Detective Harris parked her sedan and sat in the parking lot of the Sumlin Police Department, her fingers drumming rhythmically against the steering wheel. On the passenger seat lay her phone, containing the high-definition footage from Warehouse 44, and a tablet loaded with the ballistics data provided by the Black Ghost.

  She was stepping into a place where no one spoke the truth.

  Anna walked through the double doors with purpose. She passed the front desk and moved through the bullpen, ignoring the suspicious looks from officers who already saw her as an outsider. Without stopping, she went straight into Chief Carl Johnson’s office.

  Johnson looked up from a stack of paperwork, his face instantly hardening into a mask of weary irritation. “Detective Harris. I believe I gave you a direct order to stay clear of the industrial district last night.”

  “And I believe you have a direct responsibility to uphold the law, Chief,” Anna replied, slamming her phone onto his desk. “Press play.”

  Johnson stared at her for a moment, then looked down. He watched the grainy but clear footage of Sarah Miller overseeing the transfer of Carlax crates filled with military explosives. He saw the Red Knights moving with precision inside a building he had said was empty.

  Johnson’s face went pale. “This... this could have been staged. A digital deepfake.”

  “It matches the chemical signatures the Black Ghost sent to my car,” Anna said, her voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. “The same batch of C4 was used at the community center. The batch you signed off on as ‘lost inventory’. Now, you have two choices, Carl. You can sign the warrant for the Carlax main administrative offices right now, or I’ll take this to the State Attorney and the FBI before the sun goes down.”

  Johnson looked at the phone, then at Anna. He saw someone with nothing to lose and a career spent taking down people like him. His hand shook as he reached for his desk stamp.

  Carlax Construction’s headquarters was a tall glass-and-steel tower that stood out on the Sumlin skyline, a symbol of Mayor Rob Jones’s pride. Anna arrived with a small team of officers from other precincts, hoping they were still honest. The corporate security team tried to delay them.

  “Step aside,” Anna commanded, thrusting the warrant into the lead guard’s chest. “Unless you want to be charged with obstruction of a terrorism investigation.”

  They moved.

  The search was careful and thorough. While her team cataloged hard drives and ledger books, Anna headed straight to the executive filing room, known as “dead storage” for important documents. She walked past blueprints for stadiums and dams, looking for anything unusual.

  Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

  In the back corner, behind a pile of zoning permits, she found a locked steel cabinet with no labels. She took a heavy pry bar from her kit, and the metal screeched in the quiet room as the lock broke open.

  Inside was a single, thin manila folder. The tab read: OP-RETRIBUTION.

  Anna opened it, and her heart froze.

  The first thing she saw was a photograph of a smiling man in a clerical collar. James Stone. Beneath the photo was a detailed log of his movements: his Sunday service times, his favorite grocery store, and the exact time he turned off his porch light every night.

  It was a folder meant for a planned killing.

  “My God,” she breathed.

  The documents confirmed what the city had whispered for three years: Pastor James Stone hadn’t been a victim of random street violence. He had been the target of a targeted assassination. The file detailed his vocal opposition to the Carlax riverfront expansion and his intent to testify about the Mayor’s use of RKG as an enforcement arm.

  As she flipped to the final page, a smaller, handwritten note fell out. It was a summary of the “action taken” three years ago.

  Target neutralized. Message delivered. Primary Operator: Miller, S.

  Anna squeezed the paper until it wrinkled. Sarah Miller. The woman she saw at the warehouse. The Mayor’s top enforcer had beaten an old man to death and hung him on a cross.

  The corruption was soaked in blood.

  At SDC headquarters, Devin Stone sat in his dark office, his helmet resting on the desk. He watched a live feed from Anna’s body camera, a connection Wesley had kept running since she entered the building.

  When his uncle’s file appeared on the screen, Devin did not move or speak. He sat still, staring at the name Sarah Miller.

  “Devin,” Wesley’s voice came over the soft-room speakers, uncharacteristically quiet. “I’m sorry. I knew they were involved, but seeing the order... seeing her name...”

  “I knew it was her,” Devin said, his voice a flat, terrifying monotone. “The way she moved in the warehouse. The way she handled that submachine gun. She’s a professional.”

  “Anna has the file now,” Wesley said. “She can take this to the top. She can get Miller off the streets legally.”

  “Legally?” Devin finally turned his head and looked at the Black Ghost mask. The white eyes seemed to look back at him. “The law didn’t save my uncle. The law approved the report that gave out the explosives used to blow up a community center. The law is now in the Mayor’s office, drinking expensive bourbon.”

  “Devin, don’t,” Wesley warned. “If you go after Miller now, you’re not a vigilante anymore. You’re just a man looking for revenge. You’ll lose the mission.”

  “The mission is the disease, Wes,” Devin said as he stood up. “And Sarah Miller is the first part I’m removing.”

  “Wait,” Wesley interjected, his typing speed increasing. “Project Aegis is moving. I’m seeing a massive spike in signal intercepts around the Carlax building. Jones knows she’s in there. He knows she found the file.”

  On the monitor, Anna was tucking the James Stone folder into her blazer, heading for the exit.

  “They’re not going to let her leave that building with that folder, Devin,” Wesley said, his voice rising in alarm. “A tactical team just pulled into the underground garage. They aren’t SPD. They’re Red Knights.”

  Devin grabbed his mask. He was ready to live up to the name “Death From Above.”

  “Keep her alive, Wes. I’m on my way.”

  “The Aegis scanners are active, Dev! The moment you get close, you’ll be lit up like a flare!”

  “Then let them look,” Devin growled, pulling the cowl over his face. “I want them to see me coming.”

  He walked toward the balcony, the black coat of the Ghost blowing in the wind. The connection was made. The killer was identified. In the center of Sumlin, something violent was about to happen.