Warehouse 44 sat at the end of a pier that jutted out into the Mississippi like a broken finger.

  Detective Anna Harris pulled her sedan into the shadow of a row of shipping containers, killing the headlights. She checked the load on her service weapon, her heart hammering against her ribs. The data she'd pulled from the SPD archives was a roadmap to a conspiracy, but on this side of the city, the law felt like a very thin shield.

  Suddenly, her car's infotainment screen flickered. The radio, which had been off, hissed with static before a voice—deep, distorted, and metallic—filled the cabin.

  "Don't get out of the car, Detective."

  Anna jumped, her hand flying to her holster. She scanned the dark perimeter, her eyes darting from the side mirrors to the rain-streaked windshield. "Who is this? How are you on this frequency?"

  "The kind of person who doesn't want to see a good cop end up dead," the voice replied. It wasn't human; it sounded like gravel being ground through a synthesizer. "Look at the tablet in your passenger seat."

  Anna looked down. Her department-issued tablet was glowing. A file was open—one she hadn't downloaded. It was a high-resolution forensic breakdown of the chemical composition of the C4 recovered from the Johnson Community Center.

  "A subsidiary of Carlax Construction manufactured the detonators used at the center," the voice continued. "Batch number 77-Delta. That specific batch was reported stolen from a Carlax site three months ago. No police report was ever filed. Chief Johnson personally signed the internal 'inventory adjustment' form."

  Anna's breath hitched. She had the financial links, but this was physical evidence—a direct line from a terrorist bomb to the Mayor's personal company. "This is the Black Ghost, isn't it?"

  Silence greeted her for a moment, save for the drum of rain on the roof.

  "The Mayor isn't just ignoring the Red Knights, Anna. He's funding them. Warehouse 44 isn't a storage facility; it's an armory. If you walk in there now, the men inside have orders to shoot any 'trespasser' on sight. They have city-sanctioned immunity."

  "I can't just sit here," Anna snapped, her professional instinct overriding her fear. "If what you're saying is true, I have enough to pull a warrant. I need to secure the site."

  "A warrant from a judge that Jones has in his pocket? A perimeter secured by officers Johnson has hand-picked?" The Ghost's voice was cold. "You're in a lion's den, Detective. And the lions are wearing badges."

  "Then why tell me? If you're the big shadow in the night, why do you need a detective?"

  "Because shadows can't testify in court," the voice replied. "I can disrupt their operations, but you're the only one who can dismantle the system. There's a side door on the north face of the building. The keypad has been looped. Go in. See the truth for yourself. But do not call for backup. If you do, the Red Knights will know you're there before the first siren hits the bridge."

  The screen went black. The radio died.

  Anna sat in the silence, her grip tightening on the steering wheel. She looked at the warehouse. A single red light pulsed atop the pier. She didn't trust vigilantes, and she certainly didn't trust ghosts—but the evidence on the tablet was undeniable.

  You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

  She stepped out of the car, the Sumlin rain soaking through her blazer instantly. She moved low, staying in the shadows of the containers, heading for the north face of Warehouse 44.

  High above on the gantry crane, Devin Stone watched through his thermal visor. His knee was locked into the exoskeleton, providing a steady platform as he monitored the thermal signatures inside the building.

  "She's moving, Wes," Devin whispered. "North entrance. Did you loop the cameras?"

  "Cameras are on a fifteen-second ghost loop," Wesley replied from the bunker. "But Dev, Project Aegis just spiked. They've deployed a mobile scanning unit two blocks away. Jones's boys are looking for the 'electronic signature' of your suit. If you stay on that crane, they're going to triangulate you in less than five minutes."

  "I'm staying until she's inside," Devin said. "If Michael Lee is in there, she doesn't stand a chance."

  "Lee isn't there," Wesley said, his fingers flying across the keys. "I tracked his cell signal to a private club downtown. But Sarah Miller is. She's overseeing the ordnance transfer. She's just as lethal, Devin."

  Devin watched as Anna reached the north door. She paused, looking around, then touched the keypad. As Wesley promised, the door clicked open. She disappeared into the maw of the warehouse.

  "Alright, she's in," Devin said, standing up. "Now, give me a distraction. I need to get to the roof and drop in before Miller realizes she has a guest."

  "Initiating 'Power Grid Flux' in the industrial sector," Wesley said. "On three. One... two... three."

  The streetlights along the pier flickered and died. A transformer behind the warehouse erupted in a shower of blue sparks, drawing the attention of the Red Knight sentries at the front gate.

  In the sudden darkness, the Black Ghost stepped off the crane. He didn't use his gliders; he dropped straight down, his boots hitting the corrugated steel of the warehouse roof with a heavy thud that was swallowed by the roll of thunder.

  Inside, the warehouse was a cavern of crates and shadows. Anna moved behind a stack of industrial pallets, her heart racing as she peered into the central loading bay.

  The Black Ghost hadn't lied.

  Half a dozen men in tactical gear—the Red Knights—were loading crates into the back of a Carlax-branded semi-truck. The crates were marked with the same batch numbers she had seen on the tablet. Beside the truck, a woman with a severe blonde ponytail and a scar running through her eyebrow stood checking a clipboard. Sarah Miller.

  "Move it!" Miller shouted. "The Mayor wants this shipment at the docks before the 0200 tide. We lose the window, we lose the leverage."

  Anna pulled out her phone, holding it steady to record the scene. She caught the crates, the truck, and Miller's face. This was it. The link. The proof.

  But as she moved to get a better angle, her foot caught a loose piece of rebar on the floor. The metal scraped against the concrete with a sharp, piercing screech.

  Every head in the loading bay snapped toward her position.

  "Security!" Miller yelled, drawing a suppressed submachine gun from her hip. "Check the pallets! Kill anything that moves!"

  Anna ducked, her back against the wood, her breath coming in shallow gasps. She was trapped. No backup. No way out.

  Suddenly, the skylight above the loading bay shattered.

  A figure wrapped in black armor and a tattered coat plummeted from the ceiling, surrounded by a rain of glass shards. The Black Ghost hit the floor in the center of the Knights, his white eyes glowing like twin fires in the gloom.

  "Detective," the Ghost's voice boomed, no longer a whisper on a radio but a command that shook the room. "Get to the door. Now!"

  He didn't wait for her to move. He lunged toward the nearest Knight, his movements a symphony of violence and precision.

  Anna didn't hesitate. She scrambled toward the north exit, the sounds of gunfire and breaking bone echoing behind her. She reached the door and burst out into the rain, sprinting for her car.

  She didn't look back until she was miles away, her hands shaking as she gripped the steering wheel. She had the footage. She had the truth.

  But as she looked in her rearview mirror at the flickering lights of the industrial district, she knew one thing for certain: Devin Stone and his defense company were just the tip of the iceberg. And the Ghost? He was the only thing standing between Sumlin and the abyss.