The man in the tailored suit stood like a statue.
He didn’t speak, didn’t flinch. But his eyes—sharp, unblinking—were fixed on the letter I clutched, as if that scrap of paper was the only thing holding the universe together.

Elijah lay limp in my arms. His face had drained of all color, lips turning icy. Each breath rattled through him, slower, weaker. I couldn’t waste a second. My hands moved on their own, tearing the envelope apart with shaking fingers.

No long confession, no desperate scrawl.
Just a single photograph—old, faded at the corners. On the back: an address scribbled in hurried strokes. And beneath it, in thick black ink, one name:

Alexander Ward.

The instant my eyes landed on it, the smirk vanished from the man’s face. His jaw locked tight. His voice, when it came, was like a blade scraping stone.

“You shouldn’t have read that.”

I tightened my grip on the letter. “Who is Alexander Ward?”

He took a slow step toward me, his polished shoes crunching against the broken boards. “That name… is enough to burn this city to ash. Tear it up. Pretend you never saw it. If you value your life—”

A deafening horn cut him off. A freight train roared through the yard outside, shaking the shack so violently dust rained from the ceiling. The ground trembled beneath my boots, but the man in the suit didn’t look away from me. Not once.

Elijah stirred faintly, forcing his eyes open. His whisper barely reached me.
“Find him… Nathan… before they do.”

And then his head fell back again, too heavy, too lifeless.

“Eli!” My chest clenched in terror. “Stay with me! Don’t you dare leave me!”

The man in the suit didn’t even blink. His voice turned to ice.
“Go chasing Alexander Ward, and you’ll be dragging yourself—and your brother—into the grave. That is, if he even survives the night.”

I stood up fast, planting myself between him and Elijah. My blood boiled. “Then tell me—why are you so afraid of him?”

A flicker of amusement ghosted across his lips.
“Because Ward is the only man alive who knows the truth about your mother… and why you were stolen.”

The words crashed into me, stealing the air from my lungs. The paper crumpled under the force of my grip.

Before I could demand more, Clarissa stepped forward, her gun raised steady.

“Back away,” she ordered.

That crooked smile returned to his face. “Still playing the hero, Clarissa? You were one of us once. You know exactly how this ends.”

“I also know you’re not leaving with that letter,” she fired back.

The shack fell into silence. Drip, drip, drip—from a leak in the roof. Elijah’s ragged breathing. Nothing else.

Finally, the man retreated one step. His eyes lingered on me, glinting with promise.
“This isn’t over, Nathan. That letter will destroy you. And when it does…” He let the words curl like smoke. “…I’ll be there to watch.”

With that, he turned, limping into the shadows of the rail yard until he disappeared.

The silence that followed wasn’t calm. It was heavy, suffocating. My hands trembled—not from fear, but from something sharper. Rage.

I turned to Clarissa. My voice was steady, though fire burned behind it. “We’re going to that address. Tonight.”

Her eyes widened. “Nathan, you don’t understand—”

“I understand enough,” I cut her off. “Ward knows where my mother is. And if I have to burn this whole city to the ground to reach her, I will.”

From the corner, Evelyn winced as she tried to rise, clutching her bleeding shoulder. “You have no idea how dangerous Ward is. He worked for your father before the fire. He was the one man your father trusted… with everything.”

I spun toward her, my voice sharp. “Then where is he now?”

Her hesitation spoke louder than words. She looked at Clarissa, then back at me. “That address—it’s not his home. It’s a safehouse. If Ward is there, it means he’s running from the same people chasing you.”

Clarissa shook her head firmly. “You can’t just walk into Ward’s den without backup. He trusts no one. If he thinks you’re with them, he won’t ask questions. He’ll put a bullet through your skull.”

I looked down at Elijah. His breath stuttered, shallow but still there. His fingers twitched against mine, stubbornly holding on. For me.

“I’m going,” I said. My voice was iron. “With or without you.”

Clarissa didn’t argue. But she didn’t move to stop me either.

The night swallowed us whole as we slipped out of the shack. The rail yard stretched endless, every shadow alive with menace. Chains rattled in the wind, rusted beams creaked, footsteps echoed where no one should be walking. I held Evelyn steady as we crept closer.

The safehouse was only two streets away. It crouched behind a warehouse, pretending to be abandoned—windows boarded, the door half-broken. But then I saw it. A faint red dot glowing on the wall. A camera.

“They’re watching,” I muttered.

Clarissa strode up and knocked—three times, pause, then twice more. “It’s me,” she called.

For a moment, nothing. Then, slow as death, the door creaked open.

A tall figure filled the frame. Broad shoulders, a beard shot with gray, eyes like cold steel. In his hand—a pistol, aimed straight at my chest.

“Nathan Graham,” he said flatly.

I froze. “You… know me?”

“I know everything about you,” he replied. His gaze flicked briefly to Elijah. “And about your brother.”

“Then you know I need answers,” I forced out.

He stepped back, motioning us inside.

The safehouse was dim, thick with the smell of tobacco. The walls were covered with maps, photographs linked by strands of red string. And in the center—

A photograph of my mother. Not the faded one from the letter. A new one. Recent. She stood in a crowded market, wrapped in a simple scarf. But her eyes… those eyes were mine.

My throat ached. “Where is she?”

Alexander Ward stepped closer. “Alive. But in greater danger than you can possibly imagine.”

“Then take me to her,” I demanded.

