The calm never lasts.

Not when someone is still burning.

Lana didn’t believe in silence.

She believed in pressure.

In strategy.

In striking when people started to feel safe.

She stood in the middle of her penthouse living room, city lights stretching behind her like a glittering empire she had once almost owned.

A glass of wine rested untouched on the table beside her.

Her phone glowed in her hand.

Numbers.

Documents.

Transfers.

Movements.

Everything was finally aligned.

“Begin phase two,” she said quietly into the phone.

Her voice was smooth.

Controlled.

Cold.

Across town, a quiet email landed in the inbox of a junior analyst at Blackwell Enterprises.

Subject...