The silence in the underground garage was thick with secrets.
Henri stood by the blacked-out SUV, his jaw clenched, eyes locked on the encrypted drive Marcus had handed him. Elena leaned against the cool concrete wall, arms folded tightly across her chest. She hadn't said a word since seeing the image of her mother. The shock hadn't worn off—it had only hardened into something darker. Focus. Vengeance. Maybe even hope, but the dangerous kind—the kind that gets people killed.
"You're sure it was Ghost?" Henri finally asked, breaking the stillness.
Marcus gave a single nod. "No one else could've bypassed that many firewalls without tripping the motion sensors. Ghost has a signature—clean, efficient, like he was never there. But this time?" He handed Henri another chip. "He left a message."
Henri plugged the chip into the car's internal console. Static buzzed. Then a distorted voice filtered through the speakers:
"Tick tock, Marcellis. You were warned. The Syndicate doesn't tolerate broken oaths. You broke two. The next will cost you her life."
Elena looked up sharply. "Her?"
Henri's gaze met hers. Cold. Controlled. "You."
The silence that followed was like a void—swallowing every breath, every heartbeat.
"They're watching us," Elena said, her voice quiet, but steel-laced. "How close are they?"
Marcus stepped forward. "Close enough that I found a drone above your penthouse this morning. Stealth-grade. Government tech. Not something street-level Syndicate scum would have access to."
Henri ran a hand through his hair. "That means Ghost has a benefactor. Someone inside."
"Or someone above," Marcus corrected. "The Syndicate may not be as decentralized as we thought. Ghost isn't freelance anymore. He's got a handler."
Elena's fists clenched. "And we're the target."
Henri nodded. "Then we change the game."
Back at the Penthouse
Henri sat at the large conference-style dining table, the lights dimmed. A digital map of the city was projected across the tabletop, dozens of red pins marking Syndicate hotspots. Elena paced behind him, arms folded, eyes narrowed in thought.
"We need access to the Syndicate's primary network," she said. *"If we can trace Ghost's signal—"
"—He'll trace us back," Henri cut in. "This guy's not just smart. He's surgical. One wrong move, and he'll erase us before we even hit Enter."
"So we need someone who's worked with him," she replied, stopping behind his chair.
Henri tapped a finger on a blinking red dot at the city's southern edge. "There's one person. Renzo Carvalli."
Elena raised an eyebrow. "The weapons dealer?"
Henri nodded. "And one of Ghost's oldest clients. Renzo worked logistics for the Syndicate's shadow operations until he went rogue three years ago. Lives off-grid now, somewhere in the Desert Crescent. If anyone knows how to find Ghost, it's him."
Elena frowned. "So why hasn't the Syndicate killed him?"
Henri looked up. "Because he's too valuable. And too dangerous. But we're not going to ask for his help."
"We're going to blackmail him," she said, catching on.
A smirk tugged at Henri's lips. "Welcome to the family business."
Two Days Later – Desert Crescent
The heat was brutal. A sunburned wasteland stretching across miles of dust, sand, and silence. Their armored jeep rattled along the broken highway, tires spitting gravel into the air.
Elena sat beside Henri, a small pistol tucked into her waistband, sweat trickling down her spine. "Remind me again why Renzo would even talk to us?"
"Because we have something he wants," Henri replied, eyes locked on the road. "Or rather, something he lost."
"Which is?"
He glanced at her. "His daughter."
Elena blinked. "You said she was dead."
Henri shook his head. "The Syndicate took her. Renzo's been trying to find her ever since. What he doesn't know is... I found her two years ago. Alive."
Elena stared. "And you didn't tell him?"
"I needed leverage," Henri said simply. "She's safe. Hidden. But Renzo will want her back. And in exchange, he'll give us Ghost's location."
"You play dirty."
"That's why I'm still alive."
The Compound
Renzo's hideout was a fortress of metal and stone, nestled between two cliffs. Security drones hovered above the walls, while guards in tactical armor patrolled the perimeter with assault rifles.
Henri and Elena approached unarmed, hands visible, steps slow.
Renzo met them at the gate.
He was older than the pictures—grey streaking through thick black hair, skin leathered by sun and war. His eyes, however, were sharp. Intelligent. Paranoid.
"I told you never to come here again," he growled at Henri.
"And yet here I am," Henri replied coolly. "With something you've been looking for."
Renzo's gaze flicked to Elena, then back. "You've got ten seconds to explain."
Henri held up a tablet. "Her name's Livia. She's alive. These photos were taken a week ago. I have her location."
Renzo's hands trembled as he took the device, scrolling through the images. Then his expression changed—from suspicion to fury.
"You kept her from me," he said, voice low and dangerous.
Henri didn't flinch. "And I'll return her. But only if you give us what we need."
"What?"
"Ghost."
Renzo exhaled slowly, the rage still simmering beneath the surface. "You're insane. You want me to hand you over to a ghost?"
"No," Henri said. "I want you to give me a way to trap him."
Renzo stared long and hard, then finally gave a small nod.
"Fine. But if anything happens to my daughter—anything—I'll burn every inch of your empire to the ground."
The Setup
That night, back at a safe house Renzo provided, Henri worked on calibrating the decoy signal.
Elena watched from the couch, exhaustion catching up to her. "How do you know this will work?"
"Ghost has a habit of eavesdropping on Syndicate frequencies. We plant a fake transmission—say, the location of a council summit—and Ghost will intercept it. He won't resist the bait. Too much power in one room."
"And when he shows?"
Henri met her gaze. "We catch him."
Elena nodded, her voice barely above a whisper. "What if he's the one who took my mom?"
Henri hesitated. "Then we make him talk."
She walked over, sat beside him. The silence between them now was less hostile. He could feel the tension shifting. The war outside wasn't the only thing unraveling—it was whatever they were becoming.
"What happens after this?" she asked.
"After we win?"
She nodded.
He looked at her, really looked. "I don't know. Maybe we stop running."
"Maybe we try living," she said softly.
And for a brief second, in the chaos of war, there was peace.
Next File: File 23 — The Trap Is Set