Ward shook his head. “Go to her now, and you’ll lead them straight to her. She’ll be dead before you reach her side.”

“I’ve been denied her my whole life,” I said, my fists trembling. “I won’t wait another twenty years.”

His eyes softened—barely. “Nathan… the ones chasing you don’t want money, or power. They want what your mother carries. Something your father gave her before the fire. If they get it… this city won’t just burn. It will collapse.”

Clarissa broke her silence. “What is it?”

Ward’s gaze shifted to the crumpled letter in my hand. “You already hold one part. The rest… she has.”

Evelyn’s weak voice cut through the tension. “And if they get both?”

Ward’s reply was a hammer blow.
“They won’t just kill you. They’ll erase you. All of you. As if you never existed.”

The air went still. My eyes drifted back to my mother’s photograph. That faint smile, fragile but alive. She was alive.

For the first time in years, I felt a spark of hope. But hope alone wouldn’t save her.

I turned to Ward. “Tell me what I have to do.”

Ward’s jaw tightened. “First, you need to be ready to kill the man who started the fire.”

“And who’s that?” I asked.

His eyes were grave. “The same man who’s been hunting you since you carried your brother into that hospital. The man in the suit.”

Heat coursed through my blood. I could see him again in my mind—his smirk, his voice dripping poison in the rain.

I wasn’t running anymore.
Now it was my turn.

Episode 9 — “Two Keys, One City”

The vault hummed like a buried beehive. The two key slots glowed a patient blue.

Victor Hale stepped through the doorway like he owned the ground. His suit drank the light; his smirk didn’t.

“Don’t let me interrupt,” Hale said, voice smooth. “It’s taken you long enough to come home.”

Clarissa kept her gun leveled. “One more word and I redecorate the floor.”

“Hello to you, too,” Hale replied.

“Nathan.” The new voice cut the room in half.

I turned. My mother stepped into the light: small, steady, scarf dark against her neck. Two plain-clothes shadows flanked her, but she didn’t need them. She held a twin to my cylinder between finger and thumb as if it were both fragile and the heaviest thing in the world.

“Mom,” I said. The word felt like opening a locked window.

She crossed to Elijah first. “My boy,” she whispered, palm on his cheek.

Elijah tried to smile. “Hey, Mom,” he said, voice ragged. “I grew up.”

Hale clapped once, soft, insulting. “How touching. Now finish it. Join your little totem halves and show me you have the stomach for what comes next.”

Ward didn’t look away from Hale. “He’s baiting you.”

“I know,” I said.

My mother’s eyes found mine. “This turns the city inside out,” she said. “Your father made it to reveal the rot. It will hurt. But it will end them.”

“And start something else,” Hale added. “Something you won’t survive.”

Clarissa’s jaw flexed. “We’re done listening.”

I moved to the pedestal. The room seemed to lean in. I raised my cylinder.

“Nathan,” Ward said, very quietly. “If you slot it, there’s no undo.”

“I’m not here for undo,” I said.

I lined up my key with the slot. The blue light climbed my wrist like dawn.

And then a gunshot cracked the air.

The lamp above us burst—glass raining, sparks hissing—and someone fell.

Cliffhanger.

Episode 10 — “The Shot You Don’t See”

“Down!” Clarissa shouted.

I hit the floor, dragging Elijah’s chair by the handles. Ward tackled my mother behind a cabinet. Smoke curled near the ceiling like a trick that didn’t want to be seen.

“Who’s hit?” I yelled.

Evelyn pressed a hand to her ribs, teeth bared. “Just grazed—keep moving.”

Hale didn’t flinch. He stared at the vent above us, smiling. “I did ask for a demonstration.”

The vent cover clattered to the floor—sniper’s toy: a cheap remote barrel rest. The shot had come from the corridor, bounced off steel, shattered the light. Showy. Psychological.

“Enough,” my mother said, rising. “Victor, you leave now, or I finish this and send you into the street without a name.”

Hale tilted his head. “Finish it, then. Go on. Break your city to save your conscience.”

Ward rolled from cover to the terminal, fingers flying over a maintenance panel I hadn’t noticed. “Failsafe demands multi-factor,” he murmured. “Key halves, plus two signatures.”

“Whose?” I asked.

Ward’s eyes flicked to me and Elijah. “Twins. It’s coded to your blood.”

Hale laughed. “Poetry! Your father buried his sons in the lock.”

Elijah swallowed. “We can do that,” he said, pale but stubborn. “Tell me where to bleed.”

Alarms woke like thunder. Red strobes sliced the dim. A grated hiss answered them—the vents shuddered and began to vomit clear, cold air.

Clarissa sniffed once. “Halon. It’ll eat the oxygen.”

Hale checked his watch. “Five minutes to dreamless sleep,” he said pleasantly. “Three if you panic.”

“Mask box—east wall!” Ward barked.

I lunged, ripped it open, threw masks to whoever had hands. One left for me. Hale’s men didn’t move; they were already fitted.

I dragged my mask on. “Ward! Tell me where to sign.”

He pointed to a small drawer beneath the slots. “Finger prick. Both of you.”

Elijah rolled closer, knuckles white on the armrests. “Together,” he said.

We pressed our fingers to the sensors. A tone rose—pure, rising.

The terminal blinked a warning: KEY A REQUIRED.

I raised the cylinder again.

Hale lifted his pistol and leveled it at my mother’s heart. His voice turned flat. “Slot it, Nathan… and I put a hole in your mother before you hear the click.”

Cliffhanger.