NOAH.

"Oh shit" I exclaimed as the roar of the press corps hit me as soon as Audrey and I stepped into the Atlas HQ lobby. Flashes popped from a dozen cameras, with microphones thrust forward while their voices overlapped in a cacophony of demands.

"Mr. Bennette, is it true Atlas is a front for cartel operations?"

"What do you say to the allegations of money laundering?"

"Have the authorities been contacted?"

The air was thick with the scent of their freaky desperation, the kind that clung to reporters chasing a career-making scoop. I scanned the crowd, all of them, circling what they thought was a fresh kill.

Harvey's story had dropped, painting us as the villains. Zane at the helm of a criminal syndicate, me as the shadowy enforcer, Damian the strategist with blood on his hands, Ethan and Liam the muscle making it the story that could bury us. Now, the building buzzed with the chaos of employees whispering in corners, our phones ringing off the hook, and the security team barking orders to keep the horde at bay.

Audrey Movitch stood beside me, her posture straight in her tailored blazer and skirt, her hair pulled into a tight bun. As Atlas's PR head, she had been Zane's first call when the shit hit the fan.

"Follow my lead," she'd murmured in the elevator. I nodded, shoving down the storm in my gut. Where was Harvey now? I'd tried her number three times on the drive-over, and it went straight to voicemail because the line was disconnected. The guys watching her apartment had radioed an hour ago, informing me that they had lost sight on her. She slipped out the back. All I could think of was to know if she was safe. Or running from the fallout she had ignited?

We pushed through to the podium Zane had hastily set up in the lobby, a makeshift barrier against the onslaught. Audrey stepped up first, her smile professional, disarming. "Ladies and gentlemen, thank you for your patience. I'm Audrey Movitch, Director of Communications for Atlas Group. We'll address the baseless allegations circulating online."

Baseless.

That was the party line we had hammered out upstairs, already plotting digital countermeasures. Harvey's evidence was damning, consisting of leaked emails from old employees and anonymous sources, photos of shipments that looked innocuous but screamed cartel to anyone who knew. But I could twist it, hack the narrative. I'd done it before.

A reporter shoved forward, a wiry guy with a press badge from some tabloid rag. "Ms. Movitch, the report details specific ties to underground operations. Care to comment on the cartel connections?"

Audrey didn't flinch. "The article in question is a fabrication built on hearsay and manipulated data. Atlas Group is a legitimate investment firm with a proven track record in luxury brands and high-stakes ventures. We've already initiated legal action against the publisher for defamation." Her voice carried that perfect blend of authority and warmth, defusing the tension like a pro. I stood behind her, arms crossed, my presence a silent warning for them not to push too hard, and things get ugly.

Inside, my mind was racing. Harvey. The exposé painted targets on all our backs. If someone grabbed her to silence the source... My fists tightened at my sides.

Another question lobbed our way, this from a sharp-eyed woman with a network logo. "What about the named individuals? Zane Calloway and Damien Pierce as alleged cartel leaders. Any response?"

I stepped forward then, as planned. "I'm Noah Calloway," I said. "Those 'allegations' are fiction. We've cooperated with the authorities in the past and will again if needed. This is a smear campaign, nothing more."

We had cooperated, usually by buying silence or hacking records. But the press ate it up, scribbling notes, cameras whirring.

The barrage continued for what felt like hours, questions piling on and Audrey fielded most. Her responses were polished, deflecting with facts about our "community initiatives" and "economic contributions."

I chimed in when muscle was needed by staring down aggressive types. All the while, my phone buzzed in my pocket on updates from Rico on security sweeps, Zane demanding status. But there was no word on Harvey. Her apartment was empty, the line was dead. Was she at a safe house? Or worse?

Finally, the frenzy ebbed as Audrey wrapped it up with her closing word "We'll provide a full statement soon. Thank you." We retreated through a side door, security holding the line as flashes chased us. The hallway echoed with our footsteps, the chaos muffled behind us.

In her office, Audrey collapsed into her chair, exhaling sharply. "That was brutal."

I shut the door, leaning against it, arms crossed. "You handled it like a pro. Kept them off balance."

She rubbed her temples, her composed facade cracking. "Thanks. But Noah... I'm sorry. This is partly my fault."

I raised an eyebrow, pushing off the door to perch on the edge of her desk. "How do you figure?"

"Harvey, we met at that gala. I thought she was genuine, a fellow journalist type. We hit it off over drinks, talked shop. I didn't realize she was pumping me for info on Atlas." Her voice wavered, eyes meeting mine with genuine regret. "She seemed like a friend. Betrayed doesn't cover it."

