In the cramped, high-tech confines of the SDC mobile command unit, the sound of a storm against the reinforced roof provided a backdrop to the glowing monitors.

  Devin Stone, dressed in the underlayer of his tactical suit, sat with his eyes fixed on a scrolling wall of code. Across the city, Wesley was working the back end, but Devin's background in Electronic Warfare allowed them to catch the whisper in the noise.

  "There," Devin muttered, tapping a key.

  A packet of encrypted data, intercepted from a relay tower near the docks, blossomed into a series of logistics files. It was the digital fingerprint of Alex Brown, the Red Knights' lead hacker. Unlike Kevin Jacobs's sloppy street tactics, Brown's work was surgical.

  "I see it, Ghost," Wesley's voice came through the speakers. "He's routing communication through a series of shell servers owned by Carlax Construction. It's a blueprint for a 'Supply Chain Realignment.' Except they aren't moving lumber or steel."

  Devin leaned in, his face illuminated by the blue light of the screen. The files detailed a massive shipment of ammonium nitrate and industrial-grade detonators—enough to level a city block—slated for delivery to an abandoned Carlax warehouse in the industrial district.

  "The Red Knights are a paramilitary arm of Mayor Jones's corporate empire. He's using Carlax to smuggle the tools for his own 'street crime' surges."

  "It gets worse," Wesley added. "The delivery window is tonight. If they move that much ordnance into the heart of the city, we will be looking at a catastrophe."

  While Devin stared at digital ghosts, Detective Anna Harris was surrounded by physical ones. She sat in the dim light of the SPD records room, the air thick with the smell of dust and stagnant bureaucracy. Chief Johnson had told her to stay in her lane, so she had chosen a lane he hadn't thought to block: the archives.

  Spread across the table were the public-facing tax records of Carlax Construction, cross-referenced with internal police "incident reports" that had never reached a detective's desk.

  You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

  "You're a piece of work, Rob Jones," she whispered to the empty room.

  The financial structure of Carlax was a labyrinth. On paper, it was a thriving construction giant. But beneath the surface, the company was hemorrhaging money into "security sub-contracts." Millions of dollars were being funneled into private firms that didn't exist in any official registry. Firms that shared addresses with known RKG recruitment hubs.

  She pulled out a map of Sumlin, marking the Carlax-owned properties with red ink. The pattern was undeniable. Every major "incident"—every drive-by, every fire, every brutal beating—happened within a three-block radius of a Carlax site.

  The company was creating a perimeter of fear.

  Her finger stopped on a specific entry in a logistics ledger she'd "borrowed" from the zoning office. Warehouse 44. It was a Carlax-owned facility that had been flagged for "hazardous material storage" six months ago, but the Mayor's office had personally canceled the inspection.

  The targets were converging. The Ghost saw the bomb; the Detective saw the money. Both of them were looking at the same warehouse on the riverfront.

  The vibration of his phone interrupted Devin's focus. He checked the screen. It was an alert from the tracker he'd placed on Anna Harris's vehicle earlier that day.

  "Wes, she's on the move," Devin said, standing up and reaching for his cowl. "She just left the precinct. She's heading toward the industrial district."

  "She's going to get herself killed, Devin," Wesley warned. "My sensors are picking up increased RKG chatter around Warehouse 44. They're setting a perimeter. If she rolls in there with a badge and a flashlight, she won't make it to the front door."

  Devin pulled the mask over his face, the small, white eyes flickering to life. The Black Ghost was back.

  "She won't be alone," Devin said, checking the charge on his gauntlets. "But I need to get there before she does. If she sees me, she'll try to arrest me. If the Knights see her, they'll kill her."

  "The 'Project Aegis' scanners are live in that district, Dev," Wesley reminded him. "The moment you hit the roof, Jones's team will have a ping on your location."

  "Then give them something else to look at," Devin commanded, his voice dropping into that chilling, metallic rasp. "Cycle the city's traffic light grid. Create a ghost signal three miles south. I need ten minutes of darkness."

  "Copy that. Initiating digital decoy. Good luck, brother."

  Devin stepped out of the command unit and into the rain. He looked toward the river, where the silhouette of Warehouse 44 loomed against the muddy sky. Somewhere in the dark, Anna Harris was hunting the same truth he was.

  For the first time in three years, the Black Ghost wasn't the only one looking for the cancer at the heart of Sumlin. But in this city, being right was often the quickest way to end up in a shallow grave.

  He launched himself into the night, a shadow moving against the storm.