Chapter One: Jagger
Threemonthssincemybrother fucked everything up, and I'm still cleaning the mess.
Webb's old office stinks like athlete’s foot. I stripped it bare the day after the tribunal, replaced his gold-plated bullshit with clean surfaces and functional equipment. The man had the aesthetic sensibilities of a drug lord's accountant. Now it's just three monitors, a desk, and the mountain of files I've been drowning in since Jace decided to play house.
I’m happy for him, truly, but he created a fucking mess that now I have to clean up.
The screen glows blue in the dim room. I've been at this for six hours, maybe seven. The coffee beside my hand went cold around midnight. It's almost four now, and Moore's archive keeps spitting out the same fragments no matter how I rearrange them.
Project Omega.
The name appears in shipping manifests from thirty years ago, but there’s no inception date. It just existed in the shadows and thenbam, a document that shows up with it’s name on the header. Medical equipment. Genetic testing supplies. Allrouted to a facility that doesn't exist on any map I’ve got handy. Connected to Westpoint Academy, connected to the Pineridge failure, connected to something the Custodians buried so deep that even I, with every clearance and every backdoor I've built into these systems, can't find the bottom.
I pull up another file. Cross-reference it with financial transfers from the same period. The money moved through shell companies before disappearing into a Swiss account that no longer exists. Whoever designed this system knew what they were doing. Knew how to make things vanish.
The Pineridge Boys. That's what triggered all of shipping movements and increase in supply orders, according to the fragments I've pieced together. Years ago, a cohort of Foundry-trained assets went rogue. They remembered too much, felt too deeply, turned their training against their masters, and did the hunt their own way. Animals they were, they still wanted their own choice in mate. The resulting purge cost The Silent three Ministry directors, two Custodian heirs, and nearly exposed the entire organization.
After Pineridge, something changed. Project Omega was accelerated. And Westpoint Academy sat at the center of it like a spider in a web.
I tab through another set of files. Personnel records, mostly redacted. Facility layouts that don't match the Foundry location I know about. And buried in a subfolder I almost missed, a single phrase that makes my blood run cold:
"Harrison Protocol: phase one. Three viable subjects extracted."
I stare at the words until they blur.
My phone buzzes. Jinx.
"What?"
"Hello to you too, asshole." His voice carries that edge of barely contained chaos that makes most people nervous. I find it almost comforting. "You sound like death."
"Four days without sleep will do that."
"That's not healthy."
"Did you call for a reason, or just to critique my lifestyle?"
A snort. "Jace wants updates. Says you've been radio silent."
"Tell Jace I'll update him when there's something worth updating." I minimize a file that's leading nowhere. "How is he?"
"Disgustingly domestic. He and Elliot are talking about getting a dog."
"A dog."
"I know. Not even a cool dog, like a German Sheperd. No. The Reaper wants a golden retriever. World's gone mad." Jinx pauses, and I hear something shift in his tone. "You finding anything useful in that archive?"
"Fragments. Nothing concrete." I lean back in my chair, rubbing my eyes. "Project Omega keeps appearing, but every trail dead-ends. Someone spent a lot of money making sure this stayed buried."
"Maybe it should stay buried."
"That's not how I operate."
"I know. That's what worries me." Another pause. "Just... be careful, Jagger. Whatever this is, the Custodians wanted it gone for a reason. Poking at it might wake up something we're not ready for."
"I'm always careful."
"You're always arrogant. There's a difference."
