Location: Tavara – High Altitude Extraction Zone, Eastern Cliffs
The chopper's blades sliced the storm-choked air as it descended, light bathing the shattered ruins of the observatory. Damien half-carried the wounded informant toward the extraction point, blood soaking through the man's coat. Gunfire echoed behind them—short, surgical bursts from Nora and Logan as they covered the retreat.
Fenrir wasn't retreating. They were advancing.
"These aren't mercenaries," Nora snapped, diving behind a pillar as bullets cracked overhead. "They're trained like us."
Damien glanced at the sigil stitched into one of the fallen attackers' gear—a snarling wolf head beneath a fractured crown. "Because they were us. Disavowed agents... blacklisted units... Fenrir is what happens when the world stops watching and the monsters are allowed to organize."
The chopper's side hatch opened. Logan yelled, "Move now!"
They piled in. Nora laid down covering fire until the very last second before the bird lifted, engines screaming as it tore away from the cliff's edge. Below, Fenrir forces swarmed the observatory, too late to intercept. Damien glanced back one last time.
"This isn't over."
---
Location: Damien's Safehouse – Two Hours Later
The flash drive sat like a loaded weapon on the center table, casting shadows on the glass. Nora paced, jaw clenched.
"Calloway planned all of this," she said. "He counted on us being blind. On Tavara being distracted with the corporate summit. Meanwhile, he deploys Fenrir and buries his crimes beneath patriotic speeches."
Damien uploaded the data. Dozens of files appeared—audio calls, bank transactions, decrypted orders. Calloway wasn't just scheming behind the scenes. He was actively working to replace Tavara's council with a proxy state, one quietly influenced by foreign syndicates.
But it was the final file that made Damien still.
"Project Pale Root," he murmured. "What the hell…"
Nora stepped closer. "I've heard that name. Years ago. My father buried it."
It was a contingency protocol—a plan designed in wartime Tavara. A scorched-earth scenario where select families would be framed, discredited, and dismantled to usher in a controlled democracy. Calloway hadn't just revived it—he was personalizing it. The Lane and Blackwell families were his chosen targets.
---
Location: Tavara – Calloway's Private Estate, Secret War Room
"Status report," Calloway said coldly, sipping from a crystal glass.
A man in black approached, face hidden. "The informant escaped. Damien Kane has the drive. Fenrir failed."
Calloway's fingers tightened around the glass until it cracked. "Then release Directive Seven."
"Sir... that would expose—"
"Do it."
The man hesitated only for a second, then bowed. "Yes, Senator."
Alone again, Calloway turned to the glowing map of Tavara's elite zones. "You think power is about legacy, Damien. But it's about removal. Of anyone who thinks they're above consequence."
---
Location: Damien's Safehouse – Secure Room
Logan returned from a call, tense. "Intel confirms. Calloway activated Directive Seven. It's a tactical purge—names tied to the Lane, Blackwell, and Kane families are already being marked."
Nora's eyes flashed with fury. "He's declaring silent war."
Damien stood, voice steel. "Then we burn his empire from the roots up."
He turned toward the window, where distant lightning split the sky.
"Get me Ashford. Tonight, we expose the Project. Tomorrow... we dismantle the man behind it."