Betrayed.

The word twisted in my chest, I knew that sting intimately. "Don't beat yourself up," I said, keeping my tone even. "She fooled me too." The admission hung there, heavy, but I clamped down on the details. No need to confess the intimacy, the way I'd let her in deeper than anyone. I had slept with her, trusted her, loved her? Close enough to burn now.

Audrey's eyes widened slightly. "You? How?"

I shrugged, forcing nonchalance. "Ran into her a few times. Thought she was just... interested. Turns out it was all agenda."

She nodded, leaning back. "Well, misery loves company. Let's shut this down."

We dove into work mode, her on the phones coordinating retractions, me at her computer terminal, fingers flying across the keys. Hacking was my domain since Atlas's digital fortress was built on my code. I infiltrated the publisher's servers first, making subtle alterations, timestamps and metadata, making sources appear fabricated. Then the evidence files Harvey had uploaded of photos, just enough to scream Photoshop, documents altered with inconsistencies. Deepfakes of "anonymous" audio clips, voices mismatched.

As I worked, my mind wandered back to her. Where was she? The security feed from her block showed her slipping out the back alley, hood up, bag slung over her shoulder. Was she running scared? Was her line off deliberately to ghost me?

Pain lanced through me, sharper than expected. I had sent that watcher for her protection, not surveillance. The threats were real after Eden's fire, and Vanessa's hit, If she was out there alone...

"Noah?" Audrey's voice pulled me back. She was on call, mouthing " Progress?"

I nodded, hitting enter on a script that seeded doubt across forums, bots posting "hoax" analyses, influencers we had bought retweeting skepticism.

By midday, national networks pulled the story for "verification," others issued a correction.

"We'd hit that by the end of the day, easy." I smiled.

We took a break for lunch around three, since the initial panic was subsiding. Audrey ordered some iced coffee and sipped hers black, staring out the window. "Think it'll stick? The doubt?"

"Long enough," I said, leaving my own cup untouched. "We'll bury it in countersuits, NDAs. But Harvey... she's out there with the original files."

Audrey set her cup down. "We'll find her. Zane's got people."

We pushed on, Audrey charming editors into spikes, me orchestrating digital sabotage. By five, that day, CNN dropped it from rotation, Fox called it "unsubstantiated." Half the outlets went silent on the exposé.

Zane texted me and I read it for Audrey 'Good work team. Keep vigilant."

As the workday wound down, Audrey stretched, smiling faintly. "We make a hell of a team."

"Yeah," I agreed, but my mind was elsewhere. Harvey.

That's when the intercom buzzed. "Press ambush in the garage. They slipped past the gate."

Shit!

We grabbed our things and headed down. The garage was dim, concrete echoing our steps. And there they were, a cluster of reporters, maybe ten, cameras ready, mics out. The wiry tabloid guy from earlier led the pack, smirking.

"Mr. Bennette! Ms. Movitch! A few more questions?"

Audrey tensed beside me, but stepped forward. "This is private property. Leave now, or..."

He cut her off. "The public deserves answers! Is Atlas really clean, or are you covering up murders? The fire at Eden, was it arson tied to your 'brothers'?"

I felt heat rise, stepping in front of Audrey. "You heard her. Get out."

Another reporter, the sharp-eyed woman, rushed, "Harvey's resources are solid! Emails, photos, how do you explain them?"

"Manipulated," I growled, "Your 'sources' are lies. Push this, and you'll regret it."

The wiry guy laughed. "Threats? That's cartel talk! Admit it, Atlas is dirty!"

Audrey's turn, her voice slicing sharp. "No threats. Facts. We've provided evidence of fabrication. Air it, and face lawsuits that'll bankrupt you."

The woman sneered. "Hiding behind lawyers?" What about the bodies that dropped dead after crossing you?"

My control snapped. "Rival death? Not on us. But keep digging graves, you might find yours."

Gasps rippled. Audrey shot me a look, that was too far, but the wiry guy pressed: "Recorded! That's admission!"

"No," Audrey fired back, fiercely. "All speculation. Leave, or security drags you."

Security arrived then, herding them out amid shouts of "Censorship!" "Truth will out!"

As they vanished, Audrey turned to me, eyes blazing. "What the hell, Noah? 'Find yours?' That's fuel!"

"They needed scaring," I muttered,

"Excuse me," I said, walking away to my car, knowing she was staring at me with unbelieving eyes.

