The data fought me.
Lines of code blurred, rearranged, and rewrote themselves as I read. Every time I thought I had something solid, it twisted into something else, like it was actively resisting me.
But I kept going.
Because something in my gut told me this wasn’t just about uncovering secrets. This was about survival.
My fingers hovered over the keyboard, tension tightening my jaw. I had been digging into Zero, cross-referencing stolen files, piecing together scraps of information that shouldn’t exist.
And then I found it.
The screen flickered. A name.
Not a codename. Not a designation.
A real name.
I froze. A cold, electric shock ran through me as I read it again.
Zero had a past.
A past that had been erased.
And worse—
I knew him.
A rush of fragmented memories slammed int
