The pier shuddered under the weight of the storm, waves crashing against the pilings as Lena Hart—Eleanor Whitmore—stood frozen, the microchip labeled C.W. Final Directive heavy in her pocket and the Consortium ledger clutched tightly in her hands.

Vivian Whitmore’s silhouette loomed through the mist, her rain-soaked coat clinging to her frame, the pulsing red light of her device casting an eerie glow. Her voice, smooth and venomous, cut through the roar of the sea: “You ...