The underground command room was alive with low, controlled energy. Monitors blinked with maps, security feeds, and digital schematics of Valerian Crowe’s network. The sterile hum of electronics mixed with the soft, rhythmic breathing of those who had survived nights of terror and tension.

Ares stood at the center of it all, shoulders squared, jaw tight. Atlas hovered near the tactical display, moving digital markers with precision, highlighting routes, safehouses, and weak points. The ...