Dev crossed his arms.“I’ve heard rumors.Whispers about something big—a group so far above the Bratya it makes them look like street-level amateurs.Global money.Private armies.Political reach.They pull strings, and entire governments dance.”
Bateman’s brow lifted.“You’re talking about the Directorate?”
Dev shrugged.“That’s one name I’ve heard.Could be a myth.Could be what happens when too many shadows start overlapping.”
Marsh pointed at the hologram.“Every op Wraith touched ties back to something that traces into the same void.A thread you can’t see, but it’s there—contracts, transfers, dummy corporations.Whoever’s at the center has deep pockets and zero visibility.It’s like the absence of data itself is their signature.”
Kael rubbed his jaw.“And Drew’s chasing it.”
“Looks like it,” Marsh said.“He’s been dismantling their assets piece by piece without ever naming them.Like he knows, but can’t—or won’t—say it out loud.”
Dev exhaled through his nose.“Jesus.That’s not a crusade, that’s suicide.”
“Apparently the man has a thing for impossible missions,” Kael murmured.
For a moment, no one spoke.The tension on the line thickened until Marsh broke it.“We’ll keep pulling on the thread, see what shakes loose.”
Kael nodded absently, his mind drifting.The Drew he’d known—reckless, loyal, too brave for his own good—was buried beneath a legend that didn’t sleep.And that eighteen-month gap?That was the scar tissue.
Marsh cleared his throat.“There’s something else.No medical records.No transactions.Even his safehouses—ghosts.I can’t find anything that says that man is supporting himself or living life somewhere.As far as I can tell, he’s running on fumes.”
Kael’s chest tightened.“Then we find him.”
Dev opened his mouth to answer, but another voice cut in—Luca’s.“Surge!”
Kael turned.The use of his call sign told him this wasn’t casual—Luca only fell back on that kind of formality when adrenaline and training took over.The young tech barreled into the room, tablet in hand, eyes wide, excitement warring with discipline.“Sorry to interrupt, but you need to hear this.”
Dev arched an eyebrow.“He’s got that look—this oughta be good.”
Luca barely glanced at the holo-screen.“I’ve been scanning local channels, hospital logs, emergency comms—making sure none of those Bratya bastards crawled out of the wreckage we left them in.And I just picked up a police transmission from downtown.”
Kael straightened.“What kind of transmission?”
“A John Doe was brought in to Mercy General about an hour ago.Male, early thirties.Found unconscious on the highway.Drugged, beaten, thumb dislocated—looks like he jumped or was thrown from a moving vehicle.”Luca’s voice quickened.“He also has a scar along his jaw.Small, right side.”
Kael’s pulse hammered.The room tilted.“Say that again.”
“Scar.Jawline.They said it was clean—looked like an old knife wound.”
Bateman sat up straighter.“You think it’s him?”
Kael didn’t answer.He didn’t need to.
Dev’s tone softened but carried that commander’s steel.“If it is, call us.We can have boots on the ground in four hours.”
Kael nodded once.“Appreciate it.”
He cut the feed, already moving.“Breaker!Torch!Reef!Gear up.”
Tane appeared almost instantly, eyes sharp.“We’re going after him?”
Kael grabbed his jacket.“Yeah.If that John Doe is Drew, then he will be surrounded by enemies.He’s not dying alone in some hospital bed at the hand of some asshole who thinks he can take what’s mine.”
They piled into the truck, the rain starting to fall in sheets.Kael slid behind the wheel, adrenaline drowning out the fatigue.The headlights cut through the dark as they tore down the highway toward Mercy General.
No one spoke.There was nothing left to say.
Kael’s hands tightened on the wheel.The memory of Drew’s voice filled the silence.
