid to be chasing Blackout," Malik said, stepping inside without invitation. "Either way, I'm here because I owe Lena a favor. And you… apparently you've stirred the hornet's nest."
Nam offered him a chair. "I need intel. Everything you have on Jonas Ford."
Malik raised an eyebrow. "Ford? You're going after him?"
"He's linked to the origins of Project Blackout."
Malik exhaled slowly. "Then you're diving straight into the belly of the beast. Ford's a phantom now—disavowed, erased. But rumors say he's in Romania, protected by a private militia and local politicians on his payroll."
Nam leaned forward. "Can you get me to him?"
"I can do better," Malik said, reaching into his coat and sliding over a USB drive. "Encrypted data. Ford's last known movements. Surveillance photos. Voice snippets. But you'll need to decrypt it—and fast. The second you plug that in, someone will know you're looking."
Nam took the drive. His path was clear.
Malik stood. "You'll find him in the old city, under the guise of an NGO executive. But don't go in guns blazing. Ford plays chess. And if you're a threat, he'll remove you before you take your first step."
Nam nodded. "Thanks."
"One more thing," Malik said, pausing at the door. "Whatever Ford tells you—verify it. He's a master manipulator. The truth, for him, is a weapon."
As the door closed behind Malik, Nam stared at the USB in his hand. The trap had been set—and he was about to walk straight into it.
But this time, he was ready.