The screen went black.
In the dim-lit warehouse office, only the hum of ancient lights and the low buzz of static filled the air. A man with silver-rimmed glasses leaned back in his chair, fingers steepled.
"They moved early," he muttered.
The younger man beside him shifted uncomfortably. "Should we shut them down?"
"No," the older man said. "Let them keep digging. Let them feel like they're winning. Arrogance is always a weakness."
He leaned forward, pressing a button on the console. Dozens of surveillance feeds lit up—Blackwood HQ, Dominic's penthouse, even the café Aria had visited two nights ago.
"They're exposed now. Every step they take... brings them closer to our net."
Back in Manhattan, Aria woke with a start.
She sat upright in bed, breath catching in her throat. The dream still echoed—fire, shadows, a voice calling her name.
The past few days had caught up with her.
Carla's exposure.
Dominic's secret about Daniel.
The flash drive. The threat.
But something new stirred inside her now.
Determination.
She threw on her robe and found Dominic in the kitchen, already dressed in charcoal gray slacks and a crisp shirt.
"You're up early," he said.
"I couldn't sleep. I've been thinking."
He raised an eyebrow. "That's dangerous."
"I want to find them. All of them. The people behind Carla. The ones pulling the strings."
Dominic's eyes softened. "You're already in deeper than I ever wanted you to be."
"And I'm not backing out. You brought me into this, Dominic. I'm staying. So let's do this right."
He nodded. "Then we start today. With the archives."
Dominic led her to a floor of Blackwood International few ever accessed—Sub-Level 3. Behind a biometric scanner, beyond rows of steel doors, was a vault.
Inside were boxes. Files. Unredacted ledgers. Security disks. Audio logs.
It was the graveyard of Blackwood's sins.
Dominic handed her a binder marked "Project WRAITH."
"What is this?" she asked.
"A secret division. Started by my father and three other men. Offshore assets, political bribes, international laundering. They used Blackwood to fund covert operations."
Aria flipped through the file. Her fingers stopped on a page.
WRAITH Contact: Xavier Marlowe.
"Who is he?"
Dominic's expression changed.
"He's the one person my father was afraid of. Ex-intelligence. Disavowed. Last seen in Prague two years ago. Some say he's dead. Others… say he's building an empire of his own."
Aria pointed at a second name.
Silas Kincade.
"I know that name," she whispered. "He's a politician. Presidential hopeful."
Dominic nodded grimly. "He's WRAITH's clean face. Public. Untouchable."
Aria felt her skin crawl.
"All this time… the people who killed Daniel weren't just criminals. They were kingmakers."
Dominic stepped closer. "And now they've noticed us. Which means we hit a nerve."
A sudden sharp tone rang from the vault's control panel.
UNAUTHORIZED BREACH DETECTED.
Dominic grabbed Aria's arm. "Move!"
The steel doors hissed. Lights flickered.
Someone was trying to lock them in.
They sprinted down the corridor, Dominic tapping rapidly into his phone. The exit opened just in time. As they spilled out into the elevator, security sirens howled below them.
Aria gasped, heart racing. "They knew we were there."
Dominic exhaled slowly. "We're not just being watched. We're being hunted."
That night, Aria sat at her laptop, researching Xavier Marlowe.
No digital trace. No photos past 2015. No official records. He was a ghost.
Until a strange file auto-downloaded onto her desktop.
She stared at the screen. The filename simply read:
"TRAITOR."
She opened it.
A grainy video loaded.
Dominic. Younger. Blood on his shirt.
Standing over a man.
A man screaming. Bound. Tortured.
It was Daniel.
Dominic raised a hand. Said something inaudible.
Then darkness.
Aria's heart froze.
The video had been cut.
But the implication was clear.
What if Dominic hadn't tried to save his brother?
What if he'd pulled the trigger himself?