Vladimir Pov
The data flicker was so subtle, only Alexander’s specialized decryption suite could have caught it. A single, rapid burst of encrypted numbers delivered via a high-security communication line from an undisclosed medical monitoring device. The code was silent, the message absolute.
I stood before the screen in the temporary command center, a hastily secured warehouse near the Thessaloniki docks. The chaos around me, the shouted Greek and Italian commands, the whir of drone monitors, was muffled, filtered. All that mattered was the scrolling text: Location confirmed. Status: Stabilized. Event: Initiated. Asset 1: Secured.
Secured. The word was a razor wire around my heart. Secured. It meant the doctor, Rossi, had survived. It meant Isabella was alive. And Asset 1, it meant th
