The courtroom smelled of old dust and ink. Rows of cameras lined the back wall like hungry eyes. Reporters filled every seat that wasn't already occupied by Parliament members, military observers, and families who had come to see the downfall of a man who'd hidden behind polished words and humanitarian banners.
Ewan Rourke sat alone in the defendant's box. No entourage that glorified his every move. As per the law, he had a lawyer, but at this point, he shouldn't have bothered now that the evidence had borne his sins to daylight. His cufflinks were gone. His hair, once combed like armor, had fallen limp over his forehead. For the first time since I'd seen him on a campaign poster, he looked human, and all too small.
The prosecutor's voice carried through the hall.
"…the evidence compiled by Overwatch's Rose Division, known publicly as the Rose's Thorns, has proven beyond reasonable doubt that Mr. Rourke profited from trafficking, false death certifications, and human displacement under the guise of reconstruction funding."
A murmur ran through the chamber. The judge struck the gavel once.
"Order."
The verdict came minutes later. Guilty on all counts. The Prime Minister wasted no time in carrying out his verdict. Stripped of his titles. His seat in Parliament revoked. Lifetime imprisonment without parole.
I didn't cheer. None of us did. For all the work, the nights without sleep, the hours of digging through ledgers and pain, none of it felt like victory. Just exhaustion. When Rourke was led past me in cuffs, he turned his head. For a heartbeat, his eyes met mine. No rage. No denial. Just a cold, resigned smirk.
"You think you've won," he murmured. "You've only trimmed one branch."
Then he was gone, swallowed by the guards.
The rain had come again, fine and endless. London always seemed to grieve through drizzle. Adawe stood beside me under the old colonnade outside the tribunal building. The stone steps gleamed like oil under the lamps.
"You did good work," she said softly. "The world saw justice done."
"Justice," I echoed. "Maybe. But the roots are still there."
Her gaze followed the water trickling down the steps. "Then we keep digging."
Before I could answer, she added, "Get some rest, Rose. You and your people earned it. Parliament will announce the transfer of oversight tomorrow."
I nodded, though my gut stayed tight. "Rourke said something before they took him."
"I heard." Her eyes narrowed. "Branches. He wasn't wrong. But you already know that, don't you?"
I didn't respond. We both understood the same thing: Rourke was a symptom, not the disease.
Elsewhere – Unknown Location
A long table stretched through the shadows of a low-lit room. No names, no flags, only masks, faces hidden by voice distortion filters that turned speech into whispers of iron and static.
"The verdict was unanimous," one said, voice male, middle-aged, laced with irritation. "Rourke is finished. His accounts frozen, his assets seized."
Another leaned forward, the reflection of red glass lenses catching the dim light. "He was careless. Too visible. I always warned him to trust his people to get the job done for him. But he always insisted on being there, to make sure it got done right."
"Perhaps," a third voice replied, smooth and female, "but the speed of his downfall concerns me. No bureaucracy moves that fast. Not unless it's helped."
"They had help," said a fourth. "The Rose's Thorns. Shawn Rose himself led the investigation."
That name hung in the air. Even through the modulation, silence had weight.
Finally, one of them spoke, the one sitting at the head of the table, his voice low, deliberate. "You're implying they knew he was one of ours."
"They acted like it," came the response. "Half of Parliament was corrupt in some form of way. They dug too precisely, avoided every diversion, went straight for Rourke's shell companies as if they already knew which ones mattered."
"You think it's coincidence?"
"I think it's… foresight," another replied. "There are whispers inside Overwatch. They say Rose knows things. Some say he sees the future."
A faint scoff followed. "Superstition."
"Maybe not," the female voice countered. "You saw what he did in California. In Amman. The boy walks out of impossible situations alive. Maybe he's not the enemy at all. He's an opportunity. Has anyone even offered him a place among us?"
That earned silence again. Then the leader spoke.
"If he's an opportunity, we make contact. If he's a threat, we correct him."
A pause. "Do you volunteer?"
A shadow shifted near the edge of the table who was a man, tall, wearing a simple black coat without insignia. "I'll go," he said. "He knows my kind of silence. I'll give him the offer. If he refuses… well, we'll know where he stands."
Morning light leaked through blinds at the enclave. Coffee steamed untouched beside a pile of case files that already felt like relics. The team was scattered through the space, Sonya cross-checking follow-ups, Leslie tinkering with equipment, Marco asleep on a couch with reports still in his lap.
When the courier arrived, he looked too young to carry something that heavy.
