Catalyst

### **Chapter 1: Signal Lost** The moment the signal flickered onto my screen, I knew I was screwed. It was a distress call. A ghost of a code I hadn’t seen in years—one I designed, encrypted, and then buried under layers of classified data. Catalyst. My fingers hovered over the keyboard, pulse hammering. That wasn’t possible. Catalyst was gone. Scrubbed from existence. I had watched it happen myself. And yet, there it was—a single pulse, a cry for help, directly pinging my encrypted device. I hesitated, staring at the screen. The code was subtle, a fragmented piece of an old failsafe I had built into Catalyst before the project was shut down. But it wasn’t complete. Someone had either sent it in a rush or—more likely—someone had intercepted it. A trap? Possibly. But if Catalyst was still active, even in fragments, then it meant someone had lied. Someone had kept it hidden. And now, whoever sent this signal was either dead, about to be, or had just painted a target on my back. I should have shut it all down. Ignored the message, closed the laptop, and disappeared. But I didn’t. Instead, I did what I always did. I hacked. My fingers moved on instinct, breaking apart the transmission, looking for its origin. The trace was bouncing—no, deliberately rerouting through multiple proxy layers. Military-grade obfuscation. Whoever had sent this knew what they were doing. I was barely two layers deep when the power cut out. The low hum of my monitors died, leaving behind an eerie silence. The apartment was thrown into total darkness, except for the faint blue glow of my laptop battery. That was bad. I sat frozen for half a second, listening. Then I felt it—subtle vibrations in the floor. Footsteps. Heavy. Controlled. Not my neighbors. Not some late-night drunk in the hallway. **Military.** Shit. I moved before I could think, grabbing my laptop, stuffing my phone into my jacket pocket. The hairs on the back of my neck stood on end. Every instinct screamed at me to get out. A red dot flickered on the wall. Sniper. Glass shattered behind me as a bullet punched through my monitor, exploding it into sparks. I dove to the ground, heart slamming against my ribs. Seconds later, my front door **exploded inward.** The force shook the walls as black-clad figures stormed in. Tactical gear. Silenced weapons. The full kill-squad treatment. They weren’t here to arrest me. They were here to **erase me.** I pushed up from the floor, ignoring the sting of glass slicing into my hands, and ran. The layout of my apartment burned in my memory. I took the back hall, vaulted over the couch, and hit the emergency ladder by the window. More gunfire. Bullets ripped into the walls as I yanked the ladder down, practically **throwing myself onto the rusted metal.** I climbed fast, the wind biting against my skin as I reached the rooftop. Below, the black ops team was already moving—organized, relentless. I didn’t stop. I sprinted across the ledge, lungs burning, leaping the gap to the next building. My foot barely caught the edge, but I scrambled up and kept running. They were gaining. I counted **six of them**, possibly more. A whole damn **hit squad** for one person? I didn’t have time to process it. I took another leap, rolling onto the gravel of the next rooftop, then yanked open the rusted door leading into an abandoned stairwell. Down. Out. Into the night. By the time I hit the alleyway, I was six blocks away, breath ragged, adrenaline still surging. The streets of New York blurred around me—crowds, neon signs, the hum of city life oblivious to the fact that **I had just been hunted.** I pulled my hood up, kept my head down, and slipped into the nearest 24-hour diner. Inside, the news was playing on the overhead TV. And then I saw it. My face, plastered across every screen. "Breaking News: Cyberterrorist Kiera Maddox, wanted for espionage and murder." I froze. My stomach clenched. The words **cyberterrorist. Espionage. Murder.** None of it made sense. This wasn’t just a kill order. This was a full-scale takedown. Someone had set me up. Someone powerful enough to frame me, to send an execution squad after me, to make the whole damn world believe I was a traitor. Which left me one option. One person who might have answers. Luca Reyes. I gritted my teeth. The man who once betrayed me. The man I swore I’d never see again. But if he was involved in this—if he knew anything about Catalyst—then I was about to hunt him down. And if he had sold me out again? I’d kill him myself.