Ares

Sterling Tower was quiet, but the calm was hollow. Sparrow was dead. Her last strike had ended violently, but her shadow lingered in every corner of the building, in every alert on our systems, in every whispered memory of the past attacks. Even in death, she left us with uncertainty.

I stood by the window, fists clenched. The city below glittered, but it was meaningless. Our family had survived, yes—but surviving Sparrow’s obsession left scars.

Atlas entered silently, ...