The moment I step inside Cross Tech’s private server vault, the temperature feels colder than the snowfall outside.
Frost clings to the steel walls. The hum of machines vibrates through my bones. Rows of servers blink like thousands of unblinking eyes—reminding me of everything I built, everything I controlled, everything that’s slipping through my fingers because of one woman.
Because of my all, Luna Vega.
I swipe my palm across the biometric panel. The reinforced door seals behind me with a hiss—locking me inside with the one thing I still understand:
Data.
Systems.
Control.
Or what’s left of it.
“Begin sweep,” I order.
A holographic interface blooms around me—streams of code, encrypted channels, dark web spidering maps showing every trace of Rogue I ever created. Every mask. Ev