"Delivery for Sergeant Rose," he said, voice uncertain.
I signed, took the envelope, and the kid left without meeting my eyes.
It was thick paper, sealed with wax stamped into a spiral, a design I didn't recognize, but it felt deliberate. Inside was a folded note in perfect handwriting.
To Staff Sergeant Rose,
Your actions in recent weeks have not gone unnoticed.
Some of us admire your resolve, others question it.
There are conversations worth having, truths the public would never let you speak.
If you seek to understand the real balance of this world, come to the address below. Alone.
Midnight. Three days from now.
– A Friend
At the bottom: Bishop's Gate, London.
My stomach tightened. The wax seal's spiral wasn't random. It was a known, well known to those who knew to look for it, Talon cipher, an invitation.
Adawe read the letter twice, then slid it back across her desk. Her expression was unreadable, but her fingers tapped against the table's edge like distant thunder.
"Talon," she said finally.
"Without doubt," I replied.
"And you want to go."
"Don't see any reason not to."
Her eyes met mine. "You're considering walking into an ambush."
"There are easier ways to kill someone."
"That's exactly what worries me." She leaned back. "They want something else."
I nodded. "I know."
A pause. "You'll not go alone."
"I have to." I met her gaze. "You know how this works. If I bring anyone, they'll scatter before I'm in sight. They need to think I trust them."
Her sigh was long and tired. "Report everything. And Shawn, if anything feels off, run."
Virginia caught me as I left the command floor. "You're really going."
"I am."
"You told Adawe?"
"She knows."
Her hand caught my sleeve. "Then let me come. At least as backup."
I shook my head. "If it's a trap, I won't risk the team. If it's real, I need them to believe I came alone."
Her lips pressed thin. "Then promise me you won't do something stupid."
I almost smiled. "That's never been my strength."
Midnight found me under the broken clock tower. The street was empty, the kind of silence that feels manufactured. I could hear my own pulse beneath the steady drip of rain.
A figure waited at the far end of the alley. Tall, composed, coat dark enough to drink the light. His face was hidden behind a plain porcelain mask that had no emblem, no design, just smooth anonymity.
When he spoke, his voice carried that strange, electronic timbre I'd heard in recordings of Talon broadcasts. "Sergeant Rose. You came."
"I don't turn down invitations from ghosts."
He chuckled softly. "Good. Then you already understand the tone of our conversation."
I stayed still. "You're Talon."
"I represent interests. Interests that believe you and we might not be so different."
"Interesting take. I'm pretty sure that what Rouke does is mild compared to the rest."
He ignored the jab, stepping closer. "You dismantled Rourke. Efficiently. Publicly. Few could have done so with such precision. Tell me, how did you know he was one of ours?"
"Luck," I said.
"Lies," he answered easily. "You knew before any investigation began. Almost like you saw it coming."
My jaw tightened. "If you came to compliment me, you wasted a trip."
"I came to offer you a choice."
He reached into his coat and drew out a folded paper, sealed with the same spiral mark. "Rourke was careless. He drew light where there should have been shadow. He endangered our cause. You corrected that imbalance."
"I exposed him," I said. "You're welcome."
His tone didn't change. "Exposure and removal are not the same. His failure endangered others who worked beside him. There is one left who knew the extent of his dealings. We cannot afford witnesses."
"Let me guess," I said. "You want me to kill him."
"Think of it as finishing what you started." He extended the paper. "Inside is a name and an address. You have three days to decide whether you act, or not."
"And if I don't?"
He smiled beneath the mask; I could hear it in his voice. "Then we'll know where your loyalty lies. And so will the world."
I didn't take the paper. He dropped it at my feet, turned, and vanished down the alley like smoke dispersing into fog. When I finally picked it up, the rain had already started to bleed the ink.
The team noticed the moment I returned. Spencer looked up from the map table. "You went."
"I did."
"What happened?"
"Nothing." I peeled off my coat, hung it on the rack. "It was a conversation."
Virginia stepped forward. "With who?"
"Doesn't matter."
"Shawn..."
I cut her off. "Not now."
They watched me, silent, waiting for more that didn't come. I walked past them, into the small office I'd taken as mine. Closed the door. Locked it.
For a long time, I just stood there, staring at the envelope in my hand. The name inside could've been anyone, a politician, a contractor, another pawn, but it didn't matter. Talon had chosen their test.
Kill a man. Prove myself. Join them. Or walk away and let them come for me next.