Maya stood alone on the balcony of the abandoned office tower, the city sprawled beneath her like a living organism—breathing, pulsing, indifferent. Neon lights cut through the fog, painting her pale reflection against the glass. She barely recognized the woman staring back.

This was not the Maya who once survived by adapting, by bending just enough not to break.

This was someone sharper. Someone willing to burn.

Her phone vibrated in her hand.

Unknown Number

It’s done. The vote will move tonight.

A slow breath left her lungs. Good. Too fast, maybe—but Davin never waited, and neither could she.

She typed back only one word.

Proceed.

Behind her, the door...