The air in the private vault of the Nest was stagnant, chilled by the massive cooling units that hummed incessantly in the periphery. Elena sat at the central command hub, her fingers locked, her emerald eyes fixed on the final decrypt of the Vanguard’s offshore manifest. The data was unequivocal. The account numbers, the timestamped wire transfers, and the digital signatures—it all pointed to a single, inescapable conclusion.
Dominic Vane had been the Vanguard’s eyes and ears since the night the tower fell.
Julian stood behind her, his shadow stretching long and jagged across the cold concrete floor. He hadn't moved in ten minutes. He hadn't spoken, hadn't breathed, hadn't even blinked. His sapphire eyes were locked on the screen, reflecting the scrolling numbers of his brother’s bet
