The rain came back heavy that night, not soft like a lullaby, but wild, thrashing, like the sky was trying to wash the world clean and failing. Alexander sat on the apartment floor, knees to his chest, phone glowing in his hands. Lila was asleep on the couch, or maybe just pretending, her breathing too even, too careful.
He hadn't moved in hours. Not since he saw the first name in the folder from the package—"Mireya Valez."
He whispered it now. Like it was sacred. Or dangerous. It felt like both.
Mireya. The ghost. The one Barrett warned him about in passing months ago. "If you ever hear that name," he'd said, "you run the other way. Or you burn faster."
But he wasn't running anymore. And burning? That was just breathing now.
Morning hit loud. Sirens in the distance, frying pan cracking, water boiling. City waking up like it had teeth.
Lila stood by the window, hair loose, eyes locked on something across the street. "The man in the red coat is back. Third time this week."
Alexander joined her. Saw him. Just a guy leaning against a lamppost, scrolling his phone.
"You think he's one of them?"
She nodded. "He's watching the bakery. Hasn't bought a thing. Just watches."
Alexander sighed, rubbing his face. "Then it begins again."
Mireya Valez ran a consultancy firm on paper. In reality, she was an architect of ruin. Not like his father, who built empires with control and shame. Mireya? She broke systems for money. Governments. Corporations. Activist networks. She played all sides, and no one really knew who she served. Just that if she showed up, someone powerful was about to bleed.
And her name was all over the drive. Attached to wire transfers from Kingsley accounts. Attached to a hit contract dated two weeks before Barrett got shot.
Alexander stared at that one line for an hour.
TARGET: HART
He didn't tell Lila.
Not yet.
They met a new ally three days later.
Rian Skye. Young. Maybe twenty-two. Hacker. Real name unknown. Gender? Fluid. Style? Chaotic.
They found Rian in a hidden chatroom built for whistleblowers. He went by "WormKey." Sent them a direct message.
"I got something you need. But I won't say more here. Meet in realspace. Bring trust."
Against their better judgment, they went. A downtown noodle shop. Greasy windows. Cash only.
Rian was already there. Hoodie up. Smiling like they knew the world's punchline.
"You're the storm-makers, yeah? Kingsley's little mistakes?"
Lila tensed. "Who are you?"
"Someone who wants to watch him burn more than you do."
Alexander leaned in. "Prove it."
Rian slid a phone across the table. Onscreen: a map. Red dots. One blinking green.
"That's you," Rian said. "The red ones? Kingsley assets. Hidden ones. Dead drops. Surveillance nests. Safe houses. The kind of stuff only ghosts know."
Lila frowned. "How did you get this?"
"Barrett had backups. Hidden in layers. I peeled them. You're not done yet. Not even close."
Back home, Alexander couldn't sleep.
He paced. Stared at the map. Too many red dots. Too many places they hadn't hit. Mireya Valez had touched every one.
Lila watched him from the couch. "You're thinking about her again."
He nodded.
"You need to stop. Obsessing over her won't keep us safe."
"I know. But if she's behind Barrett's death... If she marked you..."
"Then we kill her first."
Simple. Cold. Real.
He looked at her. Something in her face had changed since Chapter Six. Sharper. Still kind, but now lined with something steel.
Three weeks later, they left the apartment.
New identities. New city.
Atlanta.
They tracked a pattern of movements. Shipments. A shell company tied to Mireya was renting an office above a nightclub.
Rian came with them. Tech in a backpack. Calm as a breeze.
"You sure you want to do this?" they asked.
Alexander didn't blink. "We're not tourists."
"Then let's kick a wasp nest."