The penthouse basement had transformed into a command center. Screens glowed with feeds from every corner of the Tower. Alina, Maria, Ares, Atlas, and Helena moved with purpose, a silent rhythm born from years of survival and battle.

Lucian sat in the reinforced interrogation room, still cuffed, chains clinking as he shifted. His smirk was gone, replaced with a calculated coldness — the kind of calm that comes from a man who knows he has been cornered but still believes he might turn the ...