I wasn't bothered about a random news crew quoting me. I needed to find Harvey. I must find her, I had to.

DAMIAN.

The metallic tang of gun oil lingered in the air of the Atlas basement beneath our downtown HQ that doubled as a fortress when shit hit the fan. I paced the worn carpet, my boots thudding rhythmically, each step a futile attempt to bleed off the frustration boiling inside me.

Ava was gone. Every second without her felt like a blade twisting deeper, carving out pieces of me I couldn't afford to lose.

Zane sat at the head of the oak table, his broad frame hunched over a laptop, fingers drumming impatiently on the edge. His jaw was set in that unyielding line I knew too well, the one that said he was holding the world together by sheer will.

Sienna perched on the arm of his chair, her lithe form pressed close, one hand resting possessively on his shoulder. As Zane's fiancée and co-leader, she was the blade in his shadow, the one who'd orchestrated hits with a smile and expanded our territory through ruthless precision.

We had put our differences aside, Zane and I, at least for this. The bruise on my jaw from his earlier punch throbbed as a reminder of our fractured bond, but Ava's disappearance had forged a brittle truce. No more accusations about my "betrayal" with his sister; no more lectures on loyalty. We were brothers in arms again, united by our desperation.

Rico hunched over a console in the corner, his fingers flying across keyboards, pulling strings from our network of informants and hackers. The guy's leather jacket creaked as he shifted, his scarred face illuminated by the glow of multiple screens. He had been at it for hours, chasing digital flight manifests from LAX, CCTV from Ava's building, pings from her last known location. Nothing solid yet, just dead ends.

"Anything?" I snapped, stopping my pacing to loom over Rico's shoulder. The monitors showed a grid of feeds: Ava's penthouse lobby, empty; Paris airport arrivals, no match for her face in the facial rec scans; her social media, dormant since last night.

Rico shook his head, not looking up. "Still digging, boss. Her phone's offline, but I got a hit on a burner signal near her place around the time she vanished. Could be nothing, or a delivery person and a neighbor. Running it through the database now."

Frustration clawed at me, I raked a hand through my hair, feeling the stubble on my scalp prickle under my fingers. Ava, my Ava with her fierce laugh and unyielding spirit, was reduced to a puzzle we couldn't solve. I had replayed our last night a thousand times, her body arching under mine.

Zane's voice cut through my thoughts. "We'll find her. She's a Calloway too. We are tough as nails."

I met his gaze across the table, the ice-blue eyes mirroring Ava's own. "Tough doesn't stop bullets or blades. We need leads, not platitudes."

Sienna's hand tightened on Zane's shoulder, "Watch your tone, Damian. We're all on edge, but sniping won't bring her back." She leaned forward, her perfume wafting toward me. "Rico's the best. Give him time."

Time. The word mocked me. Every tick of the clock was a step closer to whatever hell Ava was in. I resumed pacing, my mind racing through scenarios. Vanessa's death should have bought us breathing room, but kidnappings didn't happen in vacuums. This felt personal and targeted.

Rico's console beeped, and he straightened. "Got something. Partial plate from a van near her building it has no markings. Registered to a shell company. I am tracing ownership now."

Zane nodded, his expression granite. "Good. Cross-reference with known associates. Anyone tied to Vanessa."

I stopped pacing, leaning against the wall, arms crossed. The cool concrete grounded me, but inside, turmoil churned.

Sienna's phone buzzed, and she glanced at it, her lips pressing into a thin line. "Update from our crews. No chatter on Ava yet, but we have talks about a new player moving in after Vanessa's hit."

"New player?" I pushed off the wall, "Who? We need names, not rumors."

Before she could respond, Zane's phone vibrated on the table, followed by a shrill ring that sliced through the room. He snatched it up, his eyes narrowing at the unknown number. "This could be it."

I moved to his side in two strides, close enough to hear every word. Sienna leaned in too, Zane signaled Rico with a sharp gesture "track it" before answering on speaker.

"Calloway," Zane said,

A distorted voice crackled through, mechanical and ominous, "Zane. Good, you're prompt. We have your sister. Pretty thing, feisty too."

Ava was alive, but in their hands. I clenched my fists, forcing silence. Zane's jaw ticked, but his tone remained even. "Proof of life. Now."

"Demanding. Fine." A muffled sound followed before Ava's voice. "Zane? I'm okay. Don't..."

Cut off. She was alive and fighting.

