The East River industrial sector was a sprawling graveyard of rusted cranes, derelict shipping containers, and abandoned warehouses—the perfect territory for a Syndicate extraction. The fog rolling off the river clung to the asphalt, turning the narrow, winding viaducts into a disorienting maze of grey light and jagged shadows.
The two heavily armored tactical vans tore through the sector, their tires screeching as they cornered with reckless, high-speed aggression. Inside the lead van, the atmosphere was thick with the scent of unwashed tactical gear and the metallic tang of fear.
Elara Vance sat in the center of the reinforced cargo hold, her hands bound with high-tensile, quick-cinch zip ties. She wasn't struggling. She wasn't crying. Her posture remained upright, her eyes scanning ev
