The Grey Zone didn’t celebrate the fall of Kael with cheers; it celebrated with the sound of sharpening steel and the rhythmic thud of Enforcer boots on wet asphalt. Astra stood on the mangled remains of the Carrion throne, her silver eyes scanning the smoke choked horizon of the industrial sectors. The red drones that had patrolled the skies were falling one by one, swatted down by the scavengers they had tried to collar. But the victory felt shallow, a temporary bandage on a city that was bleeding from a dozen new wounds.
Dante stood at the base of the platform, his black shirt torn and stained with Kael’s glowing green blood. He didn't look like a billionaire anymore; he looked like a warlord. His golden eyes were fixed on a digital map projected from his wrist, a web of red dots indic