"Satisfied?" the voice continued. "Now, the deal. We want two things. first the drive. The one your fiancée holds dear from her late father. Leverage, they call it. Two, we want a share, a big share of the cartel pie. We want to control territories. Bring it to the coordinates we'll send. Two hours. No tricks or Ava learns what pain really means."

The drive.

Sienna's old locket flashed in my mind. the silver chain she'd worn since her father's death. The innocuous pendant hiding a micro-drive with encrypted files of cartel secrets, blackmail material, the kind that could topple empires or build new ones.

Zane's eyes flicked to Sienna, conflict etching his features. She stiffened, her hand dropping from his shoulder, eyes widening in realization.

"You have two hours," the voice repeated. "Tick-tock." The line went dead.

Rico's fingers blurred over his keyboard. "Tracing... got a bounce signal routed through proxies, but I pinned the origin. Warehouse district, east side. Abandoned auto plant."

Zane stared at the phone, his face a mask cracking at the edges. He stood slowly, turning to Sienna. "The drive..."

She shook her head, stepping back. "No. Zane, you know what it is. My father's legacy. It is proof against half the players in this game. Give it up, and we're exposed. Everything crumbles."

Zane's shoulders tensed, "It's Ava, Sienna. My sister."

"And it's our future!" she shot back, eyes blazing. "The drive keeps us safe. We have it as blackmail on rivals. Should we hand it over, and we're their targets? You think I don't care about Ava? But sacrificing everything?"

I couldn't stay silent. "We don't have time for this!" I exploded, slamming a fist on the table. The wood vibrated under the impact. "Ava's out there, tied up, scared, and you're debating? Give them a fake, buy time. Rico traced it, and we hit them hard."

Zane rounded on me, his eyes thunderous. "Easy for you to say. You're not the one choosing between family and empire."

"Choosing?" I stepped closer, our faces inches apart, heat radiating between us. "Ava is family! The empire means nothing without her. Sienna, give it up. We rebuild. We've done it before."

Sienna crossed her arms, her posture defiant. "Rebuild? With what? The drive has dirt on everyone: feds, rivals, and even our allies. It's my insurance, Zane. Mine."

Zane ran a hand over his face, the tension visible in the lines etching his brow. "Sienna... please. For Ava."

She hesitated, conflict warring in her eyes. "I... can't. Not yet. Let me think."

Frustration surged through me like a tide, hot and suffocating. I paced again, faster, my mind spinning. We had just two hours, freaking 120 minutes to save her. Rico's trace was good, but without the drive as bait? Risky. "We don't need the real one," I growled. "Fake it. USB with dummy files. We go in armed, extract her."

Zane nodded slowly. "Possible. But if they check..."

"They won't have time," I insisted, grabbing a tablet from the table, pulling up schematics of the warehouse. "Rico, pull blueprints. Entry points, blind spots."

Rico complied, screens updating with floor plans. "The south entrance is weak. Loading dock. I can loop cams if they are wired."

Sienna watched, her resolve cracking. "Fine. Use a dupe. But if this goes south..."

"It won't," Zane said, pulling her close. "We get Ava back. Together."

I met his gaze, the truce holding by threads. "For Ava," I echoed. The clock ticked on, each second a hammer blow. Hold on, Ava. We're coming.

AVA.

The blindfold dug into my skin like a persistent itch I couldn't scratch, its rough fabric a constant reminder of my vulnerability. I sat there in that creaky metal chair, wrists raw from the ropes, ankles numb from the bindings, every muscle in my body coiled tight like a spring ready to snap.

The air hung heavy with dust seeping into my lungs with each shallow breath I took. How long had it been? Hours? Days? The time blurred in the darkness, but my mind raced, piecing together every scrap of information Echo had let slip during our chat.

He was a former military man, now a freelance, working for someone driven by a personal grudge against Zane. He was predictable in his arrogance and ran solo operations with no cams and a reinforced door. He thought he had me cornered, but I had been probing him like a puzzle, noting the cracks in his modulated voice, the way he had stiffened at my questions about loss. Men like him always had a weak spot, their ego. And their egos let them make mistakes.

A distant thud echoed through the concrete walls, pulling me from my thoughts. My heart stuttered. Was that a door? Footsteps? I strained against the blindfold, tilting my head, and prickling my ears for more. Nothing at first, just the drip-drip from that leaky pipe in the corner, mocking my isolation.

Then I heard a muffled shout, followed by the sharp crack of gunfire. Pop-pop-pop, like fireworks gone wrong. My pulse hammered in my throat, adrenaline flooding my veins. This was it. Either a rescue or my execution.

Please, let it be Zane. Let it be Damian.

