Valemont – Rooftop Chase, 2:17 P.M.
Cassien’s sleek black sedan cut through the gridlocked streets of Valemont with surgical precision. Selene sat beside him, eyes scanning her phone, overlaying maps, timestamps, and the latest intel from the tower’s command feeds. Every second counted.
The priest. The younger Leona. The man in the Saint Mirabel photo. Whoever had orchestrated the fire was still alive. Still moving. Still playing shadows with the city as their boardroom had been burned in scandal.
“Sublevel 3 logs,” Cassien muttered, voice low but taut. “Someone used proxy access points. Multiple devices. They weren’t sloppy. But I have a pattern.”
Selene leaned closer. “Meaning?”
Cassien traced lines on the map, fingers flying across the screen. “They’re following the old trade route
