Valebrook Warehouse District – 11:47 p.m.
There were six guards.
Juliana spotted them all from the roof of the adjacent storage facility. Two at the loading bay, one by the side door, three roving in timed rotation. Military-trained. Syndicate muscle. Armored but lazy — the kind that had grown too comfortable thinking no one would be stupid enough to hit them on their own turf.
She was about to prove them wrong.
"You see the one on the far end?" came a soft voice in her comm. Echo.
Juliana smiled faintly. "The one drinking from the flask?"
"Yeah. Watch this."
Pffft.
The sound of a suppressed round whispered through the air. The man dropped before his flask hit the ground.
"Still got it," Echo murmured.
"I never doubted you," Juliana replied, sliding down the side of the roof.
______
11:51 p.m. – Inside Warehouse 42B
Juliana breached the side door silently. Knife in one hand, silenced pistol in the other. The hallway smelled of oil and blood. Low hum of generators. Boxes stacked like coffins. Crates marked with serial numbers and false pharmaceutical labels.
She slit the first guard's throat as he turned the corner. Held him while he died, quiet and still, until his body went limp. Another round from above — Echo, flawless as always.
Two down.
She reached the control panel, inserted the access card stolen from Malcolm Rivas before he bled out in her lap. The door opened.
And the truth hit her like a blade to the ribs.
Weapons. Hundreds of them.
Military-grade rifles. Black market explosives. Crates of ammunition stamped with foreign governments' seals. But that wasn't what stopped her. What stopped her was the crate in the back.
She opened it and froze. Inside wasn't a weapon. It was a coffin.
And in that coffin—
"Preacher," she said into the comm, voice strained. "I need you at 42B. Now."
______
Midnight – Ten Minutes Later
Preacher arrived just as Juliana was removing the lid fully.
He stared. Crossed himself. Swore softly.
"What the hell is this?"
Inside the box was a body, wrapped in black velvet. Female. Mid-30s. Cold but preserved. Pale. No visible injuries. A necklace rested on her chest. Juliana touched it gently. Her mother's necklace. Her knees almost buckled.
"No," she whispered. "That's not possible."
"You said your mother was shot. Execution style."
"She was. I watched it on video."
"And now she's in a refrigerated coffin with no entry wound. Looks like she's been here for weeks."
Juliana turned to him, eyes burning.
"They faked the kill."
"Why would they—?"
"Control."
Preacher nodded slowly. "The Syndicate lied to you. About the kill. About the video. About everything."
Juliana clenched her jaw. "And if they lied about that…"
She turned toward the far corner of the warehouse.
"They may have lied about the rest of the names on the list, too."
_____
12:35 a.m. – Upstairs Office
Juliana stormed into the upper floor office, Echo right behind her.
On the wall: a touchscreen vault. Damian had told her about it before the auction went sideways. Said it required three things:
1. Rivas's access card — already stolen.
2. A biometric thumbprint.
3. A key — a literal one, forged in Syndicate steel and cut only for inner-circle members.
"If Rivas had it," Echo said, "it's probably in his safe house."
"Unless he left it here."
Juliana moved to the desk. Kicked open the drawer. Papers. Cash. Two old burner phones.
Then, beneath a stack of photographs… A small black velvet box. She opened it. The key gleamed under the single desk lamp. "Bingo."
_____
12:41 a.m. – Vault Room.
Juliana inserted the card. Pressed her mother's thumbprint — she'd taken a scan just in case. Twisted the key. The vault clicked. It opened like a mouth hungry for sin.
Inside: a hard drive. Encased in glass. Preacher whistled. "Encrypted?"
"Government-military hybrid. Old tech. Unhackable. Unless you have the password."
Juliana stared at the keypad. Six letters. A single attempt. She thought of her father's journal.
"Justice beyond blood." Aequitas. Sanguinem. Da Vinci.
Then her hand moved on its own.
"Widow." Click.
The light turned green. The screen flashed open.
______
What she saw made her stomach twist.
Names. Photos. Timelines. And videos. Real-time surveillance clips of her, sleeping, training... boarding school. Even the day of the auction.
"They were watching me," she whispered. "Since I was sixteen. Maybe earlier."
Echo leaned in. "They built you."
"No."
Juliana scrolled deeper. Then stopped.
A folder marked "Reclamation."
Inside: a list.
Subject 7: Juliana Black – Status: Active
Subject 8: Raven – Status: Rogue
Subject 9: Nova – Status: Inactive
Subject 10: Pending Activation
She felt the floor tilt beneath her. "There were more of us."
Preacher looked at her, grim. "They weren't building soldiers."
"They were building gods."
______ 1:00 a.m. – Back Alley Exit
The warehouse burned behind them — lit up by Echo's charge packs. Everything inside, including the coffin, turned to ash. Juliana stood in the alley, staring into the smoke.
"You think that was really your mother?" Echo asked.
Juliana nodded once. "I know her bones."
"And now she's gone. Again."
"No. Now she's free."
She turned to Preacher.
"What's the status on the name drop?"
"One of them — Harold King — just went into lockdown. He knows he's next."
Juliana cracked her knuckles.
"Then let's remind him what happens when you lie to a Da Vinci."
Preacher hesitated. "Jules… you sure this is still about revenge?"
She looked at
him. Calm. Terrifying.
"No."
"Then what is it?"
She met his eyes.
"Now… it's about truth."