The suited man didn't move at first.
He just stood there near the loading ramp, smoke curling from the end of his cigarette, head tilted as if the stars above the open deck were whispering something only he could hear.
Then came a step. Slow. Deliberate. The kind that said: I know you're watching.
I raised a hand without looking at Anthony—just one open palm. Stay.
The man took another step onto the ship, boots ringing against the metal. My window of invisibility shrank with each echoing footfall.
His eyes found me immediately, calm behind sunglasses that didn't belong in the moonlight. He exhaled smoke like it was punctuation as he slowly pull out his pistol.
"Lost your way?" he asked.
I kept my hands visible. "Just came to talk."
His head tilted the other direction. His right hand disappeared behind his back, two fingers flicking in a practiced gesture.
From the ship's corners—between crates, behind stacked containers—figures emerged. Tactical gear. Suppressed steps. At least ten. Maybe more. Guns raised, lasers locking on my chest.
Anthony's fingers ghosted his holster. One glance from me froze him.
They descended fast. Someone ripped the burner from my jacket, pulled the knife from my boot. My wrists were wrenched behind me, zip-tied with cold efficiency.
The suited man came closer. "Good decision."
"It wasn't a decision," I murmured. "Just a logical move."
A twitch of his lips. Not quite a smile. "We'll see."
The hood came down over my head—thick canvas that stank of oil and old rope. They dragged me across the deck. My knees slammed against rusted rungs as we descended the ship's belly. The metal groaned with every turn they took, every change in direction punctuated by the hum of old engines.
I heard her yet I couldn't see her.
A whisper—barely above a breath—cracked and scared.
Even blindfolded, I knew that voice.
"Sienna," I said. Quiet. Steady. For her.
She gasped. "What is this? Who are they? Where are they taking us?"
I wanted to give her facts. An escape plan. Something she could hold onto.
All I had was my voice.
"I'm here. That's what matters."
She tried to keep calm, but I could hear the panic in her breath. "I didn't do anything. Why me?"
"Because they think I'll come for you," I said. "Because they know I would."
The floor lurched as the ship shifted. She flinched at the sudden jolt.
I shifted until I could feel her shoulder against mine.
"You're not alone," I said.
She didn't respond. But she didn't pull away.
Eventually, we were separated and when the hood was yanked off, I was inside what used to be the ship's engine monitoring room. Stripped bare now, walls painted white over rust, a buzzing fluorescent tube above me. My wrists were shackled to a bolted-down table.
The suited man sat across from me again. Same calm. Same sunglasses. Cigarette tucked behind one ear now.
"You could've stayed hidden," he said. "But you didn't. You came for her. I didn't think you'd be that foolish."
He paced slowly, boots echoing against the hollow floor. Every once in a while, he'd walk towards me and punch me in the face.
"Director Connor," he said anyway. "Internal Division. The quiet side of things."
He stopped behind the chair opposite mine.
"You've done well. Multiple identities. Fancy masks. Clever friends. But the problem with playing all the pieces..."
"Eventually, someone flips the board."
I met his gaze, steady. "You sound like a man who just realized he can't win fair."
His brow twitched. "You think you're clever. Unique."
"No," I said. "I know I am. You do too. That's why we're here."
He narrowed his eyes. "You think this is about you?"
"Obviously it is! I'm the only candidate to overthrow the current World President. A future that doesn't have your leash on it."
He clicked his tongue and rapped a knuckle on the table.
A guard entered, dropped a tablet in front of me, and tapped play.
Sienna's face filled the screen.
She was in a cargo hold cell. Sheet metal walls. A red surveillance light blinking in the corner. No windows. No cot.
She was shouting. Banging on the walls. Pleading.
Connor's voice went soft. Almost kind. "We don't need to hurt her. Fear does the work for us. Her heart is much more fragile then yours."
He leaned against the wall, watching my reaction. "You'll cooperate because that will be the only way you can save them. Her. The others."
He slid a manila folder across the table. "Camille Voss. Alexis Harrington. Ring a bell?"
He grinned faintly. "You're not the first to try this. But you are the first we've had to go this far for."
In her cell, Sienna was curled up now. Her voice had worn thin. The blinking red light above her ticked like a heartbeat.
"Please..." she whispered to the camera. "Please just tell me what's happening..."
The screen flickered.
My face appeared—bruised, bloodied. Hands cuffed to a pipe behind me. My mouth didn't move, but my eyes found hers.
"No—Reynard!" She ran to the screen. Slammed her fists against the wall. "Talk to me!"
But no sound came from the screen. It was one-way.
Still, we looked at each other.
She knew I hadn't given up.
Back in the converted room, Connor returned with a glass of water—set it just out of reach. Opened the folder.
Photos. Fabricated evidence. My face plastered across staged chaos.
"You'll be our inside man," he said. "You will be a tool for us. After all, it would be a waste to throw your abilities away. But first, we must get rid of the Masked Syndicate. You will, under the identities of the members, confess to crimes and commit crimes. We want you to burn the identity of the Masked Syndicate to the ground."
"You want me to be obedient."
"Absolutely," he replied. "You will obey and do as you are told."
"We keep her. Maybe grab the other 2. I truly do wonder how long it will take before they break."
I leaned forward, the cuffs creaking.
"You're making a mistake."
"No," Connor said as he stood. "You made a mistake the moment you tried to be something other than the F-Rank you were born to be. But we will be merciful, you'll have an hour to think it over. Don't be foolish this time."
The door clanged shut.
I sat still for a moment.
Then I slumped forward—slow, deliberate.
A faint red blink flared beneath my collar. So tiny, that nobody noticed it when checking my clothes.
Anthony's voice buzzed in my ear. Low. Crisp.
"Boss we got your position."
"Good," I whispered. "Because now..."
"...we play my game."