The sounds grew closer and got more chaotic, with grunts, crashes, and more shots. Glass shattered somewhere, maybe through the barred window on the door. I twisted in my chair, making the ropes bite deeper into my skin, and I let out a deep hiss.

"Come on," I whispered to myself, fierce determination bubbling up inside me. I was Ava Sinclair-Calloway, raised in shadows and spotlights. I would fight if I had to, blind or not.

The door to my prison burst open with a metallic screech, and the hinges gave off a groaning in protest. Instantly, cool air rushed in, carrying the acrid scent of gunpowder.

"Where is she?" a voice barked with fury.

Damian.

My chest tightened as relief crashed over me. He was here to save me.

But. Echo's modulated growl cut through, reminding me that the chaos wasn't over. "You shouldn't have come."

Then the real fight erupted.

I couldn't see, but I felt the air vibrating with the intensity of their violence. I listened as their bodies slammed into walls, and the concrete cracked under the impact. That was followed by a grunt, the wet thud of fists meeting flesh.

Gunshots rang out closer now, deafening in the confined space just as something warm splattered across my cheek...was that blood? My stomach churned, but I forced myself to stay still, to listen.

"Flank him!" Another voice yelled through in a commanding tone.

Zane. My brother was there too.

More footsteps pounded while a table overturned with a crash, tools scattering like metallic rain. Echo fired back, and someone yelped in pain.

Not Damian, please not him.

What if they got hurt because of me? I tugged at the ropes again, ignoring the burning sensation since I was desperate to help out. "Damian!" I shouted,

A body hit the floor nearby, the impact sending vibrations up my chair legs. Echo's labored breathing filled the room, it was closer now.

"You think this ends here?" he snarled, his modulator glitching from damage. Then I heard a savage crack of bone breaking and he howled.

"It ends now." Damian replied. I heard more blow exchanges than the slick sound of a knife slicing skin. The air thickened with the fresh blood smell, making me gag. This was cartel life, the bloody underbelly I had glimpsed but never touched.

And now it was spilling out for me.

Finally, silence descended, broken only by heavy breathing and a groan from the floor. I felt gentle hands on me as it tugged at my blindfold. Pulling it off my eyes, light flooded in, blinding me at first. I blinked rapidly, as tears filled up.

Damian's face hovered inches from mine, bruised and blood-stained, his dark eyes were filled with relief.

"Ava," he breathed, cupping my cheek, thumb wiping away the splatter. His touch sent sparks through me and silenced the chaos in my mind. I had missed him.

"I'm okay," I whispered,

But my eyes darted past him to the carnage. Echo lay crumpled against the wall, his mask was torn and blood was pooling from a gash on his forehead. He had a bullet wound in his shoulder. His chest rose and fell unevenly.

He was alive, but barely.

Zane stood over him, gun trained, his suit torn, a cut above his eye dripping red. Sienna was next to him. Two of our men, Rico and another guarded the door, one clutching a bleeding arm.

Zane holstered his weapon and knelt to bind Echo's hands with zip ties from the scattered tools.

"Secure him," he ordered Rico, who nodded and dragged the semi-conscious man to a corner.

Sienna's eyes scanning me with concern. "You held up well," she said, almost approvingly.

Damian worked on my ropes, his fingers deft despite the tremor I felt in them. As the bindings fell away, I rubbed my wrists, wincing at my raw skin. He pulled me to my feet, wrapping me in a tight hug.

His heart pounded against mine, I soak in his cologne.

"I thought I'd lost you," he murmured into my hair.

Zane approached us, his expression softening as he pulled me from Damian into his own embrace. "Ava," he said, voice rough. "Good to see you."

I hugged him back, feeling the tension in his frame.

"Who is he working for and what do they want?" I asked, nodding at Echo as I pulled away.

Zane replied, giving Damian a glance, "Good call on the dupe drive. Bought us time."

Dupe Drive?

I frowned, piecing it together. Echo had demanded Sienna's locket drive, full of secrets. But dupe?

"You faked it?" I asked, turning to Sienna. She nodded, her lips curving slightly. "Couldn't risk the real one. Not with the cartel under fire."

"Under fire?" My mind sharpened, curiosity overriding the ache in my body. "What do you mean?"

Zane exchanged a look with Damian, then sighed. "Some journalists dropped an exposé. Tied Atlas to... everything. Drugs, laundering, hits. Our stocks are dipping, and feds sniffing around. The drive Echo wanted has got evidence that could flip the narrative about Atlas."

My thoughts raced ahead, connecting dots I had picked on Echo's psychology. He was a professional and had mentioned a "new player" with a grudge against Zane, wanting territory. That made him predictable. Echo would have planned his movement. After the drop, he would bolt to his employer for payout, because his ego would demand that he deliver it in person.

"Set him up," I said, cutting through Zane's explanation. "Use him to take the heat off Atlas."

They all stared at me.

Zane tilted his head. "Explain."

I straightened, ignoring the throb in my head, adrenaline to help was fueling me. "Echo's ex-military freelancer. He works for pay; he hinted that Zane was stepping on toes. After you 'drop' the drive, he'll grab it and run straight to whoever hired him. Trail him. Let him lead you to the boss. Then tip the feds anonymously. Plant the narrative that the hirer and Echo are behind the cartel stuff in the exposé. Frame them with the drive's contents. It solves your press problem, clears Atlas."

Sienna's eyes narrowed, assessing. "Bold. But risky. If he spots the tail..."

"He won't," I countered, "He's arrogant, thinks solo means untouchable. I have studied him; he doesn't use proxies. I got that from our talk."

Zane rubbed his chin, considering. "And the feds? We can't just hand over the drive."

"Fake the drop with a tracker in the dupe first," I pressed, my mind whirring. "But switch to real, having edited out ones that could harm us if needed. No, wait. Use the real drive as bait, but rig it with a virus or something to corrupt after access. Noah can handle that." I glanced at Damian, who nodded slowly, a grin tugging at his lips.

Zane's gaze bored into mine, weighing. "This isn't your world, Ava. You've been through hell. Let us handle..."

"No," I snapped, "This is my world now. They took me because of you, because of Atlas. I'm not sitting out. I read him, Zane. Let me help end this."

Damian stepped forward, his hand on my shoulder, "She's right. Sharp as hell. We could use her brain on this."

Zane's eyes flashed between us, the old protectiveness showing again. "Fine," he said finally, voice grudging. "But you stay back during the op. Observation only."

"Deal," I agreed, though internally I seethed at the leash. I would prove myself.

The team moved fast after that.

֍

Rico patched Noah in via secure line, hidden in the locket pendant. "It will ping the location every thirty seconds, and a backdoor virus to fry it if accessed wrong," he explained over speaker,"

Sienna handed it over reluctantly, her fingers lingering. "This better work."

Zane nodded at Rico. "Revive him enough to talk."

Rico hauled Echo up, slapping his face lightly. The man groaned, his eyes fluttering open behind the torn mask. Blood crusted his lip. "What...?"

Zane loomed over him. "Deal's on. Here is the drive in exchange for the girl. I have the coordinates sent." He tossed a burner phone at Echo's feet. "Two hours. No tricks."

Echo's laugh was weak, a modulated voice crackling. "You first."

We left him bound but loose enough to escape as part of the setup. As we piled into SUVs outside, I slid into the back with Damian. His hand found mine, squeezing. "You were brilliant back there," he murmured, lips brushing my ear. Shivers raced down my spine, mixing with the adrenaline.

"I had to be," I whispered back. "For us."

The convoy rolled out, Rico monitoring the tracker from a laptop. Echo broke free twenty minutes later, as predicted. We tailed from afar, with drones overhead courtesy of Noah's hacks. The signal led east, through to a nondescript office building on the city's edge.

Rico noted. "Shell corp ties, wait, linked to an old rival. Marcus Hale. Vanessa's silent partner."

We parked blocks away, watching via feed as Echo entered, drive in hand. Inside, grainy CAM hacks showed him handing it to a man in a suit. Hale, surrounded by goons.

Once they plugged it in. Zane ordered, "Tip the feds,"

Noah handled the anonymous drop using the altered exposé files rerouted to Hale's servers, timestamps faked. Feds swarmed minutes later. We watched from afar as they busted in and gunfire erupted briefly, as Hale's men resisted. Echo bolted out a side door, but the feds cut him off, tackling him in a brutal takedown. Hale emerged in cuffs, cursing.

It was over. Atlas had been cleared.

As the feds hauled them away, I exhaled, leaning into Damian. "Told you he would lead straight there."

He kissed my temple with pride. "Damn right."

Damian clapped my shoulder. "Thanks to Ava. She nailed his psyche, predicted every move." He turned to Zane, "We could use a brain like hers. Stop holding her back from ops. She's proven it."

Zane stopped, eyes on me. "You're right. Welcome to the family business, sis."

I smiled. There were no more sidelines. This was my world now.